Writing Mr. Right

by T. K. Leigh

  “That doesn’t matter to me.” I tapped my fingernails on the table, avoiding their eyes. “I like living in the shadows. I don’t need the spotlight.” I met his gaze, then glanced just past him to the walls that seemed to be like a museum exhibit.

  Anyone could tell just by walking into this place how proud my father was of all Drew’s accomplishments. The walls that were once covered with vintage photos of my ancestors, who built the café when they didn’t even have two pennies to rub together, were replaced with a history of Drew’s notoriety. There were still framed newspaper clippings chronicling his rise in the hockey world from high school to college, leading up to his professional career, which was actually much longer than most. I often caught Drew staring at them when he didn’t think I was looking. I could sense he wished things were still the way they use to be, but he’d never admit it. Still, I knew he must miss the thrill of lacing up those skates, listening to the crowd go wild when he took the ice, thousands of people chanting his name.

  “You know he’s proud of you, too, don’t you?” Drew offered, taking my hand and squeezing it. I snapped my eyes away from the framed image of the front page of the Boston Globe from six years ago showing Drew in his Bruins jersey, holding up the Stanley Cup, surrounded by his teammates and coaches.

  “I know.” Even a complete stranger could tell I just said that so we could talk about something else. My father couldn’t even remember my name.

  Growing up, Drew had my dad and, for a few years, I had my mom. After she left, my dad tried getting me into sports, since that was all he really knew. I gave him credit for at least making an effort, but sports just weren’t my thing. Over the years, I had actually welcomed sitting in a dark corner of the skating rink, a book in my hand, while my father cheered Drew on from the front row, his face beaming with pride. The Brinks name had become well-known because of my brother, and my father didn’t hesitate to tell everyone about his famous son, including anyone who stepped foot in his café. It didn’t bother me. I was happy living in the shadow of his success. I’d been so accustomed to the way things were, I often responded when people shouted “Drew’s sister” to get my attention.

  “You owe it to yourself,” Brooklyn interjected, sensing my growing unease. “You’ve worked too hard to just let someone else take the credit for what you’ve accomplished.”

  Noticing Aunt Gigi hovering around us like a hawk, trying to eavesdrop on our conversation, I lowered my voice. “I’m not letting someone else take the credit.”

  “In essence, you are, Mols,” Drew replied. “By refusing to even have your face connected to your alter ego, you’re letting this person you made up in your mind take all the credit. Your agent has had requests for you to go on morning talk shows, for crying out loud. Do you know how many other authors would kill for an opportunity like that? It could make you even more of a household name than you already are. You could become the next Danielle Steel or Nora Roberts.”

  “Just drop it.” I was bored with this conversation. They brought it up every few months. No matter what I said, they couldn’t understand why I refused to make any public appearances under my alter ego.

  “I’m not going to drop it this time, Molly.” Drew leaned into me. “What’s the real reason?”

  I crossed my arms, inching away from him. His eyes bored into me, making me uncomfortable in a place that had always been like a second home. Narrowing my gaze at Drew, I formed my lips into a tight line. “You are,” I answered with a severe look.

  Blinking repeatedly, his mouth turned into a frown. “Me?” He straightened his spine, taken aback.

  “Yes, Drew.” I slammed my laptop shut, my voice firm, although barely louder than a whisper. “I was there every step of the way. I shared each victory of yours. When you received the Hobey Baker award in college, I was as humbled as you. When all those coaches from the NHL scouted you, I was just as nervous sitting in the stands as you were on the ice. When you skated your way to your first Stanley Cup and were awarded the Conn Smythe trophy for being the MVP, I cried along with you. Hell, we drank beer out of Lord Stanley’s cup together when it was your turn to have it! Every emotion you felt throughout your career, I felt it, too.”

  My shoulders fell as a knowing expression crossed his face. “All the ups and especially the downs… I felt them, Drew. I know what it’s like to be on top of the world, then have that ripped away.” I shook my head. “I’ve already been there and am not going back. That’s why I like my anonymity. If my books stop selling, it won’t be Molly Brinks who will have failed. It’ll be Vivienne Foxx.”

  Drew and Brooklyn were silent for a moment. I didn’t expect them to understand. The book industry wasn’t what it once was. These days, it seemed everyone and their dog published a book. Readers had started caring less and less about the craft of writing. They wanted sexier, racier, raunchier. Just telling a great story was no longer enough. You had to push the envelope. I knew there would be a day in the near future where even my stuff would be too tame for some. I wanted to be able to walk away without too much damage to who I was as a person.

  “Plus, I’m pretty sure Aunt Gigi would have a heart attack if she knew,” I added, lightening the mood. Humor had always been my coping mechanism. Drew said I masked my true feelings with sarcasm. I didn’t see anything wrong with that. “She already practically lives at that damn church. If she knew the things I wrote about in my books, she’d start sleeping in the confessional.”

  “You may be surprised,” Drew answered with a smug look. “This isn’t about what Aunt Gigi thinks, Mols. Sure, there may come a day when your books don’t sell, but that doesn’t mean you’re a failure. It just means you took a risk. I took a risk on a relationship with Carla, knowing full well she was a hockey groupie. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have the two beautiful daughters I do. It’s scary putting yourself out there, but the rewards you could reap far outweigh the downfalls.”

  “Whatever.” I wasn’t in the mood for his little pep talk. Nothing he or anyone said would convince me to give up my anonymity. For what? So my father would finally realize he had a daughter, too? That ship had sailed years ago.

  “So what are you going to do? What’s your plan?” he asked, returning to the issue at hand.

  I pinched my lips and shrugged. “Go back to square one. Try to find a muse that has more of a businessman vibe to him. Not sure I’ll find someone like that in my usual spots.”

  “Oh! I know!” Brooklyn gasped. “You should try online dating! One of the girls at the office met her husband on Tinder or something! I’ll do it with you!”

  Drew’s eyes shot to her. “I don’t know. There’s a lot of freaks out there.” A slight scowl crossed his unshaven face.

  “We’re not stupid enough to go to someone’s house to meet for the first time,” she assured him. “There are rules.”

  “Rules?” He cocked a brow.

  “Yeah. You always meet in a public place, preferably for just drinks. Dinner’s too much of a commitment. You can down a drink in ten minutes, maybe even less, so if he’s really dull or posted a Photoshopped picture, you can get out of there quickly.”

  Drew and I both gaped at her, wondering how she came up with these rules on the spot.

  “I’ve done the online thing before,” she admitted casually.

  “You what?!” I exclaimed. “How come you didn’t say anything? If you were looking to meet someone, I would have gone bar-hopping with you!”

  A faint smile crossed her face. “I’m not interested in the kind of guys you meet at a loud bar. Not that there’s anything wrong with the way you typically go about things. I prefer having a connection with someone. Online dating is just as random as picking up a guy at a bar, but at least you’re not under the cloud of alcohol or beer goggles. It’s…safer.”

  “I’m safe!”

  “I know you are, but I don’t have your looks or personality.”

  “What are you talking about? You’re a beautiful gir
l, Brooklyn.”

  “No. I’m unique,” she emphasized, gesturing to her nearly jet-black hair, freckled face, and slender stature. “There’s a difference.”

  “If it means anything…” Drew turned to Brooklyn. “I think you’re beautiful.”

  She tried to hide her smile, but it was impossible. She’d had a crush on Drew since middle school. Drawing in a breath, she changed the subject as best she could. “So it’s settled. We’ll put up profiles on every dating site out there. You may just meet the one.” She looked at me hopefully.

  “That’s not the point of this. I just need a guy with a modicum of good looks and a professional persona to help inspire me to finish this billionaire businessman romance. All I need is a little spark. Then I’ll walk away.”

  “What if you like the guy?”

  “That won’t happen.” I shivered in disgust at the notion.

  “You act as if being in a serious relationship is a curse,” Brooklyn observed. “Life isn’t like Sex and the City, you know.”

  “It should be. Think of all the shoes!”

  Her eyes widened. “Shoes…,” she exhaled in a drawn-out voice, a look of absolute bliss on her face.

  Drew chuckled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The female gender is a complete mystery. I will never understand the fascination with shoes.”

  “But what if you fall in love?” Brooklyn pushed. “You’re just going to walk away from that?”

  “I’ve been doing this for years now. I’ve yet to find anyone with whom I wanted to pick out window treatments. And it sure as hell won’t happen this time, either. Love isn’t real.”

  “I don’t know.” Drew leaned back in his chair, studying me. “I think it’s all a front. You act like you have no desire to be in a committed relationship with someone, but deep down, you yearn to be completely swept off your feet like happens in all those movies you constantly watch, allegedly in the name of ‘research’. I think you watch them because you secretly believe your Mr. Darcy is out there somewhere.”

  I rolled my eyes, hating that Drew used Mr. Darcy against me. Pride and Prejudice was one of my weaknesses, and he knew it. “They’re all just fantasies. All those movies and books are nothing more than a carefully crafted story marketed to the masses who want to feel all warm and fuzzy for a minute. There’s no such thing as happily ever after. You show me the happily ever after in waking up one morning after retiring from the NHL because of an injury to find the woman you wanted to spend the rest of your life with ran off with an uninjured player, leaving you to raise a two-year-old and six-month-old.”

  Drew narrowed his gaze at me. “Fuck you, Molly.”

  I knew my words hurt him, but it needed to be said. Of all people, Drew should realize true love was just a pipe dream.

  Brooklyn’s eyes darted between us. “Just because some relationships don’t work out doesn’t mean the right person isn’t out there. Yes, Drew’s been hurt.” She reached across the table and clutched his hand, his severe expression softening as his gaze shifted to her. “But that doesn’t stop him from hoping for something better. The right woman will come along and will accept the scars, bruises, brain injuries, everything.” She smiled, breaking the building tension at the table.

  Brooklyn had a gift. Like all siblings, Drew and I had our fair share of arguments. Throw in our innate Italian stubbornness, and what started out as a simple disagreement could turn into World War III if it weren’t for Brooklyn constantly stepping in.

  “Did Carla break my heart?” Drew faced me once more, his eyes brimming with sorrow. “You better believe she did. But I don’t regret a second of it because, for a short period of time, I felt something. I felt that spark people want to feel when they read your books.” He lowered his voice. “And I feel bad for anyone who’s never experienced that. Molly, you’re thirty years old.”

  My eyes widened as I shot daggers at him. “Don’t say that vile word!”

  His lips turned into a smile. “Okay. Okay. Twenty-nine-plus-one.”

  “Better.” I smirked.

  “You’re going to do whatever you want, regardless of what I say, but maybe it’s time you thought about finding someone who’s interested in you as a person, not just in hooking up with you. I know Mom leaving had a bigger impact on you than it did on me—”

  “It didn’t—” I interrupted, but Drew held up his hand. I closed my mouth.

  “It did. And it scarred Dad, too. I don’t think he ever dated again after that. I remember hearing him say, ‘Real love isn’t real life.’”

  “He said that?” I scrunched my nose.

  Drew simply nodded. “It must be where you got it. I love you, Molly. You’re my best friend. I hate the idea of you never opening your heart, or at least your mind, to the prospect of meeting someone who could love you.”

  “Andrew!” Aunt Gigi yelled from behind the counter. “Break’s over. It’s almost noon and I need the bar stocked.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Who owns this place? Me or her?” He winked and got up as Aunt Gigi approached the table, holding a piece of light green paper she had ripped off the advertisement corkboard beside us.

  “Here you go.” She slammed the paper down on the table.

  “What’s this?” I picked it up, reading it.

  “Speed dating,” she answered. “I heard what you were talking about.”

  My large blue eyes grew even bigger, wondering exactly how much she had overheard.

  “I wasn’t born yesterday, Molly. You don’t exactly have the softest of voices, my dear.” She leaned down, then whispered, “And your Uncle Leo thanks you. Things have gotten…interesting since I began reading your books.”

  When she pulled away, my face reddened with embarrassment, my mind spinning, wondering exactly which of my books my aunt had read. None were tame enough for her. The Bible wasn’t tame enough for her.

  “Start here. It could be fun.” She glanced over her shoulder. “And Drew will go, too.”

  “Go where?” He looked away from the TV showing highlights from last night’s Bruins game.

  “Speed dating,” I answered with a grimace. I hated making small talk, feigning interest in someone’s lame story about their exciting weekend trip to Home Depot. At least with online dating, I could hide my disgust behind a computer screen.

  “I’m busy,” he shot back.

  “You don’t even know when it is.” Aunt Gigi crossed her arms in front of her chest. “And it’s tonight.”

  “I can’t find a sitter on such short notice.”

  “I’ll watch the girls.”

  “I don’t want to put you out.”

  “You’re not,” she insisted. “You want your sister to meet someone. I want the same for you.”

  “I’m okay. I’m happy. I don’t need—”

  “Ah, ah, ah.” Aunt Gigi held up her hand. “You’ll go, too.” There was no sense in arguing with her. It was a losing battle. “Those girls need a mother. I’ll babysit. No arguments.”

  “Yeah, Drew,” I jabbed. “No arguments. If I have to suffer through this, you can suffer along with me.”

  “I’m not the one who breaks out in hives at the mention of a committed relationship.”

  “I don’t break out in hives.”

  “Hyperventilates then.”

  I bit my lip, remaining silent.

  “Gotcha,” he joked.

  “Come on!” I implored. “You can size up the competition and give every guy who looks at me the evil eye.”

  “I’m not so sure that’s a good way to find a new muse,” Brooklyn added. “Drew will have every guy running for the hills.”

  I was about to tell Aunt Gigi it was a lame idea when the fine print on the flyer caught my eye. “It may not be a complete waste of time.” I held the flyer up, pointing to the bottom. “There’s an open bar.”

  “Fine,” Drew relented.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “HIYA, MOLLY,” ONE OF the front desk staff members said
as I entered through the automatic doors of a two-story brick building.

  “Hey, Reggie,” I responded to the slim, older black man, the little hair he had left graying in places. I approached the counter, taking the clipboard he handed me, all too familiar with the procedure at this point. “Catch the game last night?”

  “Sure did. That team hasn’t been the same since your brother retired.”

  A smile tugged at my lips as I signed the visitor’s log. “You’re just saying that so I’ll get you some more signed jerseys.”

  “No. It’s the truth,” he assured me. “But I wouldn’t turn down a jersey or two, either. My brother’s a big fan.” He placed a visitor badge on the counter and I grabbed it, clipping it to my shirt.

  “How’s he doing today?” I asked, my expression falling.

  “He’s having as good a day as he can, given the circumstances.”

  I closed my eyes and straightened my spine, steeling myself for what awaited me down the corridor. Drew didn’t understand why I came here every day, considering I didn’t see my dad that much when he still lived at the house I grew up in. I couldn’t abandon my father. I hated that we even had to put him in a place like this. I liked to think Vincenzo Brinks had so much more life left in him. Still, he couldn’t live on his own anymore. If we didn’t do this, I feared we’d check in on him one day to learn he’d wandered off, unsure of who he was and where he lived.

  “Don’t take it personally.” Reggie clutched my hand and I opened my eyes, meeting his. “He loves you. It’s the disease that makes him like this.”

  Forming my lips into a straight line, not showing any emotion, I simply nodded. I’d heard that same thing too many times to count.