10. Brynlee
Sweating the stress out has always been my favorite form of therapy. Beating the hell out of a heavy bag was fun from the very first time my dad laced my first pair of pink boxing gloves on my hands and showed me proper form. Was it a little unconventional that this was my fourth birthday gift? Yes, yes it was. Did I think Mom was going to kill Dad when he did it? Also a resounding yes. But that didn’t stop him from working with me for a few minutes every day until my form was perfect. Perfection never came. But I’ve been pretty damn close since sometime around age nine.
Child prodigy?
No. Definitely not.
More like a precocious kid who loved this gym more than any other building she’s ever set foot in. Some things never change. And while the Revolution arena comes a very close second to Crucible, Crucible will always hold the title of my first love.
I think, deep down, I knew I’d end up right here one day, working with these fighters, but I wanted to hone my skill and earn my place like every other member of the team had to. I wanted to come here on my own terms, in my own time, and now it feels like my hand was forced.
Mom believes everything in our lives is the result of the effort we put in. But she’s also the first one to try to pull the damn strings, even if we don’t want her to. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised. But her actions hurt. And actions have consequences. She’s always said that. Coming to terms with the consequences might not be easy for her, or me for that matter, but it is what it is now.
Dad likes to say everything happens for a reason, even if we’re never privy to exactly what that reason is. Maybe there’s a reason this is happening now. Maybe there isn’t.
I’ve always fallen somewhere between their two lines of thinking.
I’ve put in the time and done the work. I’m an excellent physical therapist. I’m pissed my choice was taken from me. I can admit that to myself, if not to anyone else.
Maybe this is the kick I needed right now.
Maybe not.
Maybe it’s all bullshit and I could have been happy with the Revolution for another ten years. Guess I’ll never know. But while I’m heartbroken to leave my players, I’m trying to look at this as kismet. Maybe this thing with Deacon will turn into something or maybe it won’t. Either way, knowing I won’t be working under him in a month certainly makes the journey to figuring out what a relationship with him could look like if I chose one a whole lot easier.
And based on the magnetic pull that seems to be charged between us, I’m not sure there’s any choice to be made.
These are the thoughts running through my head as I pound out my frustrations on the bag with true tunnel vision. So much so, I don’t notice when my brother, Killian, walks up next to me until he pops one of my earbuds out of my ear, and I have to pull the jab I’m about to throw before I clip his jaw.
“Are you stupid?” I ask over the loud base of Linkin Park still playing in one ear. “I almost hit you.”
“I know how to duck.” He holds the little white AirPod in front of my face. “You’re listening to old school. I like it. Who pissed you off?”
Killian is three years younger than me and an entire foot taller.
Does he have incredible reflexes? Of course he does. But mine are better.
I fake a jab, then stomp his foot, and he drops my AirPod into my glove.
Mission accomplished.
“It’s probably easier to ask who hasn’t pissed me off. Newsflash—your name wouldn’t be on that list.” I pull off one glove with my teeth, then unlace and yank off the other. “How’s your new room, shithead?”
“Come on, Brynnie. It’s not like I stole your room. You and Maddox made your agreement. That’s not my fault. I just accepted an offer. You know I’ve been dying to get out of Mom and Dad’s house.” My brother might be six feet, four inches of lethally trained muscle, but he’s still a big baby.
“Whatever you say, Killer. I hope you get crabs from sharing a bathroom with Callen.” I wipe the sweat from my face with the back of my hand, then smack his chest. “Don’t come crying to me when you need a shot of penicillin.”
“Whatever.” The ass pats my head with a condescendingly annoying grin. “Dad wants you in his office.”
“You should have started with that,” I tell him before walking away.
“Hey, you’ve got to clean the bag,” he calls back.
“Looks like that’s on you now. Dad wants me,” I singsong back to him and walk down the hall to Dad’s office.
This day started out so promising. But that was before I got proverbially bitchslapped, first by Isla, then by the Revolution. I’m not even sure how to classify the news that Deacon is going back to Boston. I know it’s just a few weeks, but right now that feels like an eternity. I’m pretty sure this day can officially be classified as a shit show. At least that’s what I’m calling it in my head when I walk up to Dad’s closed door. Maybe that means I’m getting a reprieve.
A girl can hope.
I knock once and he yells, “Come in,” right away.
Guess it’s just not my day.
Time to face the music.
“Hi, Daddy.”
Dad looks up from his computer, the same one I’m fairly sure he’s had for twenty yearsbecause Cade St. James despises technology with a flaming, fiery, passion. He removes the black glasses he started to wear a few years ago and shakes his head before he bothers to stand up and open his arms for me to step into, like he’s always done. Once he’s wrapped me up in a sweaty hug, he rests his chin on the top of my head and breathes out a sigh.
“Love you, kid.”
“Love you too, Dad,” I tell him, knowing I need to hit him up for a job but not ready to break that ice just yet. Luckily, I don’t have to wait long.
He pulls away and guides me to the seat across from his desk. Also the same one he’s had for twenty years. “Now... You want to tell me what the hell changed between Friday night and now?”
I blink up at him quietly, knowing he’s not done with me yet.
“When I went to bed Friday, I had a baby girl away at college, a son who lived at home, another baby girl living her best life in a penthouse condo, working as a physical therapist for the number one hockey team in the nation, and a happy wife.” He scratches his graying temple, then glares. “Do you want to know what’s changed?”
“Umm...” I don’t dare tell him I know exactly what’s changed. Not when he’s already on a roll.
“Umm... sounds about right. Your brother moved out. Ironically, into your former penthouse. Your mother is pissed at the world, including me.” He pauses for a minute and shakes his head again. “Why, you ask, is she pissed at me?”
“I didn’t?—”
“She’s pissed at me because I apparently stole you from her after she moved you onto her staff from Max’s staff. Pissed at me. I didn’t even know I stole you. You gotta help me here, Brynnie, because I know I’m getting old, but I really didn’t think I was so old that I forgot about you finally accepting the job offer to be our staff physical therapist.” He sits his ass on the corner of his desk and grips the edge with rapidly whitening knuckles. “Did I miss anything else over the course of forty-eight hours, Brynlee?” His voice has gotten quiet as he’s gone on, and that’s never a good sign.
“Gracie moved back in with me for a few months,” I tell him hesitantly, unsure if he’s angry or just confused. It’s kinda hard to tell.
“Okay, great. Add that to the list of rapidly changing events. Gracie Sinclair is back from London, and if I understand correctly, you’re what... sharing your cousin Maddox’s condo?”
I nod in agreement, not wanting to open my mouth again.
“Okay. So now that we’re on the same page, can I ask a few questions and get a few straight answers from you? Because your mother isn’t just mad at me. She’s furious with you too. She says you won’t talk to her. You ignored her yesterday and apparently walked right by her today when you gave Max your letter of resignation.” Then his cheeks grow redder, and I’m a little concerned he’s about to stroke out.
Oh, shit. I may have broken my dad.
“Oh. OH. Let’s not forget your mother hired that little shit from Block Island to coach the Revolution and then told me he was making eyes at you this morning. This is the shit I’m getting called about, Bryn. I’m gonna need your help here, kid.”
Every muscle in my body locks because of all the things I was expecting him to throw my way, that last one wasn’t it.
When I don’t respond, he moves into the seat next to me. “So how about we start with you working here?”
His words may seem calmer now than a moment ago, but it’s not often that Dad loses his shit, and I’m still treading carefully, waiting for another bomb to blow.
“You didn’t forget anything. I was just hoping your offer to work here still stands because I’d like to join the Crucible family.” Okay. That wasn’t so hard.
“Kid.” He takes my hand in his. “You are the Crucible family. If you’re ready to work here, I couldn’t be happier. But I want you to think about it. Because working here just to piss off your mother isn’t a good enough reason.”
“That’s not it. I promise. Mom switched me over to the Kings without talking to me about it. She did it without my consent. And while I understand I’m her little girl and she thinks she knows best, she doesn’t get to make that choice for me anymore. I’m a grown woman, Dad. I haven’t lived at home in years. I don’t ask you guys for anything. I earn my own money. Pay my own bills. Earned my own degrees. And live my own life,” I argue. “I loved my job. And I’m damn good at it. I decided the timing was finally right for me to work at Crucible, and I gave them my notice. That’s the story.” Maybe not every single detail but all the details he needs to know.
“What if Max told you that you could stay on with the Revolution with no chance of you ever being moved to the Kings? Would you still want to work here? Because Max is willing to add that to your contract to get you to stay.” Yup. Knew there was another bomb waiting to be tossed.
I think about that.
WouldI stay?
I look around this office and smile at the pictures covering Dad’s walls. So much of our history in one room. I guess my answer is pretty easy. “No. It’s time. I’m ready to work for Crucible.”
“Well that’s one thing done then. You’re hired. But before you go jumping up to hug me, I want more answers, and your mother isn’t giving them to me. So it’s your turn. How the hell did you end up trading condos?”
I sit, filling Dad in on the rest of the weekend.
Well, not all of it, but all I’m willing to share.
It’s not until he’s hugging me goodbye that he squeezes my shoulder and looks away. “Have you thought any more about getting tested, Brynn?”
I shake my head and kiss his cheek. “Love you, Dad. See you soon.”
It’s not the answer he wants, but it’s the only one he’s getting today.