Chapter Four
Brody
“Draw four, asshole!” Maggie cackled, slamming down a card against the floor between us.
I stared down open-mouthed at the cursed image in front of me. Those four little colorful rectangles that Maggie somehow never seemed to have a shortage of during every round of Uno.
If I loved her less, I might’ve called her out for mixing the deck in her favor, which I knew she did on occasion.
She really hated to lose.
“Margaret Brynn, you take that back right now,” I protested, trying to balance my already full hand of cards. “Using a draw four card right now is evil. Even for you.”
“Nope.” She shook her head, leaning forward to hand me the next four cards from the deck.
If normal Maggie was competitive, drunk Maggie was a demon training for the Olympics of Hell.
“I don’t know why I agreed to play Uno with you,” I said, throwing my cards down in forfeit. “It never ends well for me.”
“Because it’s my birthday,” she reminded me again. “And you have to do what I say.”
It was a good thing I’d grown up with three sisters, because a lesser-trained man might’ve crumbled when encountering the drunk, diva energy of a birthday girl.
“Your birthday ended three hours ago,” I said, looking out the window at the pitch-black sky. “But nice try.”
“If we haven’t gone to sleep yet,” she reasoned, “then it still counts.”
“Then maybe we should go to sleep.” I leaned across the floor to pluck the cards from her hands.
“Sore loser,” she said through a yawn.
I pulled her to her feet, planting a kiss on the top of her head to ease the blow of her bedtime punishment.
The apartment was trashed, but I figured that was a problem for Morning Us. Or, I guess, Afternoon Us—since judging by the way Maggie stumbled to the bedroom, I figured there was no way she’d be getting up before noon.
“Can you set the alarm for seven thirty?” she mumbled, throwing the duvet back to crawl into bed.
I laughed at the request, earning a scowl from Maggie.
“What, are you serious?”
“Why would I joke about alarm clocks?” Maggie groaned, slinking down beneath the covers.
“What would you possibly need to get up that early for? You know that’s like four hours from now?”
She winced.
“We’re meeting my dad for breakfast.”
That surprised me.
And irritated me.
I hated that guy. I’d gone with Maggie to see him whenever she asked, but every time I did, he seemed to spend more time talking to me about hockey than he did talking to Maggie about any of the numerous, more interesting things she had going on in her life.
“When did that happen?” I asked, sliding into bed beside her.
“I texted him during the party and asked if I could see him. He said yes.”
I frowned.
“What?” Her head turned in my direction, but her sleep mask was already covering her eyes.
I laughed, shaking my head.
“Nothing.”
Maggie still got defensive at any hint of a negative comment aimed toward her dad, and I wasn’t going to get into that with her when she was already drunk and exhausted.
“I wish you got along with him better,” she mumbled, cozying up against her pillow.
It was a hard position to be in. Hating the guy of my own accord, while my girlfriend wanted me to be his best buddy, all while my best friend could barely hold back his irritation that we were still seeing this guy he wished would just go away for good.
Yeah, well, I wish he was easier to get along with.
“He’s my dad, you know?” Her words slurred with exhaustion.
“Yeah, Mags,” I told her heavily. “I know.”
I didn’t say anything else.
I wasn’t going to lie to Maggie. But I also wasn’t going to piss her off either.
So, I stared at the ceiling above me, listening to the sound of her snores fill the room.
Timothy Brynn kind of gave me the creeps.
Not because he was creepy. He was more of an asshole, if anything.
But looking at him and seeing Liam’s face had a remarkably eerie effect on a person. The expressions, the build, the facial features—they were so similar it was as if I were looking at my best friend twenty years in the future.
Not to mention those same green eyes that seemed to be everywhere I looked. Damn, the Brynn genes were strong.
As he walked over to where we were waiting in the lobby of the restaurant, Maggie leaned up to whisper in my ear.
“Be nice.”
I gave her a smile of silent reassurance that I would.
I was never rude, exactly, but it was hard to pretend to care about conversations that revolved around only three things: her father’s career, Liam’s career, and my career.
It was like the topic of Maggie being one of Boston’s best family lawyers slipped his mind every time he saw her.
Infuriating, really. Though apparently, Maggie didn’t care.
“Hi, Dad,” she said, grinning as he approached.
“Hello, Margaret,” he responded with the formal manner you might greet a colleague.
I let out a snort. No one called Maggie Margaret—except me as a joke. But this guy? He did it earnestly and with his full chest.
What shocked me more was how Maggie never corrected him. The same way she never said anything when he suggested restaurants that I had on good authority she would rather drop dead than eat at.
I loved the girl, but the term picky didn’t even begin to describe her.
But today, she happily agreed to meet at the place of her dad’s choosing—the same place I’d personally heard her refer to as a breeding ground for old bachelors every time we’d passed it.
And why the hell did Timothy Brynn get to pick the place anyway? It wasn’t like yesterday was his daughter’s birthday or anything.
“Brody,” he said, approaching me with a level of familiarity I personally didn’t feel we were at yet, but I shook his hand anyway.
“Nice to see you again, sir.”
“Oh, call me Tim,” he laughed. “We’re practically family.”
I almost choked on the snort threatening to spill out but was saved by the appearance of a host asking how many were in our party.
Maggie rewarded me with a pinch for my slip-up, and I shot her a wink as we followed the waiter to a table.
“After you, Margaret,” I said with a smug look, gesturing for her to go ahead of me.
We had barely sat down and ordered our drinks before Tim had already mentioned something about how the hockey game I’d played a few nights before had been a strong game overall.
I didn’t know what to say, because it hadn’t really been a question, but still I nodded.
“We’re lucky to be having a great season,” I said, shifting in my seat.
“I wouldn’t call it luck,” he countered. “It’s pure talent. It’s a hell of a lineup the Harbor Wolves have got there. And Liam? He’s somehow playing better than men ten years younger than him. Incredible.”
“Yup,” I said. “He’s something.”
I couldn’t believe the first thing he wanted to talk about was hockey. Actually, I could believe it. But it didn’t piss me off any less that he proved me right in my assumption about him.
Maggie sat silently beside me, her leg twitching under the table. I could feel her dejection like a punch to my chest.
“So, what have you been up to, son?” Tim asked, and I had to fight my brows from furrowing at the nickname.
“Oh, you know,” I shrugged, “same old. Nothing as exciting as what your daughter’s been up to.”
I rested an arm around her shoulder, trying to signal her into the conversation.
His eyes scanned to her briefly, as if waiting for her to produce whatever information she found relevant to share.
“Um,” she faltered, “I—I—”
I frowned.
Maggie never struggled to find something to say. Maggie never shrank away from any opportunity to talk about herself. She was proud of her life and everything she had accomplished.
So why did she look like the last thing she wanted to do was talk about it with him?
A moment passed. Tim cleared his throat. I squeezed her knee under the table, and she looked up at me with a grateful smile.
You got this, babe, I tried to convey. Go brag about what a superstar you are.
But when she finally spoke, it wasn’t about her career, or her feature in Boston’s 30 Under 30 a few months ago, or even the fact that she’d convinced her law firm to start taking on pro bono clients.
No—what she said came from the deepest parts of herself, where she was still a little girl trying to be recognized by her father.
“My birthday was yesterday.”
“Oh, was it?” he asked, eyes widening slightly.
“You didn’t know?” I raised my brows, unable to keep the irritation from my tone.
“Must’ve slipped my mind,” he said. “Happy birthday, Margaret. We’ll have to order a slice of cake to celebrate.”
Then his eyes traveled to a TV in the corner of the restaurant, and just like that, Maggie was brushed under the rug again.
I watched as Maggie panicked at the loss of his attention, watched as her brain whirled trying to take back control of the situation, and then I watched her mouth open, stunning me again by what she said next.
“Lily’s birthday is soon, too. She’ll be four in June.”
Forgetting the fact that it was still currently January—so technically Lily wouldn’t be four soon—I froze because I knew Liam would be pissed beyond all hell that we were talking about his daughter with his estranged father.
I elbowed Maggie slightly, aiming to make it look as accidental as I could, but the damage was done.
“Really?” Tim looked to Maggie with interest.
Maggie beamed. She’d gotten what she wanted. Her father and his attention were back on her.
“Yeah,” Maggie nodded, her usual vibrancy bleeding through. “She’s in a total princess phase right now. She’s got the tiaras and fairy wings and puffy dresses.”
I inhaled sharply through my nose, tensing at the turn of the conversation.
“I’ll bet Liam has his hands full with her,” Tim chuckled.
“She’s an easy kid,” Maggie shrugged, “or maybe Liam and Cassie just make it look that way. They’re a great team.”
“Do you have pictures of them?” Tim leaned forward eagerly. “I can’t believe the only time I get to see my son is on a television screen. Have you talked to him again about that? About coming to lunch with us?”
“I tried,” Maggie said dejectedly, “but I can ask again. I’m sure he’ll come around to it eventually.”
“You do that,” Tim nodded his approval. “In the meantime, I’d love to see a picture of the girl.”
Maggie reached into her purse to pull out her phone, and I panicked. With an elaborate swing of my elbow, I knocked over both mine and Maggie’s water until it spilled all over the table, dripping down onto Tim’s lap.
He cursed, standing up from his seat in a hurry.
“Shit,” I muttered. “I’m so clumsy. Sorry about that, sir.”
“Don’t worry about it, son,” Tim said, dabbing the napkin against his pants. “I’m just going to head to the men’s room to dry off.”
I nodded as he left, turning my attention toward a furious Maggie.
“What the hell was that for?”
“I think you’re about to cross a line, Mags,” I told her, a warning edge to my tone.
“What line?” she scoffed.
“You can’t bring up Lily. You know how Liam gets about that stuff.”
Some guys on the team plastered their kids all over their social media, even doing interviews with their families by their side.
But Liam?
He kept Lily and Cassie as far away as possible from that type of stuff. Sure, he mentioned them in practically every public interview he gave—crediting his family for just about everything—but he didn’t want their faces circulating the internet for the public to comment on.
And honestly, I didn’t blame him.
“What’s the big deal?” Her green eyes narrowed on me oppositionally. “I wasn’t telling him their home address or anything.”
“I just don’t think it’s our place,” I said. “Your relationship with him is one thing, but you know how Liam feels about him.”
“She’s my niece!” Maggie exclaimed. “He’s her grandfather!”
“And he’s never met her for a reason,” I countered. “Mags, come on. You have to respect Liam a little here. It’s his choice, and he doesn’t want that guy in his daughter’s life.”
“I hardly think showing him a picture is going to do anything.”
I exhaled heavily, cursing the stubbornness that ran bone-deep in the girl beside me.
“You’re right, maybe it would be nothing,” I said. “But do you really want to risk ruining your relationship with your brother because you want validation from your father?”
Maggie flinched at my words.
“Maggie,” I started, reaching out to try to take it back—rephrase it in a way that didn’t sound so harsh—but her dad was already coming back to the table.
Her smile snapped back into place, all signs of irritation gone as he made his return, but it wasn’t her real smile.
It wasn’t the one that overtook her face and made the corners of her eyes crinkle.
This one was tighter. Practiced. The kind she might wear in court while trying not to show her cards.
One thing was clear though:
Tim Brynn couldn’t tell the difference.