by Ciz, Alley
That was a mistake. A big fucking mistake.
Every good intention I have is gone and I’m across the locker room in a flash. No one, no one gets to talk about my family, especially not my other half.
I get one solid shove in before arms wrap around my middle. Callahan, Harrison, and Ringquist hold me back, my rage so strong they barely manage.
I bite out each word. “Jordan—is—off—fucking—limits.”
Ringquist moves so I’ll have to go through him if I want to get at Fallon again. Taking on our veteran goalie is not in my top ten of things I ever want to do.
“Look, we get it. Bishop is your boy. No one”—he turns to level me with a look—“is going to hold that against you.”
Fallon scoffs, but Ringquist continues as if he didn’t.
“But the only way Jordan Donnelly-Donovan is talked about in this locker room is with respect.”
“I didn’t know your sister hyphenated?” Cali asks.
“She didn’t,” I answer, nostrils flaring, fists still clenched and wanting to strike.
“Not the time, Cali,” Ringquist growls, eyes never leaving Fallon.
The big Swede is tenser than I can recall ever seeing him. It makes sense; he’s one of the players on the team who has known my sister the longest. JD may have only been in the PR business for four years, but she’s worked with the Storm through the Garden of Dreams Foundation since our college days.
“Unless you want not only your new team but half the NHL looking to kick your ass, I’d suggest you learn that fast.” Ringquist’s threat is clear.
“Whatever.” Fallon shrugs off the players holding him back, smoothing the lapels of his suit jacket. “You guys are so touchy.”
Fucker.
Whatever. I don’t need this shit. I have a girlfriend to see.
Grabbing my gear bag, I push through the locker room doors and there she is. With adrenaline from what just went down still pumping through my veins, it only takes three steps and I’m in front of her. Another two and I have her backed up to the wall, hands cupping her face, fingers tangled in pink waves, mouth on hers.
There is nothing sweet about this kiss. It is primal and fierce. I want to lose myself inside her, forget about trades, dickhead teammates, playoff pressure, all of it.
She doesn’t shy away from my intensity, instead meeting me stroke for stroke, her tongue licking over the ball of my piercing.
I groan.
She sighs.
It’s a miracle I’m not dragging her into the locker room.
“You know, with the number of times I’ve walked in on you two making out, I feel like I’m a part of this relationship.” I drop my head to the wall at the sound of Cali’s voice. “Does that make us a throuple?”
“What the fuck is a throuple?” Why is this even a question that needs asking?
I lower Mels to the ground but keep her tucked against me.
“You know.” Cali waggles his eyebrows. “It’s a couple, but with three people.”
“Why do I feel like you’ve been spending too much time with Maddey?” Melody asks, and I could kiss her again.
“Aww, Mels,” Cali says. I shove off the arm he drops around her shoulders. “You really are becoming a Covenette.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
The idea should scare me, but it doesn’t. The girls “inducting” her into The Coven only proves she’s mine for keeps.
“No way. You Covenettes love me. Jase, on the other hand—”
“Mels?” The absolute last person I want saying my baby’s name calls it out from behind me.
Like the throuple Cali thinks we are, the three of us turn to face the locker room. The urge to introduce my fist to his fugly face is strong.
It only gets worse when Mels says, “Fallon?”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
I blink rapidly.
Clearly my eyes are playing tricks on me.
No.
No, no.
Nope. Just nope. There is no way Fallon is here. He’s supposed to be in Boston.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, taking the words right out of my mouth.
“I was just about to ask you the same thing.”
This is bad. Really, really bad. How am I going to explain this? Jase is going to flip.
“I was traded.”
Shit! Why didn’t I pay attention to the trades? I knew the deadline passed and that the Storm had a big hole to fill to stay in contention for the Cup. But damn, how was I supposed to know of all the teams they could make a trade with, it would be Boston?
“You were?” There’s a squeak to my voice belying the panic churning inside.
“Yup.”
I grip Jase’s hand so hard it makes mine hurt. He hasn’t said a word since Fallon made his appearance.
“Teddy didn’t tell me.”
I talked to him yesterday. Why didn’t he mention Fallon would be living in my city?
Fallon’s gaze drops to where my hand has a death grip on Jase’s, holding on as if he will float away like a rogue Macy’s Thanksgiving Day balloon if I let go. Given what is about to go down, it’s a very real possibility. “Looks like he’s not the only Bishop keeping secrets.”
Shit!
“Bishop?” Jase looks at me, confusion written all over his handsome face.
This is my worst nightmare come to life. The only thing missing is me being naked. I know it is long past when I should have told Jase the truth about my identity, but him finding out like this is the absolute worst possible way it could have played out.
“Hold up.” Fallon chuckles. The sparkle in his eye does not look promising. “She’s your girlfriend?”
No, no, no, no, no, no.
“What’s it to you, Fallon?” Jase’s voice is hard.
Another chuckle. “Oh this is fucking perfect. I feel like I should have Nate on speaker for this.”
“Fal,” I warn, plead—hell, I don’t really know what I’m doing right now.
I tug on the hand in mine, spinning around to beg Cali to intervene. If I can get Jase away before Fallon drops the bomb, I might just be able to save our relationship.
“Babe?” There’s a tick in Jase’s jaw. “How do you two know each other?” He bounces a finger between Fallon and me.
“Yeah, Mels—how do we know each other?”
Who is this person? Why is he being so…so…mean?
I’ve always stayed out of the rivalry between Jase and Nate. Seeing this side of Fallon is a different experience, one I don’t much care for.
I don’t speak.
I don’t move.
I don’t even think I’m breathing.
How is this happening? Why is this happening?
No, no, no.
“Forget your line, Mels?”
“Fuck you, Anthony.” His taunt snaps me out of my stupor.
“Ahhh, there’s the drama from our little actress.”
“Fuck off, asshole. She’s mine, not ours, and sure as fuck not yours, Fallon.”
The growly way Jase claims me gives me hope. Unfortunately, like I have the script, I know what’s about to happen in the next scene.
“Oh she’s yours, is she?” Fallon crosses his arms. “If that’s true, what’s Melody’s last name?”
The satisfied smirk on his face makes me wonder what I ever did to him to make him act so hateful. This isn’t the guy who would crash my video chats with my brother, who sat in the front row for my shows, who was just as much a brother to me as my Teddy Bear.
No, this version of Anthony Fallon is a stranger.
“Let me give you a hint, Donnelly: Brightly is a stage name.”
“Oooo, Melody has a stage name. What a crime.” Cali says the last sentence with so much sarcasm it practically pools on the floor. If Jase wasn’t already vibrating with anger next to me, I could kiss him for it.
“No, you’re right, Callahan. Having a stage name is not newsworthy. The part that makes this p
articular revelation fun for me is—”
“Fal…don’t,” I implore.
Please don’t do this.
“No. The fun part is”—he looks at me then turns his full attention on Jase—“her legal last name is…”
He pauses, and I brace for the hit I know is coming.
“Bishop.”
Time freezes.
The curtains close.
The lights turn off.
Everything around me turns to static. With one word, the trajectory of my life is thrown off course.
“Bishop?” Jase asks.
“Yup.” God, how can Fallon get so much glee into one little word?
“As in…”
Don’t say it. Don’t say it.
“Nate Bishop.”
Fuck!
“Jase,” I try to cut in, but they continue.
“You’ve been dating the younger sister of the guy everyone knows you hate.”
Golden-green eyes stare at me like I’m a stranger. My hand sways he drops it so fast.
“Jase?”
He takes a step back, and my heart cracks.
“Jase, I was goi—”
A shake of his head, another step back.
“Jase, please.”
My heart splits in two at the look of betrayal swimming in his hazel eyes.
“Jas—”
He turns on his heel.
No. What are you doing, Jase?
He takes a step, then another.
No, no. Jase, stop.
Another step.
No.
I reach for him, but he avoids my touch.
Four more steps and he’s halfway down the hall.
Please don’t walk away.
He keeps walking, my silent pleas going unanswered.
He hits the metal door at the end of the corridor with so much force the sound echoes like a gong.
He…
He…
He…left me.
Chapter Forty
BROADWAY BABY: Jase please talk to me.
BROADWAY BABY: Please answer the phone.
BROADWAY BABY: I’m sorry.
BROADWAY BABY: I wanted to tell you.
BROADWAY BABY: I was going to tell you.
BROADWAY BABY: Please let me explain.
BROADWAY BABY: I’m sorry. So, so sorry.
BROADWAY BABY: Jase.
BROADWAY BABY: Jase, please.
BROADWAY BABY: *GIF of crying potato*
No matter how many texts I send, he doesn’t answer.
Chapter Forty-One
THE BIG HAMMER: Why didn’t you tell me?
THE BIG HAMMER: How could you not tell me?
THE BIG HAMMER: Was this all a big joke?
THE BIG HAMMER: Did you two have a good laugh about it behind my back?
THE BIG HAMMER: I hate the way I don’t hate you. Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.
THE BIG HAMMER: And shit, I hate that you have me quoting 10 Things I Hate About You.
THE BIG HAMMER: FUCK!
THE BIG HAMMER: I love you.
No matter how many texts I compose, I delete them all without hitting send.
Chapter Forty-Two
Tears.
Wine.
Send texts that only get ignored.
More tears.
Rehearsal.
Tears with wine.
Rehearsal.
And—you guessed it—tears.
Chapter Forty-Three
Eat.
Sleep.
Hockey.
Type out text messages to Melody but delete them before sending.
Repeat.
Chapter Forty-Four
BROADWAY BABY: Are you ever going to talk to me again?
I swear I’ve sent more texts that have gone unanswered in the past two weeks than I have in my entire life.
TEDDY: Jase Donnelly, Mels?
Shit! It’s never good if he’s calling me Mels. At least he responded. This is true, but not much has come from the few times Nate has actually done so. Most of the time he quickly shuts down and shuts me out.
Just like Mom and Dad.
BROADWAY BABY: I’m sorry. I don’t know how many more times you need me to say it before you forgive me, but I am. It’s not like I planned for it to happen.
My fingers fly across the screen, desperation bleeding into each tap.
BROADWAY BABY: Please don’t shut me out. You’re the only family I really have. I need you, Nate.
TEDDY BEAR: If that were true, you wouldn’t have been with HIM.
Tears prick the backs of my eyes. I’ve already lost the man I love; I can’t lose my brother too.
BROADWAY BABY: I’m sorry. Please, please, please can we talk?
“How’s the fit?” the show’s costume designer asks after she secures the zipper on the dress, the question finally pulling my attention away from the lack of dancing dots on my phone. Fucking Nate has gone back to ignoring me.
“It’s perfect.” I force myself to respond as I lift my gaze to the full-length mirror in front of me. Not even the sight of me in the iconic white dress synonymous with my character is enough to cheer me up.
For the last two weeks, I’ve merely been existing, my heartbreak over losing Jase so acute all the joy has been sapped from the world.
I’ve never been more grateful for the start of tech rehearsals. The tedious task of nailing down the timing for all the set and costume changes along with the other million things necessary for a successful production are what I need to survive.
The days are long and grueling, and the only reason I haven’t cried myself to sleep the last few nights is because I’ve been too exhausted from tech to do so.
The cherry on top is that my brother—the only person in my family who has been there for me unconditionally—is still barely speaking to me. I can only hope when the show goes to Boston for a week of touring previews, we’ll be able to mend the rift I caused, because texting and calling are obviously not working.
“Mels?”
I turn to face the door of my dressing room and see the stage director. “Yes?”
“You have a visitor.”
Jase? My heart leaps, hoping against hope he’s here.
“Should I bring her back?” he asks. I realize I haven’t responded to his statement.
Her? With one pronoun, that hope dies like a burned-out spotlight.
Who could be here?
I get my answer a few moments later when Jordan Donovan steps into the room. It’s not that I’m not happy to see her, but she isn’t the Donnelly twin I long to see.
Talk about being hopelessly devoted.
“Um…” My words trail off. What does one say when her ex’s sister shows up at her job?
“I didn’t mean to ambush you or anything.” Jordan shrugs. “Okay, maybe I did a little, but really I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”
How am I doing?
I’m a mess. A disaster.
I lost my boyfriend. My brother isn’t speaking to me. Outside of Zoey and Ella, my entire support system has been stripped away.
Thank god I’m an actress and am good at pretending, because I’m in full-on fake-it-till-you-make-it mode.
“I’m okay.”
“No you’re not.” Jordan levels me with a look so much like her twin’s it’s painful.
“You’re right.” I step off the stand the costume designer used during my adjustments, silently thanking her when she leaves the room to give us privacy. “But whatcha gonna do?”
“You mean besides kick my wombmate’s dumb ass for walking away from the girl because of who she is related to?”
I can’t help it—a chuckle escapes. From most people, that would be an idle threat. From Jordan, not so much.
“Why aren’t you mad at me?”
Aren’t twins supposed to stick together?
“For what?” Jordan gets the same crinkle in her brow as Jase when confused.
“For lying?”
“Pfft.” She waves me off like I’m ridiculous. “Nope. No matter how hard Jase pursued you in the beginning, if you had told him you were related to Bishop, he would have dropped you like a hot potato.” She smirks at her use of a potato reference.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.” Jordan rubs circles on her very large belly. Homegirl looks ready to give birth right here. Shit—that was a total Jase thing to think.
“Do you know why our brothers hate each other so much?”
It’s the one thing I can’t figure out. I know their history from the camp in Lake Placid. Nate would tell me all about his time there during our weekly chats, and that was when I heard the first stories of Jase being a playboy. Sure, I didn’t know who it was my brother was bitching about, but hearing about how there was a guy who came to visit the camp with his girlfriend only to hit on bunnies stuck with me through the years.
Still…
It doesn’t explain the loathing they have for each other.
If anyone would know, I’d think it’d be Jordan.
“Honestly? I have no idea. I’ve been trying to figure it out since you first started dating.”
Wait. What?
“You knew I was related to Nate”—I swallow down the sudden lump of emotion—“before?”
“Yup.” The circles continue on her belly. “Unlike my twin, I’m an expert in internet research.”
I pull a face. “You mean stalking?”