Chapter 44
Chapter Forty-Four
MORGAN
Ichoke on the protein bar I’m scarfing down as I stand in my bathroom, curling iron in hand, and stare down at my mom’s face on my phone. “You did what now?”
“Don’t talk with food in your mouth, darling. It’s so unladylike.” Mom’s eyes roll like she’s had to tell me this a million times already. She hasn’t. Not since I was nine and she told me no boy would ever like me if I talked with food in my mouth.
I swallow and set the curling iron on the counter. “Sorry, I was just caught off guard by the whole ‘I left Max’ bit. It hasn’t even been three months.”
And besides, it’s not normally my mom who does the leaving.
“Yes, well,” she says, waving a hand in the air like she’s brushing the memories away.
“What happened?”
“He was obviously still in love with his dead wife, and I can’t compete with a ghost.”
I have so many questions but don’t even know where to start.
Is love supposed to be a competition between you and anyone they’ve loved in the past?
Should Max no longer love Aidan’s mom just because she passed away?
And how did my mom not know this about Max before they were married?
And why did she just up and leave instead of trying to work things out?
I go with the last question, and she gives me a pouty sigh. “Falling in love is the best part, honey.”
“No mom, being loved is the best part. Anyone can fall in love. It’s choosing each other, over and over, that makes love worthwhile.”
“I forgot you were an expert on the matter,” she says snidely.
It’s true, I’ve only been in love once before, with my college boyfriend. He broke up with me right after graduation, so instead of moving to Austin with him, I moved to Park City, where Lauren got me a job with Petra.
And now, Aidan, who showed me what it felt like to be truly accepted in a way that seemed a lot like love . . . but then still didn’t choose me. Does that mean he didn’t love me? Or he just didn’t love me enough?
“Maybe I’ll come up to Boston for Thanksgiving,” Mom says, and that snaps me out of my own thoughts real fast.
I can’t control the way my eyes widen and my head shakes. “What?”
“We could have a mother-daughter weekend,” she says, like that’s something we do. My mom’s idea of bonding is going to the spa together and having treatments in separate rooms.
“I can’t.”
Mom looks confused and kind of offended, like I just told her that her Prada bag from two seasons ago is no longer in style. “Why not?”
“Because I have plans.”
I don’t, yet. But I will. If my dad is in town, I’ll spend it with him. Or I’ll spend it with the Flynn family again. And if neither of those options works out, I’ll spend it alone. Even that is preferable to spending the holiday with my mom.
“You can’t change your plans for your mother?” She sounds genuinely shocked that I won’t drop whatever’s going on in my life to accommodate hers, and that pisses me off.
I’m not just mad at her for always being so damn selfish, I’m mad at myself for allowing it. For being afraid to rock the boat and risk disappointing her, when all she’s done, over and over, is disappoint me.
When I don’t respond right away, my mom lays on the guilt. “Honey, I just separated from my husband and you can’t even make time for me?”
Her audacity has me seething. It’s not like separating from her husband is an uncommon occurrence, and every time this has happened, I’ve always been there for her.
“You’ve never once put me first in your life, yet you always expect that I’ll drop everything for you. And that’s partly on me, because I always have. But it stops now.”
Mom’s jaw drops and I’m pretty sure she calls me ungrateful under her breath. “After everything I’ve done for you—”
I swear those words have me so heated I could breathe fire, so I interrupt her.
“Mom, you left me when I was a kid and I’ve probably only seen you a dozen times since.
You prioritized every guy in your life over me, made me participate in multiple weddings for marriages that everyone knew wouldn’t last, and you only come running back to me when those marriages fail.
The one thing you’ve done for me, my entire life, is put me last. So that’s where I’ll be putting you from now on.
I need to go. I have to get to a work meeting. ”
“It’s Saturday.” My mom says this like she’s caught me in a lie.
“And yet I’m still trying to catch up on work after being deathly ill two weeks ago. Not that you’d know anything about that. Goodbye, Mom.”
Disconnecting the call feels both freeing and terrifying.
I’ve never stood up to my mom. Never called her out on her bullshit.
Never refused her anything. It feels good to finally put my foot down, but I would never have had the courage to do so without Aidan’s constant reminders that I deserve better.
That’s the part that hurts most, because I’m setting boundaries in my work life and my personal life based on strength I gained from a relationship that no longer exists. And maybe it never did, except in my mind.
But I don’t have time to think about that, because I’ll have a little breakdown if I do, and I can’t be late for this meeting.
“Thanks for meeting with me,” I say to Jake MacIntyre as I slide into the seat across from him at a coffee shop a block from my place.
“No problem,” he says and looks past me out the window. His entire demeanor screams I have better things to do right now.
“AJ told you why she wanted me to meet with you?”
“Yeah,” he says with a shrug, “but I still don’t see what the big deal is.” He lifts his drink and takes a sip.
“You got drunk and then posted yourself ranting about the Department of Player Safety and the Commissioner of the NHL.” My voice is flat but my tone is full of judgment because who does that? Immature twenty-year-olds, I guess.
“He’s an idiot. That fine and suspension the department gave me were totally unfair and the commissioner should have at least overturned the suspension when I appealed.”
I tilt my chin as I observe him. He’s giving off an air of entitlement that often comes from being coddled, but I have no idea if that’s what this is, or if being a first-round draft pick and an instant millionaire has somehow made him think he’s invincible.
“Whether you agree with his decision or not, it’s binding. You’ll be lucky if there aren’t more fines or a longer suspension for violating ‘off-ice conduct’ policies.”
He rolls his eyes. “I’m allowed to have and express my opinion. It’s called free speech.”
“Yes, but you aren’t free from the consequences of your speech.
In this case, your little rant could easily be considered abusive behavior, and it definitely makes the league look bad.
Both of those things are violations of league policies, and could come with additional consequences.
In this case, the best thing you can do is issue a formal apology for your behavior, and I’m happy to help you with that. ”
“Pfffft.” He practically spits the sound out. “I’m not apologizing.”
I don’t know what this guy’s problem is, but it’s not winning him any fans right now, especially not with his team.
“Is there something else going on?” I ask.
His gaze narrows in on me. “What do you mean?”
“Your behavior is not only unsportsmanlike, but your complete lack of remorse for your actions is . . .” I don’t even know the right word here. “. . . concerning.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my actions. Fights happen during games all the time; I shouldn’t have been fined or suspended for that one. This whole thing is bullshit and reeks of favoritism.”
If he doesn’t understand why he went too far, that’s really on his captains, coaches, and GM to inform him. Which I know they have, and he’s still taking on this air of I didn’t do anything wrong.
This kid needs to learn a little humility, and I hope someone humbles him real fast. But it won’t be me, because I don’t have time for his shit.
I shrug. “Okay.”
He looks at me like he was expecting a different response, but I’m here to guide him, not to baby him and convince him to do the right thing when he’s determined not to.
“I’ll let AJ know that you don’t plan to issue an apology.”
A look passes over his features so quickly, I can’t quite pinpoint what I just saw.
But if I had to guess, it was fear. Which would make it the most logical reaction he’s had during this conversation.
Pissing off your GM and doing the opposite of what she’s asked you to do is a bad move.
But if he realizes that, he’s too stubborn to change his mind. “Good.”
“All right, thanks for your time,” I say, standing and smoothing my skirt down.
I don’t miss the way he checks out my legs between the top of my knee-high boots and the hem of my short skirt.
I am heading straight to a date from here, and I’m more concerned about looking good for that than looking professional for this meeting.
Based on this guy’s attitude, I’m wondering what the hell Natalie ever saw in him. Maybe he was different with her? Maybe I need to have the same conversation with her that AJ had with me?
It took me twenty-eight years to finally realize that yes, when someone shows you who they are, you should believe them. That philosophy would have saved me so much heartache with my mom, and with past boyfriends. But then there’s Aidan. He showed me who he was, and—
Stop it right now, I tell myself as I turn and head toward the door. Yes, his actions showed me who he was, but his words said something different. Whether he’s lying to himself or lying to me doesn’t matter. It’s over, because that’s what he wanted . . . which tells me everything I need to know.
On my way out the door, I pull out my phone and text AJ and Tucker Hartmann, letting them know how the meeting went.
AJ
I wish I was surprised.
Morgan
I’m not sure he understands the kind of team you’re building here.
Tucker
This guy’s a walking PR nightmare.
Morgan
Truer words were never spoken.
Tucker
Your call, AJ.
AJ
I’m on it.