Page 57 of The Groupie

“Candice, what the hell are you doing here? They let you wander this far out of Boston?”

She laughs, and then her forehead wrinkles in concern as she touches my cheek. Or tries to, but I push her hand away.

“You got quite the shiner in that fight.”

“At least I didn’t get stitches like the other guy.”

She laughs. “No. Somehow the black eye and swollen cheek give you a certain tough-guy j’ne sais quoi that only makes you look even sexier. If that’s possible.”

“Look, I—”

“I know. I’m holding you up. I’m actually here visiting with friends, but I wanted to let you know we set up the bachelor-about-town-date—that’s what we’re calling it for our feature. It’s a go after Saturday’s game.”

“That’s three days from now.” In my head, I’m counting down. That will leave me five days until Rylee’s expiration. Fuck. “My family is waiting, Candice. Text me the details.”

I pull away from her and head for the warm embrace of my family. For a split second, I expect to see Bill here with me because he was always around us like he was part of the family, but he never made it this far. He gave up on us, on himself.

Don’t do that. Don’t give up. In my head, it makes no sense, but in my heart, it’s all about Rylee and me, and the sheer difficulty of getting past her defenses squeezes my chest so that my super comfortable suit feels like it’s a band of steel suffocating me.

“Zak, sweetheart.” Mom reaches out for me first, capturing me in a hug, and even though she squeezes me, it eases the tightness, and I shove Rylee aside, determined to stay in the present and give my family my best.

After they fawn over me and my black eye and go from scolding to applauding to laughing at me for my performance in the game and the fight, we reach the restaurant, which is Dad’s favorite and the one our family traditionally saves for important occasions.

Jett is here to greet me as soon as I walk in.

“What brings you to Minnesota? Don’t tell me you have some bad news?” I hold onto my smile and hope to hell he has an offer from the team because I am more worried than is reasonable about bad news.

“Nothing bad. Would I do that to you?” He gives me a bro-hug and embraces my mom and sisters like he’s part of the family and not intruding at all. In truth, he’s always been welcome by my family since I first signed with him five years ago. He shakes my dad’s hand, and we follow the hostess to a big round table in the corner.

“To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?” Dad asks as soon as the server leaves.

“We got an offer from the Brawlers that I think would be tough to refuse.” He grins at Dad, who speaks his language—money.

“Spill it,” I say though I don’t need to hear it to know I’m going to accept it. I can’t stand another minute of being in contract limbo. He tells us, and my father whistles, my sisters give each other high fives, and my mom tears up.

“You’re so amazing,” she says to Jett.

He points to me. “There’s the amazing guy. He makes my job easy with his performance on the ice. Plus, that doesn’t even count the new promotional deals I’ve been lining up. Did he tell you about them?”

Shit. “No, let’s not talk—”

“No. Let’s hear about it,” Mom says. She always gets a kick out of my promotions, and my sisters look too eager because this is where they get the most out of giving me shit—for my lack of acting ability or the lame products or whatever else they can pick on every single time.

Jett winks at me. “He’s teaming up with Rylee Flynn, the Olympic snowboarder, to do some commercials for a line of sunglasses.”

“First I heard of it.” I can’t help smiling as I picture Rylee on the slopes in one of those skintight outfits they wear, sporting sunglasses with her hair blowing wild—

“That sounds like a good one,” Mom says.

“I bet it pays well,” Dad says.

My sisters eye me, and the loudmouth pipsqueak among them opens up. “Why Rylee Flynn? No one’s ever heard of her unless they’re a snowboarding nerd like me.”

“It turns out she and your brother are—”

“Acquaintances.” I glare at Jett, and he has the good grace to nod.

“Really?” The pipsqueak has the devil in her eyes as she stares at me. “You sure that’s all there is to it? Because she’s quite attractive, and I can’t imagine Boston’s Bachelor of the Year being acquainted with a gorgeous woman without—”