Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
Brendan
I’m still carrying Finn on my shoulders as we wander through the carnival, long past the point where our feet started hurting. Scarlett has a plastic flower tucked behind her ear from a carnival game. Normally I’d have opinions about plastic flowers. On her, it looks good.
“I’m in the mood for ice cream,” she says. “Have you seen a place?”
“They don’t have one at Junk Food Alley. But I know where we can go.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re sliding into a corner booth at Jeb’s Ice Cream Parlor, the place where Eli, Scarlett, and I spent entire summers back in high school. The black-and-white checkered floor and matching booths haven’t changed, and neither have the chocolate milkshakes.
I order two and settle across from Scarlett, arranging Finn in the booth next to her, like an extra guest.
“Okay, so why didn’t you play hockey growing up?” she asks as soon as our milkshakes arrive. “Your uncle’s always been such a huge fan.”
I take a sip, buying time. This isn’t a story I tell often. “Well, my uncle used to play until he got injured and had to quit. So did my dad. Hockey was his favorite sport, so he wanted me to play too—even bought me my first skates when I was four.” I pause. “But my mom wouldn’t let me.”
“Too rough?” She stirs her straw.
“No. Because of my asthma.”
She frowns, tilting her head. “I didn’t know you had asthma.”
“It’s under control now, but it was a real problem when I was a kid. Couldn’t run without my inhaler or be outside in cold air without wheezing. My mom watched me turn blue once when I was eight, and after that, she wouldn’t let me play sports.”
Her eyes widen. “Nothing at all?”
“Nope.” It’s still not fun to talk about, even after all these years. “I tried once. Snuck onto the ice at the arena when my family wasn’t looking, but I had an attack so bad, they rushed me to the hospital.”
Her hand reaches across the table, fingers brushing mine. “Brendan, that’s terrible.”
I shrug. “I never thought hockey would be in my future. I knew my uncle and father were disappointed. Everyone in my family had a sport—and I couldn’t even step on the ice without struggling to breathe. I was always on the sidelines, watching my friends play and feeling left out.”
Her gaze does a quick sweep over me. “But you’re like, ridiculously fit now.”
“Yeah, well, I’m making up for lost time.” I give her a small smile. “My asthma improved as I got older, with the right combination of meds. I started to outgrow the worst of it in high school, and by my junior year I could finally play some sports without my mom having a panic attack.”
I take another sip. “Then Carmen’s accident happened, and it threw our whole family into crisis. Mom was suddenly afraid of losing both of us.”
Scarlett stops drinking to look at me. “But you just said you were doing better.”
“Yes, but I was leaving for the Marines soon. By then, we’d lost Dad, and Mom just couldn’t take any more loss.”
I can still picture the fluorescent lights in the hospital room, the long hours waiting for news.
“Uncle Rafael got us specialists and paid for everything. He’d been doing that since my dad died.
When Carmen’s accident happened, he took charge, like he always does.
Which is also why it’s hard to say no to him. ”
“But you left anyway,” she says, between sips. “That must have been hard.”
“Everything in my life was falling apart at once. My sister’s life was on the line, and to top it off, I lost you and Eli as friends. Rafael felt like the glue holding things together.”
She studies me. “So you came back from the military to work for him?”
“Not initially,” I say. “I did some conditioning work with a minor-league baseball team for a season first. Then my uncle asked me to come work for the Crushers.”
“What made you say yes?”
“Actually, I wasn’t sure I wanted to move back here.
” I meet her eyes. “I didn’t know where things stood with you or Eli.
If there was anything worth returning for.
” I stir my milkshake. “Rafael has been the closest thing to a father I’ve had since I lost mine.
And my mom encouraged me to take the job.
But I needed to know I could earn it on my own.
That’s still something I’m trying to prove—to myself more than anyone. ”
She looks down at her shake. “That’s why you kept your distance when you came back.” She pauses. “I thought it was because of me.”
“It was.” I meet her eyes. “Just not in the way you thought.”
She waits, not pushing, just giving me space.
“When I came back, I wasn’t sure I deserved to be here.
Not after everything that happened between us.
” I turn my glass slowly. “And then Rafael promised that if I was willing to put in the work, he’d promote me to assistant coach.
But I have to prove myself like everyone else.
” I shake my head. “Actually, that’s not true.
I have to prove myself more than everyone else.
Because I’m the nephew, and people will always wonder if I earned the position or if it was handed to me. ”
“For what it’s worth,” she says. “You’re doing a great job.”
“Says the girl who’s only seen one game.”
“That’s not true.” She sits up straighter. “I’ve been watching them online, and—” She stops abruptly, like she wants to take back everything she just said.
I lean forward on my elbows, unable to stop the smile spreading across my face. “Wait a minute. Go back to that part about watching me online. Don’t tell me you’ve become a Crushers fan, Rossi.”
“I wanted to learn the game,” she says defensively. “And I knew you’d be good at coaching. It’s fun seeing you in this new role.”
“Fun?”
“Don’t let it go to your head, Marco.”
“So you’ve been watching me coach.” I can’t hold back the teasing note in my voice. “Online. In your free time.”
“I’ve been watching the team,” she corrects, but her cheeks are pink.
“Uh-huh.”
“I wanted to understand the game better so I could talk with you about it.” She lifts a shoulder. “I’d like to bring my parents sometime. Maybe Eli, if I can convince him. But I think you’ll need to come over for dinner a few more times first.”
I don’t want to get her hopes up. The surprise dinner with Eli the other week turned out better than I’d expected, but we still avoided the topic of what happened between us years ago.
“How is it working for your uncle?” she asks, returning to the subject.
“He expects a lot. From everyone, but especially from me.”
Scarlett’s the only person I can actually say that to out loud.
“My uncle has always been more invested in the business than anything personal. He was married once, years ago, but it ended badly. She’d wanted the Marco money more than she’d wanted him, and he never quite got over it.
Work became the only thing he trusted.” I push my shake aside.
“I should be grateful I get this opportunity. He gave us everything when our family needed it, and now he’s opening doors for my career.
He never had children, and I sometimes wonder if he sees me as his legacy, the person to carry on what he’s built when he’s ready to step back.
” I shake my head slowly. “But I still feel like that disappointing kid who couldn’t play the game, trying to prove he deserves to be here. ”
“Brendan.” She tilts her head. “You don’t have to prove anything.”
“Don’t I?” I lean back against the vinyl booth. “My uncle gave me this job. My mom pushed me to take it. The other assistant coach thinks I only got the position because of my last name. Maybe he’s right.”
Her eyes widen. “That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it? Every decision I make, every game we lose—I can feel my uncle wondering if he made a mistake putting me in this position.”
She pushes her glass away and fixes her gaze on me. “Or maybe you’re putting all that pressure on yourself because you’re afraid of disappointing people who love you.”
I rest my forearms on the table, letting out a sigh. “There’s that.”
Her eyes drop to my arms again, lingering on the tattoo on my forearm. “Why do you have a flower on your arm?”
I shrug. “Maybe I like flowers.”
Her lips press together, clearly not buying it. “I’ve never seen you gardening a day in your life, Brendan Marco.”
“Okay, you got me,” I say. “Perhaps I have secret dreams of being a farmer?”
She laughs, and the sound lights me up. “No, really. Why is there a rose on your arm, and what does it say underneath?”
I slide my arms off the table before she can read it. “It’s just an important date to me. That’s all.”
She waits, those wide brown eyes studying me as she folds her hands and rests her chin on top. “Well, are you going to tell me the significance?”
“No, I’m not.”
Her face falls. “It’s for some girl, isn’t it?” She lifts a brow. “Someone you met in the Marines?”
I shake my head. “I already told you—I avoided women by playing darts.”
Scarlett crosses her arms and leans back against the booth. “You’re just going to leave me hanging?”
“Yes.”
“Fine.” She pulls her glass close, taking another sip. “Keep your mysterious tattoo secret, I don’t care.”
“Clearly, you do.”
“I don’t.” She’s trying to play it cool, but I can see right through it.
It’s taking every ounce of self-control not to tell her about the date on my arm. “And now you’re pouting because you can’t have your way.”
“I’m not pouting.” But her bottom lip is pushed out so far, a bird couldn’t miss it.
“It’s a good look on you,” I say instead. “Very mature.”
She kicks me under the table, and I bust out laughing.
This is what I’ve been missing in my life.
“So, was tonight enough of a distraction for you?” I ask.
The smile that spreads across her face could power the entire carnival. “Tonight was the best distraction. I owe you one, Marco.”
We take our time meandering back to the Marco mansion. When we finally return to our suite, she goes over to the closet and pulls out a wrapped package.
“I, uh, got you something,” she says, practically sprinting across the room to give it to me. “A last-minute find that seemed destined to be yours.” The look on her face tells me she’s up to something.
“What? You didn’t have to—”
She nods. “Just open it.”
There’s a little note on top. I open it and read it aloud: “Sweet dreams. And you’re welcome, Heart-Jammies.”
Then I look at her. “What did you get me, Scarlett Rossi?”
“I’m just making sure you have appropriate sleepwear for tonight,” she says with a twinkle in her eye.
I unwrap the package to find a pair of lightweight pajamas covered in tiny red hearts—the same pattern as her sleep shorts. They’re the type of sleepwear that no hockey coach would ever be caught dead in, unless he wanted to be teased mercilessly by his players for the rest of his life.
But then it hits me: she actually went out and bought these for me. Which means she was thinking of me.
When I look up, she’s biting back a smile.
“When did you get these?” I ask, holding them up against me.
“While you were at practice,” she answers, looking pleased with herself. “They match mine.”
“I can see that.”
“So we’ll be coordinated!” She tries to look innocent, but I can see the blatant mischief in her eyes. “Very couple-y.”
“I used to mock couples who matched their outfits.”
“Even better.” She turns me toward the bathroom. “Now go try them on.”
When I come out, her eyes dance.
“Well?” I spread my arms, turning in a circle. “How do I look?”
“Like a man who’s totally secure in his masculinity,” she states with an enormous grin.
“That’s one way to put it.” I settle on the squeaky pullout while she buries herself under a truckload of blankets. “By the way, try not to talk in your sleep tonight.”
“I don’t talk in my sleep!”
“Last night you did.”
“What did I say?”
“Just my name,” I say, reaching over to turn off the lamp. “Only about…a dozen times. Give or take.”
“You’re lying!” she says in the dark, then pauses. “Right?”
I smile to myself.
“Brendan?”
“Goodnight, Scarlett.”
I can’t get over the dichotomy between my two worlds right now.
In one world, I’m Coach Marco, trying to prove myself to my team, my uncle, and my entire family. In the other, I’m just Brendan, wearing ridiculous heart pajamas to appease a girl I’ve been in love with since high school.
I’d choose this world any day.