Chapter 25 Rourke #2
“This way, Rourke.” Janie leads me toward the door, away from the mass of bodies in the ballroom. “I saw something in the foyer that’s outrageously expensive.”
We head toward the entry hall, brushing by Brax and Jaz who are having a heated discussion about whether a crystal vase or an oil painting could pass as more expensive than a car.
“There,” Janie points to a massive chandelier hanging over a side table that’s sparkling in Swarovski crystals. “That thing has to cost more than a car, right?”
I study the crystal-and-gold monstrosity. “If it’s in Marco’s house, then yes.”
“Perfect.” She marks off the first item. “What’s next?”
I glance down at the list. “A book older than hockey itself. Great. Tate has probably memorized the entire contents of the library already.”
“How do you know he has just one?” Janie asks as we head up the stairs.
“Good point. Knowing Mr. Marco, he probably has multiple libraries.”
We’re heading down an oak-paneled hallway when Leo and Victoria come barreling out of a door, appearing slightly traumatized.
“Don’t go in there,” Leo warns.
“What’s in there?” Janie asks.
“Dead animals,” Victoria says weakly. “So many dead animals.”
“With eyes that follow you,” Leo adds with a shudder as they head in the opposite direction.
We skip the taxidermy room and check a half-dozen other rooms without any luck before stumbling into a private library. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves line the walls, along with rolling ladders, oversized armchairs, and a massive fireplace.
“This is incredible,” Janie murmurs, spinning around to take it all in. She sinks dramatically into one of the cushy chairs and kicks her heels up with a grin. “How do I look, Riley?”
I lean against the doorframe, arms crossed, my gaze tracing over her. In that gown, she’s absolutely stunning. “Like the kind of distraction that’s going to make me forget we’re supposed to be winning something.”
She lifts an eyebrow. “Riley, you’d never let yourself forget a competition.”
“I would if it means I get to keep you all to myself tonight.” I stride over to her and brace my hands on either side of the chair, leaning down until she has to tilt her face up. “I’ll throw the scavenger hunt right now, no regrets.”
“You’d lose…on purpose?”
“For you…anything.”
Her mouth opens slightly, but just then, there are voices in the hall, followed by Tate and Lauren bursting through the door.
Tate freezes. “Uh, are we interrupting something?”
“No, of course not,” Janie blurts out. “We haven't found anything in here yet.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” Tate says with a smirk. “I think Rourke found exactly what he was looking for.”
I don't move from the chair, holding Janie's gaze for another beat. “Maybe I did.”
A blush spreads across her cheeks, and she finally ducks under my arm, smoothing down her gown when she stands. “We should…um, find the book.”
Lauren immediately starts searching the shelves while Tate makes a beeline for a glass case at the back of the library.
“Hey, Sheriff,” I protest. “I think we get first dibs on searching the room.”
“All’s fair in scavenger hunts and hockey,” Tate says over his shoulder.
I signal for Janie to help me search the opposite side. “Let them have that half. There’s got to be more than one book in here that’s older than hockey.”
She stops on a thick leather-clad book that would make a good doorstop. She takes it from the shelf and studies the gold-embossed cover.
“A Complete History of Winter Sport, 1723,” she reads. “When was hockey invented?”
Tate speaks up from the other end of the room. “Hockey wasn’t invented until the 1870s.”
“Thanks, Sheriff.” I give Tate a nod before he and Lauren head off in search of the next item. “We found our book.”
She snaps a picture before I study the next item on the list. “It says here we need a photo of Mr. Marco in a swimsuit.”
“Seriously?” Janie asks. “Do you think he’d have one on display in the house?”
“The man has a closet full of mirrors, so anything’s possible,” I say, heading for the door.
We spend the next thirty minutes exploring rooms on every level and come up short, failing to find the picture we need. But we manage to mark off two other things on our list—a picture of the first sports team Mr. Marco owned, as well as his favorite dog, a Great Dane named Crush.
While we explore his mansion, we discover an indoor putting green, a showroom dedicated to his car collection, and what appears to be a shrine to Mr. Marco’s short-lived NHL hockey career.
I’m ready to give up when Janie stops in the hall. “Where would Mr. Marco keep pictures from high school?”
“That could be literally anywhere.”
“How about his office?”
“I think it’s off the east wing on the first floor. Why?”
“Follow me.” She heads down the stairs without explanation.
After at least one wrong turn and a loop around the same hallway twice, we finally find Raphael Marco’s office, a massive space decorated in a minimalist style with sleek modern art on the walls, a huge cherrywood desk in the center flanked by matching bookshelves, and a stunning floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the sprawling estate.
Janie heads straight for one set of bookshelves while I take the other. Framed awards, a dozen trophies, and a ridiculous number of honorary degrees line the shelves, but nothing related to swimming.
“I don’t see any pictures of Marco in here,” I note as I reach the end of the shelf.
“Found it!” Janie says, whirling around with a book and a triumphant smile. She holds up his high school yearbook.
“What?” I’m across the room in a few strides. “How’d you know?”
“I didn’t. It was just a hunch that he might have been part of a high school swim team.” She holds up a picture of a young Raphael Marco—a scrawny freshman in a very small Speedo.
I grimace at the picture. “And that's an image that’s going to haunt me every Monday morning staff meeting for the rest of my life.”
“He’s actually kind of cute,” Janie observes.
“Stop. I have to look this man in the eye tomorrow.”
We take a picture of the yearbook, then return to the main hall, when we almost collide into Brax and Jaz coming around a corner.
“How many items do you have left?” I glance over what I can see of their scavenger hunt list.
“Two,” Brax says. “You?”
“One.”
“We’re behind,” Jaz mutters to Brax. “I knew we shouldn’t have spent so much time in that closet…”
Brax adjusts his tie. “You said you wanted to be thorough.”
“I said check the TOP shelf, not—” She catches herself, then glances away. Her hair’s mussed and Brax has lipstick on his cheek. “Somebody got distracted.”
“That would be me,” Brax admits cheerfully. “Even if we lose…totally worth the detour.”
We find our way to the main hall, where a disgusted Brendan slumps on a bench, his eyes fixed on Scarlett and Jaxon at the top of the curved staircase.
Scarlett’s laughing at something Jaxon said, completely oblivious to the man staring at her from below. When Jaxon’s hand brushes her waist, Brendan’s grip tightens on his champagne flute.
“Do you mind if I go say hi to Scarlett?” Janie asks me.
“Not at all,” I say, knowing this might be the only chance I get to talk to Brendan alone.
I make my way over to him, but he’s too focused on Scarlett to even notice I’m there.
“I think you need to call it a night, man,” I say, reaching for his glass and pouring the rest into a nearby planter. “Before you do something that gets you in trouble.”
Drinking can really mess a guy up—I saw that firsthand as a kid—which is why I don’t have a problem stopping Brendan from doing something dumb.
He slowly stands, his brow furrowing in frustration.
“Step out of my way, Rourke.” He sounds nothing like the usually laid-back man I know.
Right now, I’m staring into the eyes of an ex-Marine who’s also my conditioning coach—and could take any of us down if he wanted to.
“I’m watching that man put his hands on her.
What does she see in him anyway?” His voice is laced with frustration.
“She’s not your girlfriend,” I remind him. “She came here with Jaxon.”
“Because I didn’t ask her first.” He tries to take a step forward, but I put a hand out to stop him. He motions toward her. “And now look at her. She’s smiling at him.”
“Brendan.” I grab his shoulder firmly. “You need to go home. I’ll get you an Uber.”
He steps back, then slumps against the bench again. “I’m not going anywhere. Not while he’s…” His gaze drifts toward the stairs, where Jaxon is now whispering something in Scarlett’s ear.
“Bren…” I say, getting in his face. “Nothing’s going to happen while they’re here. Jaxon’s not stupid.”
He stares at her, gut-punched. “What does he have that I don’t?”
“Come on, Bren, you know Scarlett can handle herself. She’s a grown woman who can make her own choices.”
Brendan’s eyes snap to her, and he’s visibly pained by the sight of them together. “But I don’t want her choosing him.”
“That’s not your decision to make.”
But Brendan isn’t listening anymore. His attention is focused on Jaxon, leading Scarlett away for the scavenger hunt.
“Where are they going?” Brendan lurches to his feet.
“Brendan, stop.” I step directly in front of him to keep him from making a fool of himself. “Whatever you’re thinking of doing, don’t.”
“I’m not thinking,” he says. “I’m done thinking.”
He tries to push past me, but I grab his shoulder before he can follow them. “This isn’t you, man,” I say urgently. “The Brendan I know doesn’t act like this.”
“What?”
“Like you're about to challenge Jaxon to a duel. Scarlett won’t respect that.”
He pauses, studying me, like I’m finally getting through.
“You're right.” Then his face lights up like he has another idea. “Wait…maybe she needs to see another side of me.”
I don’t like the sound of this. “What side is that?”
“My romantic side.”
I shake my head. “No. Definitely not a good idea.”
“Just you wait—” And with that, he shrugs off my grip and stalks toward the bottom of the stairs. “Scarlett!” he calls, oblivious to all the people staring at him.
Scarlett turns around, leaning over the second-floor railing with a concerned expression. “Brendan?” She glances around nervously as more people turn to stare at the man making a scene. “What are you doing?”
“I need to talk to you,” he says. “Actually…no, not talk. I want your attention.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose as if he’s thinking through the fog in his brain. That’s when I start to wonder how many drinks he’s had tonight.
“I think…” He blinks hard, then squares his shoulders. “I want to serenade you,” he says, far too loudly.
Scarlett’s eyes widen. “Brendan…uh, are you okay?”
“I’m better than okay,” he exclaims, with the bravado of someone who should definitely not be making decisions right now.
And then, to my absolute horror, he starts singing to her. Loudly.
If that wasn’t enough, he’s singing a melody that I think is a Taylor Swift song, but he’s making up the lyrics as he goes—a train wreck of a remix that should never see the light of day.
“Oh, no,” I mutter under my breath. This is even worse than him punching Jaxon.
Janie grabs my elbow. “Is he seriously singing to her right now?”
“Yep. And he’s going to hate himself tomorrow.”
I step forward, tapping Brendan’s shoulder lightly. “Brendan, maybe you should—”
He waves me off. “Wait, I’m not done!”
“Please stop,” I say. “You’re not even singing the right words.”
“I know that!” he says, then immediately softens his voice and continues singing off-key.
Scarlett covers her mouth and her shoulders shake with laughter. Apparently, this song is some kind of inside joke between them.
When he finally finishes, Scarlett shakes her head, but she’s still smiling. “Brendan Marco…” she calls down to him. “That was the worst song I’ve ever heard in my life.”
“I know,” he agrees. “But did it work?”
She bites her lip, considering his question. “Ask me when you’ve had less champagne.” Then she disappears from the railing.
Brendan stands there, grinning at the place where she was standing, before turning around.
“She liked it,” he murmurs. Then he frowns as the reality of what he’s done finally sinks in. “Wait, did I just…?”
I clap him on the back. “Yeah, man. You really did.”
His eyes widen in horror. “OH, NO. I’m never showing my face again at a party.”
“That’s probably a good idea,” I say gently as Brendan heads toward the door.
I shake my head as Janie steps next to me. “Well, that could have gone worse.”
“How?”
“He could’ve tried to dance.”
She takes my arm and squeezes it. “You’re a good friend, Rourke—for stepping in like that.”
“It didn’t help,” I say with a shrug. “I couldn’t stop him from humiliating himself.”
“No, but you tried. That’s what matters.” When I turn to her, there’s pride in her expression.
I clear my throat, needing to focus on something other than the way she’s making me wish we were alone.
I pull out the list again. “Do you want to finish the game?”
“The scavenger hunt? I almost forgot!” She scans the paper to the last item on the list. “A hockey jersey that’s never been worn.” Janie frowns. “I saw a few in his hockey room, but they had all been used.” She spins around, scanning our surroundings.
“Janie,” I say, taking her hand. “I need to tell you something.”
“Rourke, we don’t have time right now. We need to find that jersey—”
“That’s what I’m trying to explain.” I squeeze her hand. “I already have one.”
She freezes. “What?”
“A jersey. In my car. He didn’t say it had to be his jersey.”
Her mouth falls open slightly. “You’ve been carrying around a brand-new jersey? But why?”
“I brought it tonight because I was hoping…” I stop, my thoughts jumbling as I gaze down at her, suddenly at a loss for words. “I thought that maybe when we went to the arena—you’d want to wear it.”
For a moment, she just stares at me. Then her face breaks into a smile. “You want me to wear your jersey?”
I slide my arms around her waist. “I do. Because the only thing better than my name on that jersey…” I tug her closer. “…is my name on you.”