The Perfect Life (34 page)

Never before had I been so interested in a football team’s schedule as I was that December. With Colin home from rehab in Miami, Monroe only spent the night at my apartment when he was out of town for an away game. After we’d spend our day working at the MH house—where we had to stop our flirting with a full-time Effie around and other people dropping by regularly to deliver furniture and other items for the home—Monroe would give me a ‘ride’ to my apartment, which ninety-nine percent of the time ended with one of us riding the other, both before and after we ate dinner. Then around nine-thirty or ten, when she’d start yawning incessantly, she’d go home to shower and sleep, and he was none-the-wiser, thinking she’d just been with the kids or working late.

It sucked. And even though I understood why she was waiting to tell him, I hated it. I wanted it over. I wanted to know what was going to happen with us. Where we went next.

“Honestly, I’m not sure,” I finally answered my mom, who was patiently waiting for me to wade through my stream of thoughts. “I wasn’t expecting this. She wasn’t expecting this. And it’s all happened so fast, I don’t think either of us knows what to do. I adore my kids in Chicago. I’ve been at that house since the very beginning, and I’m close friends with my advisors. I don’t want to give all that up, lose all those people who I care about deeply, only for things not to work out between us. And she—” I swallowed hard, emotions burning the back of my throat, “—she can’t leave Boston. At least, not any time soon. She just got this new position at her job, and there are a lot of other things tying her down there.”

I stood up abruptly, striding to the edge of the wood decking, staring blankly out into the yard as if the answers were hidden behind the frozen limbs of the trees and the snow-capped bushes. “I dunno,” I continued on, the hard bite of the wind slapping me in the face when I leaned out too far. “When I talk about it aloud, when I really think about our situation objectively, it seems like there’s more working against us than for us . . .”

“I feel a ‘but’ coming on,” Mom commented as she sidled up next to me, bringing the portable heater with her.

Chuckling softly, I looked over at her and nodded. “But I’d risk it all for her if she asked me to.”

“Then do it,” she urged. “Lay it all out for her. Tell her what you want and what you’ll do to have it. Don’t move back to Chicago two months from now wondering
what if
. Know that if it doesn’t work out, for whatever reason, that it wasn’t from a lack of effort on your part. That’s what love is, Oliver—vulnerability. Handing over your heart to someone, exposed and susceptible, and having the faith they won’t stomp all over it or tear it to shreds.”

I closed my eyes and inhaled a deep breath through my nose as I really thought about her words. Naturally, everything she said made perfect sense, which made me question my decision to not tell Monroe I loved her until after she talked to Colin. Why was I putting that restriction on my love for her? Would her telling Colin have any effect on my feelings for her? Would him knowing make me love her more? Why hadn’t I told her I didn’t want to live without her? That I would sacrifice whatever I needed to if it meant we could be together?

“You’re right,” I finally spoke. “I need to tell her as soon as I get back. I don’t want her to be wondering either.”

Her face lit up like only that of a proud mother. “Excellent! I hoped you’d say that.”

“Whyyyy?” I questioned when her grin morphed into something a little more mischievous.

“Earlier today, I took the liberty of changing your flight back to Boston from Sunday to tomorrow morning,” she admitted, not even bothering to look guilty. “I assumed our talk would end with you seeing things my way, and then I knew you’d be eager to get back to her but not want to hurt my feelings, so I made the decision easy for you. Oh, and before you see her, you may want to clean-up that whole Grizzly Adams thing you’ve got going on your face. I’m all for a well-manicured beard, but I’m pretty sure you’ve got rodents living inside that thing.”

Throwing my arms around her, I lifted her feet off the ground in a massive bear hug, purposely rubbing my facial hair all over her cheek. “Thank you, Mom. And I don’t care what my sisters say, you’re not so bad after all.”

Her open palm met the back of my head before I knew what happened and then she muttered, “Still the same little shit,” as she stomped off into the house.

The swing session had officially ended.

After a six-hour winter weather delay, my flight finally landed at Logan International Airport a little after seven-thirty that Friday night. My hopes to talk to Monroe earlier that afternoon before she needed to get ready for the annual Holiday with the Pats black-tie event she was scheduled to attend with Colin were shot, but I wasn’t discouraged. I was a man on a mission.

Pulling the tux I’d worn to the Mending Hearts gala in August from the closet, I laid it across the bed and disappeared into the bathroom to quickly wash away the grime I always felt after traveling and to address the disheveled mountain man look I was rocking. Mom may have had a point there as well.

A half-hour later, I was ready to go—clean, combed, and clothed. I did a final check in the mirror, and though I really could’ve used a haircut too, it was as good as it was going to get. I just hoped it was good enough.

As I grabbed the invitation Monroe had given me off the bar, the vision of her disappointed face when I told her I’d be at my parents’ for the week of Christmas and wouldn’t be able to make it flashed in my mind. At the time, I’d asked her why she would want me at an event that was for Colin and his teammates, and without hesitation, she replied, “Because I always want you where I am.” When she said it, of course it made me feel all good inside, ‘cause everyone loves to feel wanted, but I didn’t really stop to think about it much past that. Now, I wondered if her words meant more.

It was time to find out.

The taxi ride from my apartment to the New England Aquarium was short, thank God. It didn’t give me a chance to talk myself out of what I was about to do. After I paid and tipped the driver, I stood on the curb and stared up at the modern cement and glass structure, praying the nerves in my stomach would calm the fuck down before I found her inside. Untimely vomiting would not help in delivering my message.

A small group of people mingled around outside, smoking and chatting under a canopied pavilion lined with gigantic propane patio heaters as I waited in the short line at the entrance with other latecomers. I purposely trained my gaze downward, not wanting to make eye-contact with anyone. It wasn’t as if I’d met many people during my four months in Boston, but I’d heard Monroe mention to Effie she’d given a couple of the ladies from the DCF invites to the party. Plus, I knew Effie and her brother, Seth, whom I’d been introduced to at the football game, would be there as well, so I didn’t want to take any chances. All I needed was to find Monroe first, say what I needed to say, and then go from there, depending on her reaction. I knew the time and place weren’t ideal, but another thing I’d learned in a previous swing session with my mom is you’re never guaranteed a tomorrow. If you got something that needs to be said or done, do it, because you may never get that chance again. This was my chance.

Dabbing my forehead with a handkerchief I brought, I realized I was sweating. A lot. While snow flurries fell around me. In single-digit temperatures.
Don’t fucking fail me now, deodorant.

The doorman accepted the invitation as I entered the underwater fantasy-land, filled with thousands of aquatic life species, both common and exotic, nearly five hundred of New England’s most influential people, including the entire Patriot’s organization, and the one woman who I loved more than anything—the one I couldn’t live without. Striding into the crowded, dimly-lit main exhibit area where makeshift bars and tables dressed in white-linens surrounded a small dance floor, I moved toward the back wall, where I could scan the room and hopefully remain unnoticed.

The sheer number of people jammed into the place was overwhelming. I’d been amazed when Monroe told me the tickets—depending on sponsorship level—ranged from $10,000 to $25,000 a person, which included a four-course meal, where you were guaranteed to be seated with one of the players, and they’d sold out in less than fifteen minutes. Even though the Patriots’ organization had selected Mending Hearts as their principal charity to sponsor that year, she’d explained the proceeds from this annual function always went to fund their in-house charitable foundation that supported a variety of smaller non-profits in the area. And evidently, based on the sheer demand for a chance to spend a night wining and dining with the local football team, they were thriving.

I skimmed the sea of black coats and sequined dresses for her and, after my first pass, came up empty. Cursing under my breath, I didn’t even notice the provocatively-dressed cocktail waitress when she approached.

“Sir, would you like a drink?” she asked, extending her small round tray in my direction.

With a polite smile, I thanked her and accepted a glass of champagne, hoping it would help relax me. Downing the flute of bubbly, I set it back on her serving tray before she even had a chance to walk away, much to her surprise.

“Another, sir? Or I can get you something a bit stiffer from the bar,” she giggled as she blatantly dropped her eyes to my crotch then looked back up at my face, “if you prefer the hard stuff.”

Shaking my head, I grinned, embarrassed. “No, thanks, I just needed a little liquid courage. I’m good now.”

“Yes, sir,” she purred, batting her false eyelashes. “Well, if you need anything at all, just let me know. My name’s Alexis.”

Not a chance in hell, Alexis.
“Thank you again. I’ll let you know if I need anything.”

She lingered a couple of extra seconds, waiting to see if I’d say anything else, and when I didn’t, she thankfully flitted on to the next guest.

After another perusal of the area, where I still didn’t spot Monroe, I began to work my way to the opposite corner of the room, in hopes I’d find her before she found me. I skirted around the various football-related silent auction items lining the outer edge of the room that drew a crowd as the fans attempted to win items signed by their heroes, keeping both my eyes and ears open. Her beautiful blonde hair and infectious voice usually stood out in a crowd, but there were just too many people.

Suddenly, the lights flickered then brightened to garner everyone’s attention and I spotted Colin along with several other men, who I assumed were his teammates based on size alone, heading toward the stage. As a hush fell over the mass of attendees and everyone stilled, I slunk back into the shadows and waited.

“Good evening, everyone, and thank you all so much for coming out tonight,” the star quarterback addressed the room, exuding the same confidence I remembered from the first time I met him.
Funny how I’m not nearly as envious of his life as I was then, knowing what I know now. A part of me actually feels a little bad for the guy, living a lie, because he’s afraid of what people would say and think if they knew the truth.

Too wrapped up in my own thoughts, I missed most of what he said, and before long, everyone was clapping and cheering as the lights dimmed and the music resumed. Once the applause died down, conversations picked up where they left off and the crowd dispersed, leaving Monroe—dead-center of the dance floor, chatting with a small group of people—straight in my line of sight. Dressed in a long, sparkly, jade green gown with her blonde hair piled high on her head, I could only see her from behind, but even that made my pulse race and my dick twitch.

The conversation appeared to dwindle after several minutes, and with her typical poise and grace, Monroe smiled and excused herself from the group. Moving from my left to right, she approached the edge of the room, near one of the hallways that led to another exhibit, and stood on her tiptoes, scanning the area for Colin, I assumed.

“Don’t back down now, Saxon,” I mumbled to myself as I took off in her direction at a clipped pace.

I hugged the outer perimeter of the room as my gaze remained locked on her, hoping she didn’t notice me before I made it to her. Taking a deep breath and a few seconds to pump myself up, I crept up behind her and grabbed both her hands, turning her to face me.

“Oliver?!” she gasped, her green eyes wide and full of disbelief. “What are you—”

With a firm tug, I spun around and headed down the mostly empty hallway, pulling her right behind me. Unsure of exactly where we were going, just seeking a little privacy, my hand shot out and turned the knob of a closed door off to the left, and—
bingo!—
it opened with ease.

“Come on, trust me,” I implored when I felt her hesitate to follow me.

Thankfully, she didn’t balk and slipped inside the dark room, lit only by a small round window on the back wall. As my eyes quickly adjusted to the lack of light, I realized it was a storage room of sorts, lined with shelves of cleaning supplies, toilet paper, and paper towels. Perfect.