Lighting the Lamp (Chicago Velocity Book 1)

by Abby Burch

  John and I talked for a bit when we arrived. I can tell he was in awe of being in the presence of an NHLer but was trying very hard to keep his cool. Carly, on the other hand, had no qualms about showing her excitement to be meeting me. As conceited as it sounds, you do get somewhat immune to the attention, to an extent. However, it is still flattering when someone says how big of a fan they are of yours.

  Carly really upset Brenna tonight, but I think it was more that this was the straw that broke the camel's back instead of being the sole cause. I think Brenna was already stressing about me being in her house and meeting her friends, and I bet she and Carly already had some kind of tension going on, and tonight it just all came to a head for her.

  I want to prove to Brenna how amazing she truly is. I don't understand how she could think so minimally of herself. Every day I get closer with her. We haven't known each other for long but I already feel myself opening up to her, enjoying being with her and not being bored or annoyed with her presence.

  But what has this girl been through to completely decimate her confidence?

  She rustles next to me, groaning softly in her sleep as she shifts on the bed next to me. I rub my thumb over her bare shoulder and vow to myself that I will help Brenna to see herself exactly how I see her.

  20. Ryan

  "Hey Flynn!" Patrick calls at me from across the locker room. "My mom said you reserved the seats next to her and Morgan for the season, and last game she met your girl?"

  I pull the boot of my skate over my foot. "Yeah man. Brenna said she had a great time with them at the last game, so I decided to make those my reserved seats for the year. Is that cool?"

  "Of course," Patrick pulls his jersey over his head. "I'm glad for Morgs. She could really use a friend that's a girl around here." He glares around the locker room and I notice a couple of the guys duck their heads and avoid his gaze. "She's got enough MALES trying to be her friend," he says pointedly.

  "It's good for Brenna too," I say. "She knew nothing about hockey until about 2 weeks ago, so getting her in with some of the Velocity women will be good." I tie the laces on my skate and stand up, making sure they're laced tight enough.

  "You should tell your sister to not get too close with Flynn's girl. With his track record, this girl won't be around for long," a voice says from behind me. I turn around and it's coming from Corey Daniels, our backup goalie.

  Corey Daniels used to be the Velocity's primary goalie until last season when Mitch Perry got called up from the minors because Corey was out with a groin injury and the Velocity's normal second goalie, Landon Jacobi, was out for hand surgery. Mitch had an amazing season and when Landon was healed up and back in, Coach kept playing Mitch instead of Corey.

  "Shut the fuck up, Daniels," I mutter.

  "What, Flynn, am I wrong?" He's taller than me by about four inches and easily has 30 pounds on me, but I could probably still take him down. Goalies have lightning quick reflexes but I'm pretty quick myself.

  "Yeah, actually, you are," I am standing only a few inches from him now. "Brenna is different."

  "So you're telling all of us that notorious hockey playboy Ryan Flynn is a one-woman kind of man now?" Corey spits on the floor. "Bullshit. You'll cheat on her before regular season even starts."

  I feel my blood boiling and fight to hold back. I'm the newcomer on this team, fighting for my chance to stay in the NHL, and I need to not fuck it up. "Whatever, man." I turn and walk back across the room to my locker to finish getting dressed. Corey jeers behind me, but I block him out and get into my pregame headspace.

  I'm still thinking about what Corey said in the first period and I lay a pretty nasty check on a guy and nearly get called for boarding. It was a clean hit.. mostly. I could have been a little less aggressive because he wasn't even anywhere near the play, but I'm pissed off.

  I knew that switching teams would be hard. The new guys are always outsiders for a bit, and they take a lot of ribbing in the beginning, as a hazing of sorts. But Corey's attack felt more personal than just the normal teasing and mild pranks.

  Does the rest of the team feel the same way about me? Do they think I'm just a bunny-fucking playboy?

  If that's what they think, then fuck them. I know the truth. I know that isn't how I do things anymore.

  I know that what Brenna and I have is real.

  I can see her in the stands from the bench, her long hair in soft waves cradling her face. She's wearing my jersey again and I have to keep ignoring that fact because it's such a goddamn turn-on. She's been watching the game closely, occasionally leaning over to talk with Patrick's mom and sister. The seat next to Brenna is still empty, and that's how it will remain.

  From the bench, I watch Patrick lead the charge up the middle. Just past the blue line, he dekes to the right and fires off a shot, sailing past the opposing team's goalie and into the net. Instantly the whole team is on our feet, celebrating and congratulating Patrick on a great goal.

  "Fucker makes it look easy," Nils says from next to me, his accent thick.

  "No shit," I say back. Patrick skates past the bench, accepting gloved high fives as congratulations from each of us down the line.

  I'm itching to get back onto the ice, but Coach has kept me to minimal ice time this game. I'm hoping it's to give some of the prospects a chance to try for spots in the big times because I'm already a sure thing, but I'm not 100% confident in that assumption.

  Late into the third period, we're tied with the St. Louis Trackers 2-2. My skating has been solid tonight but the defense has been equally as solid, so I haven't had any good opportunities in my limited playing time.

  I hop the boards with less than two minutes left in the period, charging hard toward the opposing net. Patrick clears the puck over the blue line before I get to it and I head to the right side as he dumps it in, the puck circling around behind the net and along the boards. I meet the puck at the side, slamming on the brakes and avoiding a check by one of their defensemen. I poke the puck out from between the guy's feet and Nils finds it. He slaps it back to one of the young defensemen who is waiting at the top of the circle. As Nils does that, I go to cut through the middle. The kid doesn't miss as he whacks the puck into the slot where it connects with the blade of my stick. Like lightning, I flick the puck up and over the goalie's shoulder and into the net.

  The euphoria of scoring a goal never gets old.

  Patrick, Nils, the young kid on defense and Matus all swarm me with congratulatory helmet slaps and high fives as the sound of the horn blaring, announcing the goal to the arena, fills my ears. We skate along the bench and I get glove taps from the rest of the team.

  Then my eyes find Brenna in the stands, where she is jumping and cheering like we won the fucking Stanley Cup.

  God, I think I love this girl.

  No, I can't. Ryan Flynn doesn't fall in love. Especially not after just a few short weeks. I hop back onto the bench and try to get focused back on the game. After all, we have to hold onto our lead for another 47 seconds to win the game.

  But as sweet as it is to score my first goal with my new team, it's sweeter watching my girl cheering me on in the stands.

  The girl I'm in love with.

  …Shit.

  21. Brenna

  I'm at work on Monday, knee deep in a project with Natalie. It's a huge opportunity for our company to be presenting at an international conference, so our materials need to be perfect.

  Of course, Natalie takes every opportunity possible to ask me about Ryan. She is still completely clueless when it comes to hockey, but it's kind of adorable how she has started reading the headlines for his games to have a way to bring the team – and him – up in conversation.

  I'm poring over the “swag” for the conference – which is the ridiculous yet widely accepted name in the marketing industry for giveaway items to promote a business. Currently, I'm reviewing a sample print of our new brochures for the conference, looking for any uneven borders or typos, with Na
talie sitting across the desk from me, staring at a large poster that arrived today. It'll be displayed at the booth, alongside a couple other posters I designed as well as several videos that Natalie made. It's so neat to be able to see my work in print rather than just on a computer screen like I normally see it.

  “So I saw that your boy got a goal in the game last night!” Natalie says suddenly, breaking the silence. “It is called a goal, right?”

  I laugh as I flip over the brochure to look at the back. Apparently he knows even less about hockey than I do. “Yes Nat, he scored a goal. Technically, it was the game-winning goal.”

  “That's so awesome!” She says excitedly. Then, she lowers her voice, “Does that mean he scored in bed last night too?”

  “Oh my god, I'm not answering that,” I say, my cheeks flushing.

  “Well, you just gave me my answer,” she says, her red lips quirking into a smirk. I throw the pamphlet at her and it floats harmlessly to the floor.

  A knock at the door startles both of us. We had purposely shut ourselves in my office this morning and put our phones on Do Not Disturb, with explicit instructions given to the administrative assistant to not disturb us, so I'm a little irritated when she opens the door. “Brenna, I know you're not taking calls, but... it's Ryan, and he's called a few times already today.”

  “I guess that's a worthy interruption, then,” Natalie says, smiling at me. I've already got the phone receiver in my hand and am picking up his call off of park before the administrative assistant has even closed the door.

  “Ryan?”

  “Brenna!” He says. His voice always fills me with warmth. “I'm sorry to interrupt you – I know today is a super busy day for you but everything's okay.”

  I let out a small sigh of relief. “You had me worried something happened to you at practice.”

  “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to worry you,” he says, and he sounds really deflated.

  “It's okay! I should have told the receptionist to hold all calls except yours. Anyway, what did you need to talk to me about?”

  “Don't go home after work today. I need you to meet me somewhere.” He gives me the address to a place called Sixteen. I haven't heard of it, but I'm learning not to question Ryan and just go with his plan.

  After Ryan and I have hung up, Natalie is facing me, her smile eight miles wide. “He's taking you to Sixteen?” she squeals.

  I tuck a strand of hair back behind my ear again as I pick up the box of bright green pens with our company logo on them from the other side of the desk and set them in front of me. “I'm assuming you know what Sixteen is?”

  “Brenna. Sixteen is an extremely nice restaurant in Trump Tower.” Natalie leans back in her chair, biting her thumbnail thoughtfully as she stares off into the distance. “Your boy sure knows how to treat a girl right.”

  I look down at my outfit and frown. “Uh, Nat? I don't think I'm going to Sixteen. They won't let me in the door if I show up in this.” I knew today would be rough, so I wore one of my loose and somewhat tattered dresses. It's passable in the office but absolutely not at a fancy restaurant.

  As if on cue, there's another knock on the door and the administrative assistant appears with several shopping bags in her hands. I recognize some of the designer names from having walked by their stores on the Magnificent Mile, but that's all I'd ever done – walked by. I would never be able to afford anything from any of those stores. “Ryan said you may need these.”

  Twenty minutes later, Natalie and I have unloaded and laid out sixteen different outfits. I catch and appreciate his wit in buying me the same number of outfits as the name of the place he's taking me, but it's a little overwhelming. These aren't just dressy outfits - these are all formal, designer pieces, in a variety of cuts, fabrics and colors. I was starting to grow accustomed to Ryan's gift-giving habit, but this is to the extreme.

  I feel a panic starting to rise up in me as I look over the dresses, but Natalie's arm around me comforts me.

  “Just breathe, pick one, and don't think about it,” she says to me. “Just go, and be.”

  The Uber drops me off in front of Trump Tower and I stand on the sidewalk for a moment, smoothing out the bottom of the red peplum dress from St. John that I ended up choosing for tonight out of the options Ryan had given me.

  I step into the lobby, taking in the lavish décor, and follow the signs to an elevator leading to Sixteen. Fittingly, it's on the 16th floor of the building, and before I know it, the elevator doors slide open and I step out into an elegant marble foyer.

  Ryan is standing in the center of the room, greeting me with his thousand watt smile and a black tuxedo. His hair is freshly cut, his beard neatly groomed and his shoes polished to an impeccable shine.

  “Hey,” I say softly, my cheeks flushing as he gazes appreciatively over me. I'm also gazing appreciatively over him, so I don't mind.

  “You look... indescribable,” he says. He captures the side of my face with his hand and my mouth with his. The kiss is all heat and passion, but we pull apart abruptly when someone clears their throat.

  “Mr. Flynn, your table is ready,” the waiter says to Ryan, gesturing through a hallway lined with hundreds upon hundreds of wine bottles, and across the dining room to the 30 foot floor-to-ceiling windows spanning one entire curved wall. It's at this point that I realize we are the only patrons in the entire restaurant.

  Ryan takes my hand as the waiter leads us through the maze of empty tables and chairs. “Where is everyone?” I ask him.

  “I rented out the restaurant for us tonight.” Ryan says this so nonchalantly, like it's the most normal thing in the world.

  “Y-You what?” I stammer, stumbling in the pair of Jimmy Choos that match the dress perfectly. Ryan pulls out a chair from a table next to the giant glass windows and I clumsily slide into it. He takes a seat across the table from me.

  “I wanted to do something special tonight. Something spontaneous.” He chuckles. “Well, spontaneous for you. It took quite a bit of planning on my side to make this all happen. But it's worth it for you.”

  The waiter disappears as the Sommelier pours a very expensive looking wine into our glasses. I stare at Ryan, dumbstruck. “Ryan… this is just too much.”

  “Nothing could ever be too much when it comes to you, Brenna,” he says, reaching across the table and taking one of my delicate hands in his calloused one. It’s an ironic and backwards reflection of our lives as a whole – the same, yet so incredibly different.

  “You don’t think sixteen outfits is excessive? Or renting out an entire restaurant just for us?”

  “No, I don’t,” he says with a tone of finality. “Brenna, I lov--” His eyes are searching mine, and I know he’s just realized what he's about to say, and that I might run away from him again. He clears his throat and tries again. “Brenna, I like you... a lot.”

  I take a deep breath to ground myself. “Okay. I think I’ll be okay. It’s just…” I release my hand from his and use it to gesture around the room. “All this? It’s a lot for a girl like me to take in. I could never afford to eat here even once on my own, let alone rent out the whole damn restaurant for a night. And the outfits too?” I take another breath to quell the panic threatening to bubble up out of me. Apparently I’m not as okay as I thought I was a few seconds ago. “Your lifestyle is so different from mine. It’s flattering and so completely overwhelming.”

  I instantly regret the hurt in his eyes that my shortcomings are responsible for causing. “I’m sorry for freaking you out,” he says softly. “You know I love to give gifts, but I can see how it would overwhelm you. God, I’m such an idiot.”

  “No, it’s okay!” I quickly stammer out, taking his hand in mine again. “I understand why you’re doing it. It’s just the level of it, that’s all. I mean, every girl loves getting presents. But Ashton never bought me a single thing, so you’ve got to understand that going from zero to six million is leaving me with a little whiplash.”

  Rya
n laughs that delectable, full-bodied sound that I’ve come to love, and I smile, the tension and anxiety loosening their grip on both of us.

  “We can go home, if you want,” he says softly. “Pretend this disaster never happened.”

  I shake my head. “No. You put so much effort into doing something amazing for me. We're staying.” Ryan has the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever met. I am determined to enjoy this, to be okay and not let my anxiety eat me alive for once. His smile makes me feel like it is something I can achieve.

  22. Ryan

  After an exquisite eight course meal that my trainer will definitely kill me for, Brenna and I head out onto the rooftop terrace overlooking downtown. We stand silently at the edge, Chicago alive with light and sound even in the oncoming autumn dusk. The river flows quietly past us and into Lake Michigan in the distance.

  Being able to enjoy this city, and these simple moments with the person who brings me so much joy, means more to me than anyone knows. I feel a level of peace and calm that I don’t think I’ve ever experienced in my life, especially not since Sam died. Everything was turbulence before I met Brenna in the bar that night.

  She reigns me in, keeps me calm.

  But she also drives me wild.

  She shivers against the cool breeze, the last few tendrils of sunlight stretching themselves through her hair and across her skin. I wrap my arms around her, capturing her body against mine. Every soft curve of her fits perfectly into my own spaces.

  I kiss her long and slow, savoring the exotic taste and feel of her lips on mine. Our tongues dance together, erasing all thoughts from my mind. I can only breathe, and feel, and love.