Blue Line (Orlando Storm #4)

1. Hadley

Chapter one

Hadley

I groan, hitting the Undo button for the fifth time in as many minutes. I sat down to edit the photos I took on my birthday trip to Vegas a few months ago, thinking it would be a simple and quick task. But boy was I wrong.

I mean, there’s not a whole lot of images, most of them just need small adjustments or a little bit of cropping, but I can’t get them to look right. No matter what I do, there’s something still not right.

I’m currently working on a photo I snapped from my hotel room window overlooking the Strip.

I assumed it would only need a few minor tweaks.

I’ve tried changing the brightness, the contrast, and a few other settings, but nothing seems right.

Sighing, I exit out of the photo, clicking No when it asks if I want to save my changes.

“Why would I want to save them? They’re awful,” I mutter.

Great, now I’m talking to my laptop. I tip my head back and stare at the ceiling of my childhood bedroom.

The bedroom I’ve been occupying since I got back from my birthday trip, which was also my brother Holt’s last hockey game of the season and the end of my job as his daughter’s nanny.

Now, I’m back in Ontario, in my childhood room, with no prospects, nothing lined up. I’m a twenty-six-year-old failure.

Wonderful.

“Knock knock.” Holt’s voice sounds from the doorway, and I startle, sitting up straight in my chair. “Everything okay in here?” He frowns, opening his mouth, probably to ask what’s wrong, but I don’t give him the chance.

“Yep. Yep. Taking a break from editing a few photos from our trip. What’s up?”

He eyes me for a second, and I think he’s going to call me on my bullshit, but he doesn’t.

“Want to go to the grocery store? Mom’s making lasagna for dinner and asked me to pick up a few things. Figured you might want to get out of the house …”

“I’m in.” I put my laptop to sleep. “Just need to put shoes on.”

“Okay. Meet you downstairs.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and walks out of my room.

I throw my sneakers on and grab my phone and wallet.

Maybe a break from editing will help clear out whatever cobwebs have taken root in my head.

Editing photos should not be this hard. Being a photographer is what I want to do with my life, and editing the photos I take is part of it, so why can’t I get it right?

I didn’t have any problems a few months ago after I took all those photographs at the horse show in Ocala. They turned out fantastic. The woman who hired me even sent me a picture of one she’d had framed and hung in her office.

Maybe I’m in a creative funk. That happens, right? I’m sure it does. Probably normal to experience it from time to time. Hopefully, it goes away on its own.

I shove the thoughts away as I climb into the backseat of my dad’s SUV, Holt and Weston Reynolds—his best friend who came to visit for a few weeks—sitting up front.

They start talking about hockey, and I tune them out, staring out the window at the passing scenery and definitely not thinking about the photographs on my laptop taunting me.

“I’m going to go get the pasta and sauce. You get the meat,” I tell my brother, hooking a thumb over my shoulder when we step into the grocery store a few minutes later.

Weston disappeared without a backward glance, probably headed to the bakery. That man has a sweet tooth the size of Florida.

“K. Get extra noodles. And the pasta sauce with the mushrooms. Mom said they’re going to make two pans.”

I gag.

Mushrooms? Yeah, no.

“On it.” I push the cart toward the aisle I need and come to a halt in front of the pasta, scanning for the boxes of lasagna noodles.

“Bingo.”

I grab two and place them in the cart. I tilt my head. Do we need a third? We probably do. Just in case, I grab another box before moving down a few feet to the sauces. I scan the shelves, contemplating my options.

“Hadley.”

I stiffen. What the hell is he doing here? He’s supposed to be in Vancouver, living his fucking best life.

I turn, coming face-to-face with Henry, my ex, holding hands with a blonde woman.

“Hi, Hadley.”

“Hey, Henry.”

He clears his throat, gesturing to the woman at his side. “This is Beth. My fiancée.”

The words hang between us as I stare at the two of them.

We broke up eight months ago, last September.

And he’s already engaged? No way was he cheating on me; he was respectful to the point of it being annoying.

I never thought that was possible, but it was.

I explicitly told him I wanted him to take charge in bed, that I’d tell him if I didn’t like something, yet he constantly asked if what he was doing was okay or if I was okay.

It killed the mood. I’m all for consent and making sure your partner is enjoying themselves, but when someone tells you to take charge, take fucking charge.

He just never got it. Not that it matters now, since we’re not together.

My stomach sinks.

Yet another ex of mine who broke up with me and went on to find his soulmate. The guy I dated before Henry was married six months after we broke up. According to Social, his wife is pregnant now. Same with two of my exes before him. Hand to heart, I can’t make this shit up.

“Hadley?” he repeats.

“Sorry.” I hold out my hand to Beth. “Nice to meet you.”

“How are you doing? Still doing the photography thing?” he asks, glancing around.

“I’m good. Visiting for the summer. Yep, still a photographer.”

“Nice.” I can hear the sarcasm in his voice, but I ignore it. “Where are you living now?”

“Orlando.” No way am I admitting to him that I moved back in with my parents.

“With your brother? Or …”

There’s pity in his voice, and I hate it. I hate that he thinks I have to rely on my brother. I hate it so much. Which is probably why I don’t think before I speak.

“Actually, I’m engaged too. I met my fiancé through my brother. They’re teammates. Hence, being in Orlando.”

“Oh.” His eyes flash to my left hand. My naked left hand.

“My ring’s getting sized. He knows how to do a lot of things well.” I bounce my eyebrows. “Picking out the right ring size for me is not one of them.”

Why the fuck did you say that?

Stop talking.

“Well, congratulations. Is he here with you?”

“Umm.” Shit.

“I meant here in Ontario.”

“Oh, yeah. All of us came up to celebrate my engagement.”

“That’s why we’re here too.” He gestures between himself and Beth. “We’re having our engagement party next weekend. You should come.”

I shake my head. “While I appreciate the invite, I don’t think I can.”

“Please.” He draws the word out, clasping his hands together in front of him.

I bite the inside of my lip to hold in the grimace.

“My parents would love to see you. My mom still has the photo you took of me framed in the house. I know she’d love to see you.

Everyone would love to see you. Catch up.

You haven’t been home in a while.” I haven’t been home in a while?

He’s the one who moved to Vancouver. And who is everyone?

He can’t be talking about our old group of friends.

He didn’t even keep up with them when we were dating.

He prattles on. “It’s settled. We’ll see you at the party.

I still have your number. I’ll text you all the details. ”

“I-I-” I stammer, but he’s already walking away, his fiancée in tow.

“Shit,” I mutter.

“You think?” Holt asks from behind me.

I whirl around. “How long have you been standing there?”

He scoffs, holding out two packages of ground beef. “Long enough. You’re engaged? Really, Hadley? You couldn’t have just said congratulations?”

“Hush,” I snap. “It just came out. I wasn’t thinking.” I grab the meat from him and put it in the cart.

He snorts. “So, what’s your plan?” He puts his hands on his hips, surveying me, and I roll my eyes.

“There you guys are,” Weston says, rounding the corner and heading toward us, his arms laden with a package of chocolate chip cookies, a pie, and two tubs of ice cream. “Picked us up a good dessert spread.”

I rub my hands together as a plan falls into place.

“Don’t, Hadley,” Holt warns as if he can read my mind, but I ignore him.

“Hey, Weston,” I sing-song when he sets his cache of desserts into the cart.

“Hey, Hadley Jane.” He frowns. “I don’t like that look on your face.” He trades glances with Holt before turning his attention back to me.

“Hadley,” Holt warns again.

“Weston, I need a favor.” I bat my lashes.

Holt groans. “Can we not discuss this here, please?”

“Fine. Fine,” I tell my brother, reaching over and grabbing the jarred pasta sauce.

“What about the mushroom one?” Holt protests.

“No. Mushrooms are gross.”

He sticks out his lower lip, pretending to pout. I can’t help the grin that breaks out on my face. It’s nice to see my brother so relaxed and happy. Being in love and being a dad agree with him.

“I agree with Hadley Jane,” Weston pipes up.

Shocker. Hell must have frozen over. Are pigs flying?

I bite back my retort because I need Weston’s help. The last thing I want to do right now is rile him up. Although it’s so fun to do it.

“Fine,” Holt concedes. “What else do we need?”

I consult the list on my phone, comparing it to the items in the shopping cart. “That’s all.”

“Let’s go.” Holt starts making his way down the aisle toward the front of the store.

“Wanna tell me what I missed earlier?” Weston whispers as we walk side by side.

“I’ll tell you when we get back to the house,” I whisper back.

I say a silent prayer that my big mouth doesn’t get me into trouble and that he’ll agree to my proposal, and also that I never run into my ex again after this party.