Chapter 13 Serena
Walking down the path with a bouquet of tiger lilies in my hand, I count the headstones until I reach the opening that I’ve been down every year for as long as I can remember.
Taking a right, I stride forward, Freddie on my heels, until I reach the third headstone in, finding a bouquet of lilies already on the ground in front of it.
Margot Rafferty
Wife. Daughter. Mother.
1974–2002
I feel … a lot of emotions. Grief for the mother I lost. Sorrow for not having any memories of her.
Anger for the drunk driver who took her life and ripped my mom from me.
Confusion for feeling such emotion toward someone I’ve never met, at least not in the ways memory serves.
I was only three when she died, and unfortunately, I don’t remember her at all.
It’s confusing and lonely … and that’s okay. No one has a handbook for losing a parent at such a young age. It took me a long time to accept my feelings, however and whatever I feel.
For the first time in a long time though, today feels heavier, and I think it has to do with the man stealing my heart. There’s a hole in my chest that my dad has always tried his best to fill. It’s no fault of his own that void exists.
There have been motherly figures in my life that I’ve looked up to, but none who were ever truly my own.
Right now, all I want is to be a little girl, telling her mom about the boy she likes. Although I would probably leave out a lot of details, like the mask and the stalking.
The truth is … I can’t. I can’t curl up in her lap and talk her ear off about my guy. I can’t run to her when I need a hug after a hard time or call her to vent. I thought I had accepted that and fully moved on.
But grief isn’t a straight line or a list of boxes to check off and push aside. It comes out in moments we least expect.
Just because I don’t remember her doesn’t mean I haven’t mourned her.
Setting the bouquet down next to the other, I smile, knowing my dad must’ve already came by. Freddie smells both bouquets, his tail wagging happily.
My dad and I try to come here together if we can every year. It’s always a hard day for him. But this year, we’re coming on our own time because he can’t get out of work. I thought he was stopping by later, but from the looks of the second bouquet, he’s already been by.
She was his everything before she was killed.
He’s never moved on, never remarried or even been on a date. I’ve tried to encourage him to try again, but he’s always assured me that there’s only one woman for him and she’s the only one there’ll ever be.
My dad has shown me time and time again that love should never be conditional, and it never has been with him, both for my mom and for me.
He’s one of the reasons I pursued a career in love. I’ve been infatuated with stories of it my entire life, always yearning for a happily ever after of my own. I like to think that I’m a fairy godmother for our clients, helping them find a lasting relationship.
Standing up, I take a picture of our flowers together before sending him a quick message.
You beat me
My dad answers almost immediately, his response shocking me to the core.
Dad: I haven’t stopped by yet. Heading there this afternoon.
Then who the hell left these?
An odd calmness finds me because I know the answer. There’s only one person it could be. Kerrigan is a part of this tradition and if she were to stop by for any reason, she’d do it with me.
Which leaves him.
I send my masked valentine a text.
Thank you for doing this
My Masked Valentine: It was my pleasure
Stowing my phone in my purse, I rock back and forth on my heels before slipping my hands in my pockets. I think I’m going to spend a few minutes with my mom before I head to work, and tell her all about my masked valentine . . . well the tame version anyway.
This morning was peaceful and warm for a wintry Minnesota morning. I’m still frozen to the core as I pull open the front door to Bound-to-Be, but in terms of cold in MN, it’s tolerable.
A shudder runs through me as I stomp my boots on the rug, the snow falling onto the mat. I slip my coat off and hang it on the rack as Kerrigan walks over to me, wide-eyed, with a forced smile on her face.
I set Freddie down and unhook him. He runs over to Julia, accepting all the love she gives him.
I shift my attention back to Kerrigan. “What is it?”
She tiptoes over to me quickly, her voice a soft whisper. “One of your dad’s players is here. He’s in the bathroom. I googled his name. Oh, and he’s hot. Like hoooot.”
My stomach drops as I process Kerrigan’s words.
“One of my dad’s hockey players is in our matchmaking business?” I reiterate her statement in my question, confused more than anything.
Hockey players in general don’t often struggle to find partners. Pro hockey players? They have to fight puck bunnies off with a ten-foot pole.
I’m not mad at whoever is here. We are honestly the best option for him because we weed out the people who are just chasing the money and profession over who the players really are. Maybe my dad gave him a recommendation. That makes sense.
Excitement starts to take over the initial shock and hesitancy. The bathroom door opens, but only the top of the door is visible over the tall divider that creates a sense of privacy.
He walks around the corner, and my body instantly heats, probably from my blood boiling, as I see Bates Finnegan smirk at me, sauntering over like he owns the place.
Anyone but him.
My face falls, twisting with annoyance, as my arms cross over my chest.
“Good morning. It’s nice to see you again.” His voice is higher or more joyful than I remember.
“Yeah, I bet.” I purse my lips. “Are you on the hunt for Mrs. Finnegan?”
He clutches his chest like what I said warms his heart. “You know my last name? I knew you had a soft spot for me.”
My fist wants to find a soft spot in his chest right now. My eyes follow the thought, drifting lower to the sweater pulled across his chest.
I doubt any part of that man is soft.
No.
Nope.
Not doing that, you psycho.
Anger consumes me for even having a sexual thought about this man. My body is a traitor, and occasionally, so is my mind. But the last thing I want is to be with Bates.
“Yeah, from all the times I’ve heard your name called for penalties during games,” I retort. “You should try keeping your anger under control.”
His stare is heavy, his gaze a physical caress as his eyes drop down to my lips and back up. I don’t know what it is about this man, but he’s so good at getting under my skin. Infuriatingly good.
Reaching out, he tries to fix a strand of my hair, but I slap his hand away like a bug buzzing near my head—no, not like that because I’d be nicer to the bug.
“Ouch.” He winces with a sultry smile, amusement in his eyes. “Maybe I like the violence. The thrill. The adrenaline. Maybe I can’t get enough of the high it gives me.”
The heart-eyes mask flashes in my mind at the mention of adrenaline. I wonder if he’s watching right now, if he’s fuming mad at Bates’s proximity to me. Is he going to storm in here and confront him?
“What’re you thinking of?” he asks, his eyes searching mine.
Placing the very tips of my fingers on his chest, I push him back, walking past him. I don’t bother giving him an answer; it’s not even worth my time.
Kerrigan tries to redirect the conversation. “If you want to come sit with me, we can start going through your interests and preferences.”
“Sounds great.” He claps his hands together, sighing heavier than expected.
Freddie turns to face me. His face lights up, and he takes off running to me.
“Hi, buddy. What’s up?” My words fall away as he runs right past my leg.
I follow him with my eyes, and my jaw falls open as he runs straight to Bates. Freddie jumps up, begging for uppies. I want to crawl in a hole and die.
Of course he’s eager to see the forbidden human from the arena, the one person I denied him from snuggling with. He’s particular in who he chooses, but when he knows, he knows. He’s stubborn—I think he gets it from me.
Bates crouches down, petting him with two hands. The visual shouldn’t be hot. It isn’t. His big, massive hands, stretching forward with bulging veins in his forearms, petting the smallest fur baby in the world—it isn’t attractive … at all.
His gaze flicks up, shadowed by his eyebrows. Ever so slightly, a menacing smirk tips his lips, and I grind my teeth at his arrogant stare.
The patterns of freckles on his cheeks catches my gaze, distracting me for half a second before I gather myself.
“Freddie, come here,” I call him.
He glances over at Bates, hesitating enough to stab my heart. But a beat later, he prances over, his ears bouncing with his steps.
“Good boy.”
Scooping him up, I turn on my heel and walk to my desk, setting him in his bed and hooking his harness to the leash attached beneath my desk. “Leave the scary strangers alone, okay?”
Bates scoffs and chuckles as he sits down in the chair across Kerrigan’s desk, eyeing me knowingly.
God, his stare is so piercing. Not just in color, but in intensity.
Gluing my eyes to my computer screen, I sign in to it and open my email, trying to think and focus on anything other than Bates. But I can’t help but to overhear their conversation.
“How would you describe your ideal partner? Introvert or extrovert? Somewhere in the middle?” she asks.
Somehow, I can still feel his gaze on me, and I just know if I turn my head, I’ll lock eyes with him.
“A mix maybe? An introvert who blossoms like a flower when they’re comfortable.
Who opens up completely in the right environment and with the right …
touch. Maybe someone who’s extroverted enough to start their own business and chase success and their passions.
But also the type of girl who loves a night in, curled up on the couch with a glass of wine. ”
My spine tingles, warmth spreading through my chest and cheeks. It’s just a coincidence; he’s obviously not describing me.