Whatever Happens Next (Triplets Book 2) Page 15

  The ease. Chemistry. The dance of something so beautiful it leaves an imprint.

  Chelsea sets the plates out. I bring over the bowl filled with spaghetti and meatballs. We move about the kitchen while we wait for the breadsticks to bake.

  We don’t speak, both unwilling to voice aloud what we know is ending.

  Talking is overrated.

  Chelsea’s at the table, bending forward with her ass perked up in my direction. She’s placing napkins and silverware down.

  My feet move before I bother re-thinking what I’m about to do.

  I grip her waist and spin her to face me. My mouth finds hers, desperate and confused.

  She turns me inside out. I feel like everything I’ve always known doesn’t make sense anymore.

  Her arms circle my neck. The second she’s holding on, I grab her thighs and lift her onto the table. My hands snake up her soft legs. A guttural moan rips through me when I find nothing beneath her dress.

  At some point, I’m going to have to tell Brooks he needs to replace every piece of furniture he owns. He’s not going to want any of it back when he finds out all the places Chelsea and I have had sex.

  Palms traveling higher, I brush across her stomach and over her lavishing breasts. She moans into my mouth, a hand grabbing my ass and forcing me further into her open center.

  I move quickly with unbuttoning my shorts. To hell with the rest of our clothes. I’m too hungry to be inside her.

  The instant Chelsea’s wrapped tightly around me, I stop. Stop to feel her. Stop to memorize her scent. Stop to hear the uneven breaths and mewls she makes when I’m buried deep.

  By the time we’re done, our breadsticks are burnt and steam no longer rises from the spaghetti. But we don’t complain. We eat that cold pasta.

  • • •

  I DROVE MY car to a stop outside the tall iron gate leading up to my new home. Mom and Dad were parked outside the fence, waiting there first. This is what they’ve wanted for a long time—to have all their sons living in the same place again.

  My brothers were on their way too. Buying a house was a family affair.

  I parked in the circular drive, gazing up at the white, wood-framed mansion. It was much bigger than I ever planned on purchasing, but it had history. Built it 1909 and one of the oldest houses in South Tampa, the established property was on a two-acre lot with more rooms and amenities than I knew what to do with. But from the second I stepped onto its paved driveway I knew this was the one.

  My mom fawned all over the place as she walked up the steps leading through the front door, and more so once she got inside.

  It was spacious and echoed in a way old homes never seem to get rid of. The house has its original flooring, but the rest has been fully restored.

  “Uhhh…Gasparilla at your place next year!” Cam shouted his arrival from outside.

  Gasparilla in Tampa was once a year in February. The pirate invasion day was a parade of floats that coasted down Bayshore Blvd. Lots of beads and booze. A big party day. Triplets doubled its revenue this year because it was so close to the route of the floats.

  “Why did you not tell us the house was on Bayshore?” Brooks walked in with Cam.

  “You lived on Bayshore. What’s special about mine?” I ask.

  “I had a penthouse on Bayshore. It’s different.”

  “Not really,” Cam droned. “Both of you sound like rich douches when you say you live on Bayshore.”

  “He’s jealous.”

  “Don’t be jealous.”

  Brooks and I respond at the same time.

  “Alex, are you keeping all of this furniture?” Mom asks, returning downstairs after exploring every square foot.

  “No. It’s not my style. But the previous owner knocked off some digits because he didn’t want to deal with the hassle of moving it out. Since the movers should be here soon, and they screwed up my delivery, I’m getting them to load all this up for free.”

  “Savvy,” Cam grins.

  “That’s our GM, pops.” Brooks clapped Dad on the back.

  Everyone followed me outside. I showed them around the gardens and ponds, the guesthouse on the back of the property, and ended at the one of a kind pavilion near the pool.

  “This is stunning, sweetheart.”

  “It’s a lot of space for one man. I hope you plan on filling it with babies.” Dad always finds a way to slip in his desire to be a grandpa.

  “Speaking of baby,” Brooks says, distracted with his focus on his phone. He doesn’t notice how everyone turns their attention to him. “Jo is pulling up.”

  Brooks lifts his head.

  Mom gasps, hands flying toward her mouth in awe.

  Dad starts laughing, a mix of excitement and nerves and tears.

  Brooks’s deep-set eyebrows shoot up. “Oh! No! I meant baby as in she’s my baby. My boo. My angel.”

  Mom smacks him.

  “Why the hell would you say speaking of then?!” Dad yells.

  “’Cause she’s my… Never mind. I see the confusion.”

  We went back inside. The front door was left unlocked. Jo walks through it, a peaceful glimmer on her face until Dad shouts across the open room and into the foyer.

  “Are you pregnant?” His voice bounces off the floors and walls.

  Jo’s face freezes.

  “She’s not pregnant,” Brooks groans, sliding up next to his girlfriend.

  Dad slumps. Clearly he was hoping they were playing a trick on him.

  “Thanks for coming by. You didn’t have to. I know you have a lot of work to get done before your trip.” I give Jo a hug after everyone else.

  “Are you kidding? I looked this place up online. You have a Chef’s style kitchen.”

  “So you can take breaks for Alex’s fancy kitchen but not for your boyfriend?” Brooks always needs to be the center of attention.

  Jo kisses his pout. “Yes.”

  Then she walks off, Mom taking her straight through.

  “My workday was shot, anyway.” Jo spins around in a circle in the large kitchen. “I had to run over to the apartment and help Chelsea pack and then take her to the airport.”

  My eyes whip across the room. The large windows looking onto the terrace now at my back.

  “You what?” Five sets of eyes snap toward my antagonistic response.

  Brooks looks ready to drown me in my new pool for the hostile sound in my voice directed at his woman.

  It was not my intention to lash out, but the unforeseen words that were coming out of Jo’s mouth twisted me up inside.

  Nervously—something I would feel terrible about if I could focus on anything besides the knot in my stomach—Jo answers me.

  “She called me this morning, upset. She needed help packing as much as she could take. I dropped her off about an hour ago. Her flight to Vancouver was last minute. Apparently what happened…”

  I don’t hear the rest. All I acknowledge is that Chelsea is gone.

  When I left this morning, she was in my bed. We were up late. I kept her up late, accepting our fling has come to an end.

  She woke up as I was leaning down to kiss her sleeping lips. She was meant to come by and help me move. It wasn’t necessary, I had movers coming to do all the work, but I wasn’t about to give her reason not to see me one more time.

  As I sat at the title office signing thousands of pages to close on my house, she was never far from my thoughts.

  Signature. Initial. Convince Chelsea to stay the night with me.

  It was a terrible idea.

  The apartment was our bubble. It’s the reason why our hookup started and worked so well. Her staying at my new place put us out in the open. Made it vulnerable to getting caught.

  But five days just wasn’t enough.

  The secret I warned her about was blowing up in my face. I knew our fling had to end, but I thought we had more time. More time to see if the way I was beginning to feel about her would go away. More time to do something about
it if it didn’t.

  She made the decision I could not make. She left and gave us the out we needed.

  And I needed that evasion.

  I had too much on the line.

  She left. It was the right choice.

  It was so fucking wrong.

  Part Two

  CHAPTER 16

  ALEX

  “NOW BOARDING FLIGHT 371 to Vancouver.”

  I lift my wrist and glance down at my Rolex. Cursing, I quicken my already hurried pace and sprint toward customs.

  I’m going to miss the flight and then everyone is going to kick my ass. The relentless pressure for me to go never ceased despite the million little excuses I gave. As families tend to do, they rode my ass until I yielded.

  I needed to stop worrying about my job. It was taking over my mind and the season hadn’t even begun yet. But this couldn’t have been a worse time to give in to their badgering. The draft was in three weeks.

  Mom liked reminding me to relax while I can. General managers worked as many hours and days as the players and coaches. There was one exception to her reasoning: I’ve been without a job for close to two years. I’ve rested plenty. I am hardly ever relaxed so not much good can fix that.

  But this is only a couple of days. One last time to unplug from my upcoming responsibility.

  Customs check went reasonably quick. I grabbed my carry on and hustled toward the doors that will take me to my awaiting flight.

  I scanned the boarding signs.

  Vancouver.

  Chelsea.

  I hurried along a wide, carpeted corridor, feet slowing as I stared at the view of departing airplanes on my right. Beyond the glass, flight 371 was cruising toward the runway. I gazed longingly as the plane steered further and further away, preparing to take off and travel to the place that’s kept her away.

  That wasn’t my flight.

  Vancouver was not my destination.

  It’s been two months since she left. I haven’t heard from her once.

  I walked away from the larger terminals until I found the exit to take me outside to the smaller runways. I flew from Tampa to Miami this morning, then from here I’m flying to the private island Brooks and Jo have been vacationing on for almost a month.

  They spent the first three weeks by themselves. Our birthday was on the last day they were there, and Jo wanted Cam and me to fly over. She wound up inviting others from what Brooks told me. Everyone flew out together three days ago. Chelsea could have been with them, but I never asked. As close as she is with Jo, I couldn’t imagine her not being there.

  I absolutely would not break and ask.

  It was hard enough to worm my way out of my families curiosity towards my reaction of Chelsea leaving. Everyone seemed to brush it off as my way of speaking. I was blunt and formal most of the time.

  My attempts to get out of this short vacation had nothing to do with Chelsea. Even if I saw her again, the situation remained. There were consequences for being with her. And she would be returning to Canada no matter what.

  Chelsea was as far away from my thoughts as she was in distance.

  I have work to get done. Tapes to study, a budget in desperate need of repair, and contracts and trade offers to review. I had tough decisions piling on top of me. Players I wanted but may not be able to keep because someone didn’t know how to handle the Fury’s money.

  My to-do list was being alleviated some by my assistant at least. I left him in charge of a few tasks, even ones that had nothing to do with the draft.

  I pushed out into the stifling, late spring Miami heat with the long strap of my bag draped across my body. I slowed my walk as I searched for the jet I was taking to the island.

  “Mr. Labelle?” A man in his early fifties, tanned to the extent his face looked as rough as my leather bag, approached me in his tropical button down shirt and shorts that stopped above his knees.

  “Yes. Hi. Sorry, I’m late.”

  “No worries. We’re all set for takeoff.”

  I walked in step beside him, scanning the tarmac for the jet.

  None of these aircrafts were big enough in size to be a jet.

  There was one out to the left that could be it. Not quite as large as the ones I’ve flown in the past, but close.

  “Here we are. I can take your bag, or you can hold onto it in the cabin. Plenty of space since you’re my only passenger.” The captain kept speaking as he made his way forward.

  Toward something that was not a jet.

  Brooks said “jet.”

  This…Playmobil looked like it was held together by blocks.

  “You’re Captain George, correct?” I ask when he opens the door on the side of the airplane.

  It doesn’t even need steps to get inside.

  “Yep. That’d be me.”

  “And you’re flying to a private island east of the Bahamas?”

  “Yes.” He sent me a strange look.

  He thought I was strange?

  I scratch the stubble on my jaw that I didn’t bother shaving this morning.

  “Is there a problem, Mr. Labelle?”

  “My brother told me I would be taking a jet.”

  “Ah. Well, this is a Piper. She’s just as safe as a jet.”

  I nod.

  My head is still bobbing as I buckle in and Captain George starts the engine.

  “If it makes you feel any better, my recommendation for your brother was to fly my Cessna since I was only carrying you on board. He preferred I’d take something bigger.”

  “I’ll be sure to thank him for being so kind,” I reply dryly.

  I’m not a fan of flying. A giant tin can in the air has never made me feel like it was the safest way to travel. I preferred taking a boat. I asked Brooks to pick me up in the boat. He has one on the island, for crying out loud. But that would take about four hours compared to the twenty or thirty minutes by plane.

  When I played hockey, we traveled by air. Didn’t like it back then either, but those planes were large and roomy and with the help of headphones I could drown out all sounds.

  The best noise-canceling headphones ever made could not keep out the racket a small aircraft makes.

  The flight was fast though. In a blink, we were descending onto a short landing strip on the private island. I say in a blink because it was a very long blink. I shut my eyes from the moment we took off and didn’t open them until I felt our descent.

  The island’s runway was located near a single boat dock. An airplane hangar was just ahead. The owner of the island piloted his own plane when coming back and forth with his wife.

  This side of the island didn’t have much of a beach view. There was a boardwalk from the dock that led straight into the trees, likely toward the house or the other side of the island. The whole place was small enough to walk around and not get lost.

  As I stepped off the toy airplane, I could make out a massive house just through the brush of palm trees.

  Brooks and Cam materialized right as my feet landed on the boardwalk and Captain George was turning his airplane around for takeoff.

  “That wasn’t a jet, asshole.”

  “Did he tell you he wanted to fly his Cessna? I had to pay him extra to fly the Piper.”

  “I wanted to pick you up by boat.” Cam’s always been my favorite brother, but that earned him even more clout above Brooks.

  We put off going inside by walking over to where the boat was docked. Since moving to Florida, I’ve had the itch to buy one. Everywhere I look either someone is towing a boat or out on the water driving one.

  Brooks mentioned Jo was putting together lunch for everyone at the house, so we headed that way.

  Tugging at the strap near my neck, I ask, “So who’s all here?”

  I swear I hear Cam chuckle, but when I turn to check he’s looking elsewhere.

  “No one from the team,” Brooks answers.

  During that day we took a yacht to the Keys, Jo picked up on Eddie acting uncomfortabl
e around Chelsea. Brooks had a talk with his teammate, which led into a big argument about Brooks allowing his girlfriend to pick sides between his teammate and her friend. The idiot didn’t know when to shut his mouth and went on to say Brooks and Jo were likely not going to last very long.

  We had to pull my hotheaded brother off Eddie before his body had to be fished out of the Gulf.

  After that, Brooks was cooling it on hanging with his teammates if they couldn’t understand Chelsea was their friend and she wasn’t going anywhere.

  “Jo’s friends come?” I ask.

  Now I know I hear Cam laughing.

  “Yeah. The usual,” Brooks answers.

  We walked a couple more feet before I follow up with, “So Taytum and Nick.”

  Neither one responds. Brooks finds a palm tree to admire, and Cam rolls his eyes skyward with a whistle.

  A few more feet.

  An expanded deck surrounding an in-ground pool is on the other side of the clearing.

  I clear my throat. “Did Chelsea come too?”

  They explode into shouts of laughter and I-told-you-sos.

  “Dude, you were right.” Brooks stops walking, raising a finger at Cam.

  Cam’s not trying to suppress his amusement anymore. “I called it from the beginning.”

  Brooks’s jaw falls open. “Since when?”

  “What’s going on?” I glare at them both, turning my back on the house up ahead.

  We’re standing in the middle of a heavily wooded area at the center of the island. The boardwalk, built to wind and curve through the trees, takes a person from the house to the dock. It’s shaded, but the sun is right above us and still beats down with unbearable heat.

  Two sets of identical eyes slide my way.

  Brooks adjusts his hat, finger-combing his long strands before setting it back on top. He’s aiming to interrogate, but the stupid grin on his face doesn’t match. “Why don’t you tell us.”

  “I just got here,” I state the obvious.

  “Fine. Let me rephrase that, King of Secrecy. Why don’t you tell us what happened two months ago? When you were living in my apartment. With Chelsea.” Brooks shoots it straight, but he would be terrible as an investigator.