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She put a hand on each of his shoulders, went up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “Remember, you aren’t only a guy who kicks a ball. You’ve got a brain, Flynn, and you’re a decent guy when you try. It’ll be okay.”
He nodded, suddenly eager to hold her tight, rather than let her leave. As she walked away, she looked over her shoulder at him and smiled with luminous white teeth. “And for the record, my name is Joyce.” She gave him a wink before she climbed into the car.
Now she mentioned it, he distinctly remembered the day he’d met her and she introduced herself as Joyce. It made him feel even more foolish over calling her Mindy/Sindy/Bindy for the past two months. As the girls waved and the car disappeared, he felt a sudden surge of panic. He was alone and the future was a huge mountain in front of him. One he didn’t know how to climb. He rubbed his chest at the thought before he remembered his every move was being recorded.
Plastering a lazy smile to his face, he headed towards the stream.
“You can take a break,” he told the camera guy. “I’m gonna snooze beside the water for half an hour. I’ll get you when I wake up.”
The guy lowered the camera. “Thanks, dude.” He lumbered towards his van.
Flynn worked hard to push away the feelings of despair nipping at his mind. He didn’t have time to wallow. He needed to be proactive. He had to come up with a plan for his future. Pity his mind went blank the instant he thought the word “future”—as though his brain was terrified to go there.
As Flynn neared the water, he heard a distressed noise. There was rustling from one of the bushes. With a wince, he crouched down to investigate. Gently pushing back the leaves on a nearby bush, Flynn came face to beak with a terrified duck. There was fishing line wrapped around its wing and the hook was embedded in its side. Flynn cursed under his breath as he reached for the cowering wreck.
“Let’s get you cleaned up, buddy. You’re in a worse state than I am.”
The duck quacked its agreement as Flynn carried it, like it was precious cargo, back to the van.
As he shushed the duck to quiet her, an idea hit Flynn like a bolt of lightning. He knew how to help Abby. He could take away one of he
r problems. He had the resources. He grinned widely. He was a fricking genius. Now all he needed was a minute alone with Katy—and a wallet full of cash.
9
“We must have had ninety-nine percent of the game. It was the other three percent that cost us the match.”
Ruud Gullit, former Dutch national soccer player
Abby was entrenched in hell. After another sleepless night where she tossed and turned with worry, she had the pleasure of her sister’s company again for morning tea. She was holding on to her sanity by a hair, waiting for Katy to say something that would seal their fate. There was no way she’d make it through another five days of this. She wasn’t even sure she’d make it to lunch.
When the doorbell rang, Abby was busy serving tea for her unwanted guests. At least Lawrence was pleasant—when he wasn’t giving Victoria looks of disapproval. Although Abby appreciated his effort on her part, it didn’t do anything to lighten the tension in the air.
“I’ll get it.” Katy ran to open the door, and a moment later, she came back trailing Flynn behind her.
Abby froze, teapot angled as she poured for Lawrence. It was a miracle she didn’t pass out on the spot. The chances of someone saying the wrong thing had just doubled. She couldn’t monitor Katy and Flynn. She had to get rid of him. Now.
Katy cocked a thumb over her shoulder at Flynn, in a move stolen from Matt. “I told him he wasn’t allowed in here, but he says he is. Is that right, Muma? Are we letting him in now, or is he telling big hairy fibs?” She glared back at Flynn, who bugged his eyes out at her.
A hand on her arm brought Abby’s attention back to the tea. Lawrence smiled up at her. His cup had overflowed, leaving him with a saucer of tea.
“I’m terribly sorry,” Abby said, “let me get you another one.”
“How about I deal with the tea and you deal with your guest?” Lawrence stood, taking the overflowing cup and saucer with him.
Abby smiled with fake gratitude. She didn’t want to deal with her guest. She didn’t want to deal with any of her guests. What she did want to do was tell them all to go to hell then slam the door shut behind them.
“Flynn,” she said through a clenched-teeth smile. “What brings you here, of all places you could be right now that aren’t here?” Okay, not very subtle. It was still better than screaming the place down. So, it was a win.
“I came to introduce myself to your lovely sister and her friend. I’m just being a good neighbour.” Flynn’s grin was pure charm. It dazzled. She squinted at his mouth. Were those teeth artificially whitened? She shook her head.
“How lovely. I know how busy you are. It’s kind of you to fit us in—especially when you have that thing you need to get to this morning. Remember the urgent business you told me about. The business you have to do right now. Away from here.” Abby silently communicated, using telepathy, bug eyes and thinned lips that he’d damn well better invent a pressing engagement toot sweet. He seemed not to get the message. Instead he turned to her sister.
“Doesn’t look like Abby wants to introduce us.” He flashed a charming smile. “I’m Flynn Boyle.” He held out a hand to Victoria.
“I’m sorry,” Abby said in a tone clearly revealing she wasn’t. “This is my neighbour.” She glared at Flynn, who ignored it. “This is my sister, Victoria Montgomery-Clark. And this is Lawrence Maynard, my mother’s lawyer.”
Abby watched as Flynn’s mouth twitched when Victoria gave him a limp handshake using barely more than her fingertips.
