by Avery Flynn
Finn snorted. “You could give that a try, but I wouldn’t recommend it. That’s Juliette Courage. She’s a former beauty queen. And oh by the way, she’s also the coach’s wife.”
Dempsey lifted his hands in concession, and a ripple of laughter went through the group. “Okay,” Addison said after giving Dempsey a not-small amount of side-eye. “What about that guy over there with the knee brace? He’s pretty easy on the eyes. And by ‘pretty’, I mean ‘very’.”
“Who, Anders?” Oh hell, this was too good to be true. Not that Finn would tell Addison that there was a hundred and fifty thousand-dollar bounty on the poor guy’s virginity. “He’s one of our left wingers. He was injured in Game Six, but he’s healing up now. You want me to introduce you?”
“Do fish swim? Hell yes I want you to introduce me,” she said, and huh, suddenly Dempsey was returning the favor of that side-eye.
Finn turned to January, brushing a kiss over her lips. “I’m going to go hang out with the guys and do some meet and greet with the guests. See if we can’t convince more of these people to make a big, fat donation.”
She laughed, kissing him right back. “Go. Have fun.”
“I will,” he said, and making good on the promise wasn’t tough. He introduced Addison and Quinn to Anders and their right winger, Ransom Cox, and they traded just enough stories to make for decent laughs but not trouble. Wanting to follow through on his promise to encourage the guests to make donations to the RFD, Finn put on his PR face and worked the room, posing for pictures with Rogues fans as well as his buddies Alec and Trey. About halfway through his circuit around the jam-packed dining room, he caught sight of a man standing a few paces away with a wide-eyed little boy in a Rogues jersey, and after a whispered conversation between the two, the man tentatively approached.
“Sorry to bother you. I’m Rick Gerard, one of the firefighters over at Station Six.”
“You’re not bothering me at all,” Finn said, extending a hand toward the guy. “Finn Donnelly. I play center for the Rage.”
“Oh, we know.” Rick laughed a little, gesturing to the boy, who was shyly clinging to his hand. “We’re really big hockey fans. Anyway, I just wanted to say thanks for supporting the RFD. I’m sure you guys have tons of worthy organizations asking for help. On behalf of my firehouse, we’re really grateful you picked ours.”
Finn’s breath tightened. “It’s the least I can do. Believe me.” Tilting his head, he bent down to eye level with the boy, draping his forearms over his thighs. “So you’re a big hockey fan, huh?”
The little boy nodded. “Y-yes.”
Rick squeezed the kid’s hand. “This is my son, Jackson.”
“Hi Jackson. You must really like the Rogues,” Finn said, pointing to the kid’s jersey. He paused for a long second before eking out another shy nod, and Finn smiled. “I like the Rogues too.”
“You do?” Jackson asked, surprise covering his face.
“Sure. I mean, I play for the Rage, so I also like them a lot. But I’m from Remington, and I have a lot of friends who live here.” Finn’s eyes darted to the spot where January stood over by Captain Bridges and her father, and man, the words just felt right. “See that lady over there, with the blond hair? She’s my very best friend, and she planned this whole party. I wanted to help her, but I also want to help firefighters like your dad, who keep everyone in Remington safe.”
Jackson bit his lip and looked at Finn. “So it’s okay if I like the Rogues best?”
“Sure, buddy. In fact, have you met Alec Duchene and Trey Parkinson?”
Rick and Jackson traded twin looks of shock. “No,” Rick answered, and talk about the biggest no-brainer on the planet.
“Well.” Finn pushed to his feet and scanned the dining room, spotting his former teammates over by the selfie station. “Let’s fix that. I bet we can get a bunch of pictures and some trading cards for you, too. How does that sound?”
Finn walked them over to Alec and Trey, making introductions and snapping a bunch of photos with Rick’s iPhone. Jackson insisted that Finn be in some of the photos too, and saying no to the kid’s obvious excitement was a physical impossibility. He posed for selfies and signed fundraiser programs and greeted guests, finally covering the bar from end to end just as Captain Bridges took to the microphone over by the double doors by the Crooked Angel’s front entrance.
“May I have your attention please?” he asked, his voice instantly hushing the crowd. “I’d like to thank you all for coming tonight, and for supporting the Remington Fire Department. It’s with great pleasure that I announce that as of this moment, we have officially exceeded our fundraising goal.”
A huge cheer went up from the crowd, and Finn added his in with a laugh. Not that he’d ever thought they wouldn’t raise the money, but damn, the news was good.
“Now,” Captain Bridges continued, settling the crowd back into relative quiet. “The truth is, we never would have made it to this point without some incredible hard work and dedication. With that, I’d like to recognize January Sinclair, who organized this event. Please give her a well-deserved round of applause.”
Finn’s heart pounded with pride as he watched January cross the room to stand by her boss, and Christ, she’d never looked more beautiful.
“Thank you,” she said, grinning into the microphone. “I’m thrilled to have exceeded our fundraising goal and know that the men and women of the RFD will be safer as they serve this community that I love so much.” A ripple of applause went up, and January waited it out before adding, “However, I can’t take all the thanks. The idea for this fundraiser, along with much of the planning, came from Finn Donnelly. Without him, we wouldn’t be here.”
January looked at him through the crowd, her blue eyes full of emotion, and even though they were surrounded by hundreds of people, Finn suddenly felt like there was no one else in the entire bar—or hell, maybe even the universe.
“Thank you for having my back,” she said.
And in that moment, with every eye in the entire house fixed firmly on him, Finn knew two things. One was that he was insanely, ridiculously, head-over-skates in love with January.
The second was that he was going to take the offer from the Rogues.
“This is insane,” Finn muttered, tiptoeing (as best a guy his size could, anyway) out of January’s bedroom and into her kitchen. They’d gotten back from the fundraiser way too late last night for him to call Marty, and even though the sun was barely coloring the sky with a palette of purple and orange, he couldn’t wait any longer.
Insane or not, he needed to make the call, even if it would change the career he’d worked his ass off for.
Flicking his iPad to life, Finn propped it on the counter at the breakfast bar, settling himself onto one of the bar stools there. The call was a big enough deal that he wanted to do it as close to face to face as possible, so he tapped the FaceTime icon, pulled up Marty’s smiling face from his list of contacts, adjusting the volume to its lowest feasible setting so he wouldn’t wake January as he initiated the call.
“Donnelly,” Marty answered on the second ring, and Christ, the guy really didn’t ever sleep. “How’s my fucking rock star hockey center?”
Finn laughed, albeit quietly. “The Rage strung me along for a goddamn month. I’m good, but I’m not so sure rock star applies.”
“I’m gonna have to call you out on that one,” Marty said, the cagey excitement in his voice snagging every last ounce of Finn’s attention. “Because I just got off the horn with a very contrite Michael Babineaux, and he made you the offer of a lifetime.”
Marty followed the news with some numbers so high that Finn actually considered getting dizzy. “Wait, what?” he asked, shock pinning him into place on his bar stool. “He’s been holding out forever. What the hell changed his mind?”
“You and that fundraiser, that’s what. Jesus, Donnelly, I know you said he’d come to his senses once you showed him some PR, but I have to admit, the wh
ole thing was brilliant.”
“The whole thing,” Finn said slowly, his brain desperately trying to catch up to the fireworks going on in his rib cage.
“Yes, you sly son of a bitch! Social media practically blew up with pictures of that shindig last night. Some cute blonde wearing your jersey and schmoozing with the mayor, you hamming it up with those guys from the Rogues, and—my personal favorite—the picture with you and that kid. Babineaux couldn’t possibly say no to you now without looking like a schmuck and a half, and no way is he going to let you go to the Rogues. Christ, it was a PR coup. Of course he fucking called me with the offer.”
Finn opened his mouth to tell Marty he had everything dead wrong. Finn hadn’t helped January for his own gain. Hell, he’d been fully prepared to take a (far, far) lesser deal from the Rogues less than five minutes ago. But before he could loosen the words, realization slammed into him with all the force of a defenseman tearing over the blue line at full speed.
The Rage had made him the offer of a lifetime. The offer he’d wanted.
The offer he deserved.
“What about the Rogues?” Finn asked, and Marty laughed.
“And I thought I was the cutthroat one,” Marty joked. Something about Finn’s expression must have conveyed that he expected an answer, though, because he continued with, “After last night, they’ll probably scrape together all that they can to get you. Buddying up with their two star players was a nice touch, by the way. But there’s no way the Rogues will be able to touch the offer Babineaux just made.”
Finn’s pulse rushed, filling his ears with a roar despite the pin-drop quiet of the kitchen. Yes, Marty was misinterpreting his motivations, and yes again, Finn had spent an incredible month here in Remington. But the truth was, he hadn’t even expected to stay longer than a day or two. He’d spent the last three years with the Rage, pouring everything he had into being a part of the team there—of being someone worthy of a championship. He’d done that in New Orleans.
Not Remington.
“Kid?” Marty’s voice filtered over the line, his hand waving across the image on Finn’s iPad. “You’re not having second thoughts, are you? What with Remington being your hometown and all?”
“No,” Finn said, resolve forming a cold, steely ball in his gut. “I’m not having second thoughts. I’ve wanted the deal with the Rage from the get. I don’t belong in Remington. I never have. Give me a couple hours to figure out a flight. I’ll be back in New Orleans by nightfall.”
11
January stood on the threshold of her living room with her heart in her throat and her hands balled into fists. Okay, so eavesdropping wasn’t usually something she’d put on her list of things that were cool to do, but as soon as she’d heard Finn’s agent talking about the fundraiser, then the deal from the Rage and the apparent counter-offer from the Rogues, all bets for walking away in the name of privacy had been off.
Just like right now, all bets for keeping her cool were a statistical impossibility.
“Did you use my fundraiser to get a more lucrative job offer?”
Finn’s shock showed in only the slightest tightening of his shoulders before he slid from the bar stool to face her. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough.” January knotted her arms over the front of the tank top she’d slept in, mostly to cover her slamming heart. God, what an idiot she’d been!
Finn hadn’t cared about her or the RFD. He’d used her to get what he wanted, and now he was going to leave her behind, just like he had seven years ago. And rather than being once bitten, twice smart-as-hell about it like she damn well should have, she’d gone and fallen in love with him. Again.
On second thought, ‘idiot’ wasn’t nearly strong enough.
“This isn’t what it sounds like,” Finn started, but January cut him off with a barbed-wire laugh.
“Really? Then you didn’t just get an offer for an ungodly amount of money—an offer which, oh by the way, you hadn’t been able to get all freaking month—because the owner of the Rage caught wind of last night’s PR?”
He flinched. “Yes, but—”
Anger sparked and flashed, prompting her to cut him off without regret. “And did you plan to use the RFD fundraiser as leverage in brokering that offer?”
Finn’s pause arrowed directly into January’s chest. “Okay, yes, but not the way you think.”
“Not the way I think?” she asked, and oh, that was priceless. “I realize I was gullible and love struck enough to fall for your I’m-a-better-guy routine all month, but please, do me a favor and stop insulting me now that I know the score.”
In an instant, Finn’s gaze darkened, and he stepped toward her on the carpet. “You’re absolutely right, January. You do know the score. We’ve both known it since I got here. I live in New Orleans, and that’s where I belong.”
“Do you really believe that?”
Her heart launched the question before her defenses could haul it back. Yes, the realistic part of her had known that Finn was waiting on an offer from the Rage, and that when he got it, he’d be leaving for New Orleans. But the rest of her had seen him become part of the community—part of her community, her family, her life—over the past few weeks, and dammit, Finn belonged there.
Or maybe she’d just foolishly, trustingly, stupidly wanted him to belong there, when what he’d wanted was leverage for a killer job offer and a few weeks’ worth of no-strings-attached sex.
For a second, Finn said nothing, an odd flare of some unnamed emotion moving through his eyes. But then it was gone, replaced by something cold and lifeless that January had only seen once before.
“Yes. I believe that because it’s the truth. This was cool while it lasted, but I belong with my team in New Orleans. Just give me a couple of minutes to get my stuff together, and I’ll be out of your hair for good.”
Finn sat at the terminal in the Charlotte airport with his duffel bags at his feet and his chest full of nails. Yeah, the second part was metaphorical, and probably a little dramatic on top of it, but still, no matter what Finn thought or did, he couldn’t loosen the bone-deep ache that had settled between his ribs.
How had everything he’d ever wanted gone from zero to cluster fuck in the span of one goddamn morning?
“Suck it up, buttercup,” Finn grumbled, grateful that his flight didn’t leave for another six hours, thus leaving the terminal dead-empty of anyone who might overhear him. His blowout with January might definitely fall under the train wreck category, and the whole nails-in-the-chest thing might largely be grounded in the fact that she (erroneously) thought he’d used her fundraiser entirely for his own gain. But at the end of the day, the truth was still the truth.
He’d wanted the offer from the Rage. Hell, he’d put in enough time, sweat, and energy to earn every penny. He belonged in New Orleans.
Do you really believe that?
The words filtered through Finn’s brain, the anger and hope in January’s voice as she’d asked him the same question this morning sounding off in his ears, and he stuffed it back, once and for all. He’d come back to Remington to close a chapter in his life that had long since ended. He had the deal he’d worked for, on the team he’d been part of for the last three years.
Leaving now—for good—was his only choice.
Blowing out a breath, Finn pushed to his feet. Sitting here brooding was only going to make him bat-shit crazy, and anyway, he had a ton of time to kill. He might as well grab something to eat to try and kill the ache in his chest.
Fuck, he missed January.
Finn shouldered his bags, focusing on the burn in his muscles as he went to make his way to the main terminal. But before he could get so much as three steps from the gate, his cell phone made a holy racket from the back pocket of his jeans.
“What the hell?” Finn said, his confusion morphing into a quick burst of hope, then a hard shot of dread as he recognized the number on the caller ID. “Kellan?”
“Hey, man,” the firefighter answered, his voice serious.
“Is something wrong at the firehouse?” Finn’s pulse rattled, and the sensation didn’t get any better with the guy’s reply.
“You tell me. January showed up about an hour ago even though it’s her day off, and she looks like hell in a hand basket. Said you left this morning to go back to New Orleans, and that you’re not coming back.”
Unease climbed the back of Finn’s throat. “Yeah. It’s complicated.”
“Right.” Kellan paused, and Finn could hear the guy measuring his next words in the soft buzz of silence on the line. “Look, I don’t know what went down between the two of you, and I may be really out of line for saying this, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to. You’re a cool guy, and I appreciate everything you did to help us out. But January’s one of us, and over here at Seventeen, we look out for our own.”
“I know,” Finn said.
“Good. Then you also know she’d do anything for the people she cares about.”
Despite the emotions making a spin-cycle out of his gut, Finn’s mouth lifted in a smile that was way more irony than joy. “I know that too.”
“Then do me a favor and tell me one thing. Why are you wherever you are and not here returning the favor, when the person she obviously cares about above everyone else is you?”
Just like that, all the air funneled from Finn’s lungs, shock and sadness and something much, much deeper rooting him to his spot in the empty terminal. He’d been so tangled up trying to move forward, to get ahead and prove his worth, that he hadn’t seen the one thing that had been right smack in front of him the whole time.
January did care about him. No matter who he played for. No matter how many goals he scored or what sort of deal he got offered. She cared about him enough to make him part of everything she loved.
And he’d gone and fucked it all up by walking out the door. Again.
“You said she’s there at Seventeen? Right now?” Finn asked, his heart tripping in his too-tight chest. But he had to make this right. He had to finally be the guy he’d worked so hard to become.