“Okay, when you put it like that, it doesn’t sound so good.”
“And you bribed my daughter?” The scary high-pitched tone was back again.
Flynn lowered his voice to compensate for it, hoping it would soothe her. “Look, we both know you were having problems with the things Katy was saying. I thought I’d help. Now she’ll keep her mouth shut around your sister.”
Wrong thing to say. Abby’s eyes snapped to his. “How do you know that?”
Flynn looked around the room, hoping an answer would present itself. It didn’t. He had no choice but to go with honesty. “I heard you at the stream.”
Abby gasped. Her hand flew to her chest. Her face went pale. Flynn’s muscles tensed, ready to run for her if she looked like she was going to drop. He’d pay for it later—his leg didn’t want to run; it barely wanted to walk—but he couldn’t let her topple to the floor. Again.
“Take nice, easy breaths, sugar. It’s going to be okay. Why don’t you sit down? There’s a chair right behind you. That’s right,” he encouraged as she plopped onto the chair.
“You heard me?” Her voice was a trembling whisper. Her eyes were glassy. Oh hell. It wasn’t fainting. It was crying. Flynn wanted to run now for sure. Except this time he didn’t want to run to her rescue—he wanted to head out the door and keep going until he was back in London.
“It’s okay. It’s fine. Nothing to worry about.” He aimed for the same gentle tones he’d once used years earlier when he’d talked an injured dog out of a corner.
“You heard me?” she whispered again, and a tear ran down her cheek.
Oh hell. The dam had cracked. With a grimace, Flynn limped over to her. He bit back a grunt of pain as he knelt on his good knee in front of her. Awkwardly, he patted her shoulder.
“There, there.” He was pretty sure that was what people said in situations like this. He was equally sure that the words he’d used with the dog—“Come on, boy, be brave and I’ll get you a juicy bone”— wouldn’t help here. “It’s okay,” he said instead.
“It’s not okay.” Her big chocolate eyes were melting. “I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to David. You weren’t supposed to listen. No one was supposed to hear.”
At the sight of more tears, Flynn broke out in a cold sweat. Would she be okay for a minute alone? He just needed enough time to call Matt or Harry. They had women. Either of them would know what to do. Right? Abby’s big brown eyes looked up at him, and he knew he couldn’t leave her side. There was no choice but to grit his teeth, comfort the woman and hope like crazy he didn’t screw things up further. What to say? What to say? Inspiration struck.
“It’s a good job I heard you. Your husband isn’t in any fit state to help out, but I can. I want to.” Okay. So that didn’t come out the way he’d intended. He pushed on. “Aye, it shocks the hell out of me too. But I do want to help. I got you into this mess. I want to help get you out of it. Sure, your kid is the spawn of Satan, but you like her so you should get to keep her. I’d feel bad if she went away. It’s not like you have a backup. She’s the only one you have.”
Abby blinked several times as though stunned. Did hearing he wanted to help send her into shock? Was that even possible?
Flynn ran his hand down her back in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. “There, there,” he said again, then gave himself a mental eye roll. “I’m going to do what I can to fix this. I promised you I’d clean up my act. That’s why I’m here. To help you out.”
“By buying my daughter a pool?” She seemed confused. Was that a symptom of shock?
“It’s just a pool. It’s no big deal.” He didn’t think it was a good time to mention the other items on the little terrorist’s list. “And if it gets her to stop dropping information bombs this week, it’s worth the money. I only want to help. Let me help.”
“But…” She closed her eyes for a moment before looking back at him. “I don’t think I can trust you. This situation with Victoria is delicate. You could really screw it up.”
Okay, that was a slap in the face. He decided her reaction was just another symptom of her obviously shocked state, and carried on regardless.
“I’m turning over a new leaf. I’m growing up. You should know it’s a painful process, but I’m embracing it.” He caressed her cheek with his palm, while his other hand continued to rub her back. “Let me help, Abby. I feel bad and I can’t stand it. I’m not used to guilt and I don’t know what to do with myself. Let me help.”
“You drive me crazy. I’m not even sure I like you.” Still, she relaxed under his touch.
He quirked a smile. “Aye, I know, but you do like my kisses. And you like me to touch you. Don’t you, Abby?” There was a rumble of desire undercutting his words. It was impossible to be around this woman and not feel desire. She was beautiful, and good, and clean and kind and…well, everything Flynn wasn’t. And she owned a closet full of sexy shoes. He was defenceless against her.
Her cheeks burned red as her gaze fell to her knees. “You weren’t supposed to hear that either.”
“I’m glad I did,” he whispered, leaning in closer to her. His thumb stroked over her full bottom lip. “I like kissing you too, Abby.” She shuddered under his touch, making him instantly ravenous to taste her. “Don’t worry about things so much. Go with the flow. Let me help you. Let me touch you. It’s all going to be fine.”
“You’re a dangerous man, Flynn Boyle.” But it was said with resignation. Acceptance. Desire.
He felt heat flare throughout his body. “So I’m told.” His words were a breath against her lips.
And then he was kissing her. Gentle. Soft. Slow. Everything their last kiss hadn’t managed to be. Her taste and scent stole his mind. His arm clamped tight around her. He felt her nails dig into his shoulders and almost wished the flannel shirt was gone so he could feel the bite in his skin. She tilted her head slightly as she sipped at his mouth. Her tongue darted out to taste, a nervous little move. He slanted his mouth over hers, met her tongue with his and kissed her slowly and thoroughly.
Never before had kissing a woman felt so perfect. He could stay like this for hours. Tasting her, listening to her panting breaths and tiny whimpers of need. It was bliss.
“I told you no kissing!” The shout from the door had Abby jerking away from him.
Katy stood with her arms folded and her face like thunder. The look was somewhat ruined by the pink tutu and yellow gumboots.
“No more kissing,” she ordered. “If you kiss him you have to marry him, and I don’t want him as a daddy.”
Even though Flynn didn’t want to be her father either, the words stung. What was wrong with him? He’d make a great dad. Probably. Maybe.
“It was an accident…” Abby began, which was pretty insulting.
“Another accident?” Katy screeched. “Stop having accidents.” She glared at Flynn. “This wasn’t in our deal.” Suddenly her thunderous face turned into a calculating smile and Flynn felt genuine fear. “I’ll let you kiss my Muma if you buy me a pony.”
“Katy!” Abby was on her feet and heading towards her daughter before he fully registered the words.
Flynn laughed as Abby lectured Katy on how she couldn’t sell her mother for a pony. He caught the terrorist’s eyes and gave her a thumbs-up gesture. If a pony was what it took to get his lips on Abby again, he’d gladly buy the kid one.
12
"I never comment on referees and I'm not going to break the habit of a lifetime for that prat."
Ron Atkinson, former manager of the England team
“I’m going to ask you again to reconsider,” Lawrence said as he drove back into the centre of town. “You have the power here. You can spend the rest of the week getting to know your sister and your niece before you go home and tell your mother there’s no reason to bring in the lawyers. Wouldn’t that be preferable to carrying out your mother’s orders? You know as well as I do, she’s in the wrong. She has no right to interfere in Katy’s li
fe.”
Victoria stared out of the window at the passing scenery. If it wasn’t for the tight set of her lips, he would assume she wasn’t listening. He let her be for a moment. He’d known Victoria most of her adult life. She needed time to think through things. A trait he normally admired.
Abby’s house was nestled at the base of the lush green hills that cradled Invertary. It wasn’t so far away from town to be isolated, but far enough to be quiet and private. It made him reconsider his Waterloo apartment, which he’d bought after his divorce purely because it was close to the office and had a view of the Thames. He had every luxury in his apartment, yet still felt like he was living in a box. One of many boxes piled on top of each other. All filled with busy little worker bees who put in long hours in order to pay for their box. He smirked at himself. Middle age was getting to him. Next thing he knew he’d purchase a motorbike and get his ears pierced.
“Mother won’t listen,” Victoria said at last. “She never listens. You know this better than most. She wants to make Abby pay for embarrassing the family, and the best way to do that is to take her daughter away.”
Her voice was dead, as though she was stating an irrevocable fact of life. Something over which she had no influence. Her lack of emotion made Lawrence burn. There was always the option to fight.
“You can try to make her see reason. I will too. Together, we’ll make her listen. This action against Abby is baseless and will be costly. Surely your mother will understand that?”
Victoria let out a dry laugh. Admittedly, Lawrence’s time spent with Victoria had been limited to business meetings in the office, but he couldn’t remember ever seeing her smile. He thought hard, but no images of Victoria with a genuine smile on her face came to mind. The realisation was shocking.
“Mother only listens to Mother. Even when Father was alive, his opinion only mattered when it matched hers. She’s ruthless, conniving and completely without compassion. All she cares about is getting what she wants.” Victoria turned back to him, and he saw pain in her eyes. It stole the air from the car. He was so used to the emotionless veneer she presented to the world that the sight staggered him. “You deal with her more than most, Lawrence. You know it’s the truth. The best thing Abby can do is to give in quietly, hand over Katy, negotiate to spend time with her daughter and then get on with her life.”
“You don’t believe that.” He hoped she didn’t believe that. It was too horrific to contemplate if she did.
Lawrence turned into the top of the high street, a cobblestone road flanked by mismatched whitewashed houses. At the bottom of the road, the loch sat glistening in the sun, enticing everyone who looked at it to give up on their tasks and laze beside it.
“I know exactly what she’s capable of.” Victoria’s small voice sliced through him like a knife to his soul. “I know from experience, the faster you surrender, the more painless it is. She will win anyway. She always wins.”
Before he could stop himself, Lawrence reached out and patted her knee. She jerked back at his overly familiar touch.
“Not this time, Vicki. This time she’s up against the both of us. I have a good reputation and an excellent track record. The firm doesn’t need your mother’s support. We will manage fine without her business. We’re all wealthy men. If it comes to it, our partnership will cut ties and we’ll fight her on this.”
Victoria’s eyes went wide. They were an exact match to Abby’s. Except where Abby’s eyes gleamed with laughter and life, Victoria’s only held dead acceptance and fear.
“Why?” she whispered.
He noticed she didn’t remove his hand from her knee. It sent warmth flaring throughout him.
“Because it’s the right thing to do, Vicki. Because it’s the right thing to do.”
Her cheeks flushed pink and something like hope flared in her eyes before she turned back to look out the window. Lawrence returned his hand to the steering wheel and concentrated on the drive. Wondering all the while what Victoria would look like if she smiled. He bet she would be beautiful.
13
“Julian Dicks is everywhere. It’s like they’ve got eleven Dicks on the field.”
Sports commentator for Metro Radio
The call from Flynn’s agent came through at last. And the timing was perfect. It gave him a reason to run from the McKenzie house. Well, hobble from the house. He left Abby and Katy arguing about whether there would be a pool or not, while he answered the call.
“What the hell are you doing?” Barney shouted. “Are you trying to kill me here? We made a deal with these TV guys. You’re not keeping your end of it. You’re supposed to be figuring out your future on camera. That’s why they’re following you around. They’re trying to get an insight into the mind of an athlete when he’s dealing with injury. You’re screwing this up, boy.”
Flynn leaned against the rail leading up to Abby’s front door. “What do you want me to do, Barney? Make a PowerPoint listing all my options as a washed-up footballer? Ask them for ideas on what to do with my life next? Cry into my beer about my career ending with a foul tackle and let them film the tears? What should I be doing here? Tell me, because I thought I was supposed to live as I normally do and they’d edit for what they needed.”
“Do all of those bloody things,” Barney yelled. “Do anything. The producer is nagging my ear off. Hours of footage showing you working on your tan isn’t good TV.”
“I don’t give a crap about good TV. When I signed you said it was a couple of interviews, some filler footage of me in my hometown and the rest would be archive material showing my career. Instead I’m stuck in EDtv. I want out of this contract.”
“Not going to happen. The contract is ironclad.” Barney let out a loud sigh. “Look, son, this isn’t about you. It’s about your fans. Don’t they deserve to know how you’re doing? They’re worried about you.”
“The hell it’s about the fans. It’s about the money. The huge amount of money they’re paying me to do this, of which you get a hefty cut.”
“So sue me for wanting to get paid for doing my job. Suck it up, Boyle. Get the job done. You’re only committed for two more weeks. Give the guy what he wants and get this over with. Stop acting like a baby. I don’t have time for this crap.” The phone went dead.
Without thinking, Flynn threw the phone towards his van. It bounced off the boundary fence with a loud snap. Damn it. Now he needed a new phone. They didn’t make phones the way they used to. One wee tap and the screen snapped.
He stomped, as best he could, to the RV. Once inside, he plopped onto the armchair in front of the driver’s seat. His leg ached. He looked down at the pale, scarred mess and traced his finger over the spot where his broken bone had torn through skin. He’d known before they told him that his career was over. The pins holding his bone together had been his first clue. The fact his knee would likely never have a complete range of motion was another. The orthopaedic surgeon had clasped Flynn’s shoulder, looked him in the eye and said, “Think about the future, son. You don’t come back from this sort of injury.”
Flynn covered his face with his palms and laughed. It sounded hollow. Think about his future? He’d done nothing but think about it since the dirty tackle took him down. What the hell was he good for except chasing a ball? He was too unpredictable for commentating. No TV station would risk him on air when they didn’t know what would come out his mouth next. Coaching was out. He didn’t think he could bear helping guys do what he wanted to do so badly. Management was a joke—even if someone was daft enough to hire him, he had no patience for the politics of the sport. That left what? Charity work? Charities would worry about the publicity he attracted. Start a business? Go back to school? Move to Rio and live on a beach? He’d thought he had years before he’d need to think about life after football. He was only twenty-nine. He was in his prime. And his life was over.
He rolled his eyes at himself. As one of the Babes would say, “drama much?” Thinking about this was drivi
ng him nuts. He needed to stop going around in circles and be proactive. He swivelled towards the built-in table and pulled the laptop towards him. A minute later he had a new document open. He made two columns. One headed skills, the other headed interests. He’d break down what he could do and see where he would go from here. He felt good. It was a practical plan.
In the skills column he wrote, ball skills, game strategy, game analysis. He turned his attention to the interests column and wrote, football. He thought about it for a minute then added women to the list. That was when his mind went blank. He couldn’t think of even one more skill or interest.
There was no avoiding it. He was screwed.
“That’s all you’ve got for skills? Man, that’s sad. Why isn’t your degree on the list?”
At the sound of Harry’s voice, Flynn clutched his chest. “Damn it, are you trying to give me a heart attack? It isn’t on the list because it isn’t a proper degree. I got it online.”
Harry blinked at him. “Through Open Uni, nutjob. It’s the same as any other uni.”
Flynn ignored him. “Why are you here anyway? Shouldn’t you be at home putting Elvira into her coffin for the night?”
His brother grinned. “Vampires sleep in daylight. And I’m telling Magenta you’re calling her Elvira again.”
Harry sprawled on the couch that ran along the wall of the living room area. He took up pretty much all of the space.
“Seriously? Why are you here?” Flynn closed the laptop with a snap. “I’ve had my intervention. I’m being good. You can back off now.”
“As much fun as that was, I’m here to take you out.” He looked around the motorhome. “You live in a shoebox. If you don’t get out now and then, you’ll start making homemade bombs or collecting cats.”
Bad Boy (Invertary Book 5) Page 10