Chapter 3 #2
It never really gets old, though, being around someone who has dedicated their life to perfecting their sport.
I have a lot of respect for the time and focus it takes to make it to the big show in whatever sport an athlete chooses.
One of my favorite times has always been the Olympics because we’d interview athletes from less celebrated sports, and I always thought it was cool to hear the stories of how someone gets into curling or fencing.
Not that Kyle spent a lot of time on the curlers and fencers of the world, and I doubt Brock will either when the time comes.
Why do that when you could destroy a perfectly nice hockey player instead?
I watched Brock’s cut of Jack’s interview with growing horror as it became obvious that he was pinning the loss in round two almost entirely on Jack. The editing of the game footage as well as the interview made it seem like Jack is a drunk buffoon who can barely tell his stick from his skate.
Lawsuit or not, Jack deserves an apology. Hell, he should sue Brock. I could help him.
Clearing my throat, I slide into the booth opposite Jack. “Hi.” I offer a tentative smile.
His head jerks up like I caught him completely by surprise, then he relaxes, his eyes tracking over my face and torso, tracing my hair falling around my shoulders, a smile spreading across his face. “I wondered if your hair was straight or maybe wavy,” he said.
Raising my eyebrows, I glance at the ends of my hair. “Did you? How odd.”
He lifts one shoulder in a careless shrug. “You had your hair in a bun when we met. I couldn’t tell.”
Narrowing my eyes, I give my head a tiny shake, determined to bring us back on track. “Did you order a drink yet?”
“Course. I opened a tab. Ryan probably added your drink to it, assuming you ordered one.”
My brows crimp together. “I did. But I thought I was buying you a drink.”
He waves that aside. “I don’t need you buying me a drink.”
“But—” I start to protest, but he cuts me off with another wave of his hand.
“That’s not why I accepted your offer.” His mouth presses into a firm line. “You said on the phone that you wanted to apologize. I’d like to hear your apology.”
I squirm in my seat, suddenly realizing I may have already stepped in it. “You have to understand?—”
One of his brows lifts, causing my words to die on my lips.
“What is it that I have to understand?”
Shaking my head, I let out a frustrated breath.
The waitress comes with our drinks, buying me a minute to gather my thoughts again.
What do I want him to understand? That it’s not my fault.
Brock’s take is indefensible, after all.
I can’t say Brock didn’t mean it like that or that it’s all some kind of misunderstanding.
Once the waitress leaves, I toy with my glass, spinning it on the coaster branded with a salmon logo.
“I had no idea he was going to go that route,” I say after a long moment passes and Jack sips his drink, looking the picture of calm.
“He usually runs his ideas by me—and he did with this one, at least the original idea—but he did this all on his own.”
Jack smirks, and as attractive as he is, it’s not a nice smile. “I see,” he says at length. “So this is a CYA meeting.”
Confused, I shake my head. “No, no. I’m not trying to?—”
“Aren’t you?” he asks. He gestures at the bar. “You offered to buy me a drink, after all. To apologize, didn’t you say?”
When all I can do is gape at him, mouth hanging open, he plants one forearm on the table, leaning toward me and lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Look, Maggie—it’s Maggie, right?” I nod. “Maggie. I understand your concern. In your shoes, I might be worried too.”
“It’s not just that,” I butt in, chewing my lower lip. His eyes flit to my mouth, and I force myself to stop, clearing my throat. “It’s not just that,” I repeat. “Granted, I will admit it occurred to me that I might be making a tactical error meeting you and discussing this.”
His eyebrows lift again, and he sips his drink, still outwardly radiating calm. But his jaw ticks every so often, giving away the fact that he’s fucking pissed. And who can blame him? I would be too. Hell, I am pissed.
Shaking my head, I sip my drink. “I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry.
And that if I could’ve stopped him, I would’ve.
But Brock doesn’t listen to anyone but himself.
” Just like Kyle, I add in my head. Somehow I’ve ended up dealing with the same sort of overgrown man-child.
Well, not exactly the same. Brock’s more honest about it than Kyle ever was.
Kyle liked to pretend he was self-sufficient and independent.
Of course, that all fell apart the minute I walked out.
The first week he had Liam all to himself, he texted me constantly asking a million questions.
I entertained him that first week. After that, I told him that it’s no longer my job to hold his hand and help him be a parent.
He needed to figure out how to relate to Liam on his own.
Jack’s expression softens, the hard set to his jaw relaxing. “I appreciate that, Maggie. I believe you.”
We sit in silence for a moment, and I sip my drink, studying him while he stares at the table. “What are you going to do?” I ask eventually.
He brings his eyes to mine, his forced smile now looking resigned more than angry, and he shakes his head.
“Like you, I acted on instinct rather than logic calling you in the first place. I shouldn’t be here any more than you should.
For now, I’m going to let Molly, the head of the Emeralds’ PR team, do her job.
Like she told me to. After that?” He shrugs.
“I guess it depends on what happens.” With that, he drains his drink and stands.
“Sorry for being so abrupt, but I need to go. Enjoy your drink, Maggie. Maybe I’ll see you around. ”
He strides away without a backwards glance, leaving me sitting at the booth, unsure what to do with myself. Sighing, I sip my drink and order a plate of loaded waffle fries when the waitress comes by to check on me. If I’m going to be out by myself, I might as well enjoy it, right?