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Aubrey didn’t need an explanation for why her mom called Flynn a player. “We’ll navigate it as best we can. Don’t worry. This is what I went to college for, after all.”
“I’m just afraid he’ll try to take advantage of a sweet, trusting girl like you.”
“I need to go, Mom. Don’t worry about me, okay? Everything’s going to be fine.”
“Do you need to go because he’s there? Are you at your apartment? If you’re going to insist on having a relationship with this man, then at the very least, spend most of your time at his house. I’m sure he lives in a gorgeous mansion. Let him spend money on you, honey. Take advantage of what he has to offer you financially,” her mom encouraged.
“Can’t believe you’d suggest that—I’m not a gold digger, Mom.” Good Lord, the woman had clearly lost it. “Talk to you later, okay?” She hung up before her mother could get another word in. She set her laptop aside and stretched out on her bed, tired of dealing with…everything.
It wasn’t even six o’clock, and she was already exhausted. What with Harvey, Flynn, the reporters and photographers, and now her mother, she was done. She needed a nap. Forget her growling stomach and the work she still needed to do. It would all still be there in a few hours. Or tomorrow.
…
Flynn drove, his grip tight on the steering wheel of his brand-new truck Harvey had picked up for him so they could throw the paparazzi off his trail, his gaze never straying from the road in front of him. He was a man on a mission, and nothing was going to distract him.
The shrill ring that filled the interior of the vehicle blew that thought to pieces. Worse, the man calling him sent his mood straight into Shitsville.
Reaching out, he hit the button on his bluetooth and answered the call. “Hey Dad,” he said. Waiting for the verbal blow that he knew would come.
“Son.” That was it. Nothing else.
Flynn clutched the steering wheel even tighter, if that was possible. “What’s up?”
“Your aim was off.”
No kind words, no congratulations on your team making it another step in the play-offs. Just immediate criticism. He was surprised it had taken him this long to call.
Welcome to the world of having James Foley as a father.
“I played maybe five minutes,” Flynn retorted, wincing the moment the words came out of his mouth. What was it about talking to his father that turned him immediately into a sullen teen?
“And for those five minutes, your aim was off. You’re throwing to your left. Didn’t your coach mention that? Haven’t you guys been working on this fault of yours?”
He sure had, not that Flynn would admit it to his father. Besides, he was damn lucky they’d given him a few minutes of field time. Quinn’s shoulder had been acting up, and they’d had such a strong lead going into the fourth quarter, they’d let him out to play. “Listen, we won the game, so isn’t that good enough?”
“No thanks to you,” his father muttered. “If you think you’re going to stay on with the team with that sort of game play, you’re sorely mistaken.”
Flynn pressed his lips together to keep in the string of awful words that wanted to pour out. He rarely disrespected his father and hadn’t done so in years. He hadn’t ever displeased his father much to earn this barrage of words, either, until this season. Last season had been amazing, what with him having to step in and take over for Quinn while he was out with his shoulder injury. Flynn had done well, earned a ton of press, and had been sitting on top of the world.
They’d called him Golden Boy. He’d been on the cover of freaking Sports Illustrated, for the love of God. His dad had bragged to everyone what a superstar his boy was. Never doubting Flynn or his skills for one single moment. Flynn hadn’t doubted his skills, either. He felt as though he’d not only conquered the world but damn near owned it.
Until Quinn had come back this season, fresh and better than ever, knocking Flynn right off his pedestal. They kept Flynn on, just in case, scared that Quinn could reinjure himself, but it never happened. He played as if he hadn’t been injured, worming his way back into everyone’s eyes, minds, and hearts as though he’d never freaking left.
Then the guy had to go fall in love with and marry the sweetest woman on the planet. Everyone loved Jared and Sheridan. They were the perfect couple.
And now the media mocked Flynn as much as they could. Why wasn’t he playing? What happened to the Golden Boy? The rumors, the gossip, the harsh criticisms—they all spurred him on and made him want to play harder. Better. Faster.
“If they trade me, there’s nothing I can do about it,” Flynn finally said to his father, not really giving a crap any longer. He’d loved the Hawks since he was a kid, because it was his dad’s favorite team. He’d wanted to play with them ever since he could remember…with his father’s influence, of course. And when it actually happened, when he’d been signed with the Hawks right out of college, it had been like a dream come true for both him and his father.
But they didn’t play him anymore. He was going nowhere, and he was wasting valuable time. Everyone knew it, too, and he sensed a trade could happen. Nothing personal, he just knew his chances with the Hawks were slim to none, what with Quinn being completely unstoppable. Flynn was sick of sitting on a bench. He wanted to play.
“You want to be traded? Are you insane?” His father sounded incredulous. No surprise. The very last thing he wanted was Flynn leaving the Hawks. He bragged about his son as much as possible, not that he’d done much talking lately. “You’re not helping matters with this girl you’re seeing. Your publicist.”
The disgust in his father’s voice was no surprise. Flynn didn’t know how to
answer him, either.
“I don’t know what I want.” That was the truth. “And keep Aubrey out of this.” He flicked the vehicle’s blinker on and turned right on Aubrey’s street. Yep, he was going there. He didn’t have a choice. She was all he could think about. She freaking consumed his thoughts, and he knew it was crazy but damn it, he needed to see her. Make sure she was all right.
