Chapter Thirty
New Year’s is a horse of a different color.
As their way of making up for how hard we work through Christmas, the club goes all out for New Year’s Eve, throwing a very official fancy dinner and a very unofficial sloppy afterparty.
The Comms team helps set up for the dinner, so at five p.m. I find myself in the ballroom of the ritziest hotel in Liverpool in a new dress that is somehow both work-appropriate and kind of slutty (thanks to Sadie, of course).
My stomach is full of butterflies and not much else, and I’m arranging place cards and unstacking chairs and trying very hard not to think about how New Year’s is a time for fresh starts and resolutions, like, perhaps, a commitment to divorce one’s wife.
Or to finally tell the unbearably handsome man you live with that you quite fancy him, actually.
And even though I know that my attempts to have control over the space-time continuum have failed many times this year, I have decided that midnight is going to be the time when both of these things will happen.
At seven, the team trickles in and dinner commences.
Lachlan and I aren’t at the same table, but seeing as I was in charge of place cards, I arranged it so we’d be facing each other—why yes, I did let all the power go to my head.
He winks at me as he takes a seat, looking so dapper in his suit.
He’s growing out his beard, and it’s just on the right side of scruffy.
As ever, I’m possessed by a crushing desire to be near to him, to breathe the same air as him, to let my fingers roam where they may, in harmless little trails on his shoulders.
The dinner is excellent, I assume, though I can barely eat anything.
The closer we get to midnight, the more the gnashing anxiety roils in my gut.
It’s like I’m Cinderella at the ball, one eye on the prince and my future, one eye on my poor, pumpkin past. The formal part of the night is drawing to a close, so all the married players can get home to their families.
Vogler stands and delivers a characteristically brief speech, grunted out in his clipped, accented English.
A few other notables add their remarks, but anyone looking around the room can see the lads are getting anxious.
The afterparty is at a club a block away, and since there’s no game for a full week, this night is perhaps second only to Training Camp Party as a team-sanctioned excuse to go wild.
Finally, the speeches wrap up. As the desserts are passed around, I see Matt Fletcher put on his coat, look at Lachlan, and jerk his head in the direction of the exit.
My body goes cold—if fucking Matt Fletcher makes Lachlan leave before midnight, I will actually murder him.
Lachlan looks confused but follows Matt into the hallway.
I slip out of my chair to try to eavesdrop, but because my spy bona fides are certified rubbish, I get waylaid four or five times en route.
By the time I find them, their argument is in full force.
I take up a strategic hiding place behind a large potted fern and listen.
“You know I only want what’s best for you,” Matty says.
“But what’s best for me isn’t necessarily what’s best for you.”
“Are you going to tell her?”
“Yes, but in my own time,” Lachlan says. “I know what I’m doing.”
“Do you? Honestly, mate, do you?”
“I can’t keep having this conversation with you, Matty. Go home to your family and stop trying to micromanage mine.”
Ooh, that’s a good line, Lachlan. It seems to stop Matty in his tracks, because it’s a long time before he speaks again.
Even though I can’t see his face, I could describe it perfectly for a sketch artist right now.
He’ll be fuming—no one talks to Matthew Fletcher like this, not even Lachlan.
I chance a quick peek and see the two of them squared off, shoulders tense.
Then Matty jabs a finger in Lachlan’s chest. “Just be careful.” Without another word, he storms off down the hall.
Lachlan turns back in the direction of the dining hall and almost sees me. I duck back behind the fern before he does, but not before I catch the expression on his face: anguish. Pure anguish.
I run back to the table and slide into my chair, shoving a huge forkful of cake into my mouth and laughing at the ongoing conversation like I’ve been part of it the whole time.
I try not to think about the look on Lachlan’s face, try not to overanalyze every single word of their conversation.
Who is her? Am I her? Is he going to tell me something?
Or is it Claire? Or, God, someone else? I swear, if this is actually a love quadrilateral, I’m on the first plane back to Boston.
Difficult as it is, I try not to stare directly at Lachlan when he comes back into the room, as I’m sure my face would give away that I’ve been eavesdropping.
But when he passes me, the anguish is gone from his expression.
He brushes his fingers lightly across my back, ruffling the ends of my hair and leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.
I turn over my shoulder to catch his eye, but all I can see is one side of his mouth hitched up into a mischievous grin.
I cover my mouth to hide my smile, and some of my anxiety dissipates.
I know it will always be there, lurking, skulking around for an opportunity to pop back up as soon as I let my guard down, but I plan to drown it in champagne in the meantime.
Sadie notices the whole thing, because she’s got the eyes of a hawk, if a hawk hunted for sexual tension instead of voles. “So you guys are finally fucking, huh?”
I blush, obviously, but I’m not offended by the question. Not this time. “Not yet, but I swear, Sadie, if it doesn’t happen soon, I think we both might die.”
It seems I have finally flapped the unflappable Sadie, as her brows shoot straight up. I know she was expecting me to demur or remind her that he’s married or do any of the other things I’ve done the other dozen times she’s asked me, but I’m past tiptoeing around it.
“I’ll drink to that,” she says, and clinks her glass to mine. “But remember to be careful. It’s so much easier when no one knows.”
The champagne turns sour in my stomach; it seems neither Lachlan nor I are being cautious enough for our minders.
And okay, maybe that’s true, but for once, I’m forcing that thought away.
Just for tonight, I don’t want to stress.
Just for tonight, I want to truly be the person I’ve been trying to become these last few months: less timid, less apologetic, less anxious.
Just for tonight, I want to let my life happen and not worry about what comes tomorrow.
I wrap this feeling around me like a coat, link arms with Sadie, and head into the bracing cold of Liverpool.