Which was why she was so proud of Vihaan for deciding to stand up to all the Richie Riches and live his truth, as opposed to pretending to date her.
“Seriously, come with us,” Vihaan said, taking her hands.
“I don’t have a dress, and I’d only be a third wheel,” Lena answered.
“We can stop by goodwill and get you a dress. Like Pretty in Pink or whatever.”
He frowned when Lena started shaking her head before he was even done with the suggestion.
“Is this because you don’t want to watch your boyfriend get crowned prom king?”
Now it was her turn to roll her eyes. “He’s not my boyfriend.”
“What do you call giving him money for two years straight?”
“A really polite extortion agreement,” Lena answered honestly.
Vihaan huffed like she was honest-to-God keeping a secret from him. “Yes, yes, yes, he’s not your boyfriend. You only give him money every school day and stare at him whenever he is not looking.”
Lena took her hands back, no longer feeling the friendship moment. In fact…. “I’m starting to regret paying your protection money these last two years. I really should have let him escalate and assault you in the showers.”
“Still a top five wank bank fantasy,” Vihaan admitted. “But do not tell Jonah.”
Lena threatened to do just that. But when Jonah arrived at her house—Vihaan wasn’t quite ready to tell his mother and brother about being gay yet—all she said to the boyfriend who had inspired her best friend to give up his beard was congratulations.
She was so, so happy for them. But as she waved after the limo Jonah had rented, a rare moment of self-pity came over her.
Not because she wasn’t going to the prom. She could care less about that school dance. But because she’d spent so much time nursing her stupendously stupid crush on Keane.
He had never outright acknowledged the envelopes. Or even said a word to her. But he chin-nodded whenever they passed in the hall. And at least once a month she’d felt something like a burn on the side of her face and looked up to catch him watching her.
Such little moments. Tiny, infinitesimal moments. But they’d been enough to make her think about him constantly. To daydream about him also being into her instead of trying to hook up with someone actually in her league.
Not that she would have had time, she reminded herself. She wasn’t naturally smart like Vihaan.
“You do not have a natural talent in most of these arenas,” her dad had once admitted when she’d lamented ever being able to get a high score on her S.A.T’s. “But you are hard work smart. Like your future husband Rohan, you must study harder than everyone else to achieve the same results. But what makes you two such a good match is that you are willing to do so.”
Maybe her stupendously stupid crush on Keane had been a good thing, Lena decided as she turned back toward her house. It would never be requited, and it had allowed her all the time she needed to work hard.
Logically, she should be thanking her lucky stars for the heart that had zeroed in on the one guy she could never have.
So why did she feel so lonely as she walked back into the house all by herself on prom night?
That Summer, Eleven Years Ago
“Wait, wait, wait. So you’re trying to tell me Band Nerd not only came to your house, but went to prom without you?” Keane asked as they slow danced at a Cambridge based bar where they’d both just learned to salsa. He did not like her answer to his question about why she hadn’t shown up at prom.
She laughed and pretended that him being there with a date had nothing to do with it.
Fun, she reminded herself. This unexpected summer romance was only supposed to be about fun.
But then the slow song faded, and a Spanish Language version of “Pretty in Pink” took its place.
“See, even the DJ thinks that’s fucked up,” Keane said.
And he continued to hold her close, simply swaying to the ultimate prom song, even though… “We should start dancing again. Practice the moves we learned in class.”
“Give me a minute, bad girl,” he answered. “I’m imagining I took you to prom instead of whatever her name was.”
“Cordelia,” she whispered into his shoulder. “Cordelia Roe.”
“Yeah, whatever, it should have been you,” he said, resting the side of his face on top of her head. “One day, I’m going to send a limo for you, baby. Make it up to you.”
Eleven years later…
“Mom! Mom!” Max called, bursting into his grandfather’s house without warning, just as her father was getting ready to put together something for dinner. “Come look outside!”
“Max, what are you doing here?” she asked, getting up from the kitchen table where she was putting together a business plan to start a non-profit of her own. A non-profit just like the Institute for Better Boys, but centered on girls instead.
She’d been looking forward to going over all the details with her father, but now Max was here. Even though, she thought he was supposed to be going to some Stanley Cup tenth Anniversary commemoration thing tonight with his father. Did she get the date’s mixed up?
No…Max was dressed in a suit, nicer than anything she would have bought him. And Vihaan and Con stood with him in the front foyer, also in suits. And holding hands.
She startled at the sight, even though Vihaan had already texted her all about his new relationship. From a therapist’s POV, it made sense that Con might have been covering up some of his own homosexual feelings by bullying Vihaan those first two years at Boston Glenn. But it was going to take her a while to wrap her head around the former Stick not only coming out, but also Vihaan committing to a relationship with him less than three months after insisting he’d never date a hockey player in the front seat of his car.
Also, why was Vihaan, carrying a dress bag?
“What are you all doing here?” she asked.
“Come outside!” Max said, grabbing her by the hand and tugging her outside. “Look what Pop got you!”
A limo…a huge stretch limo sat idling in front of the house.
One day, I’m going to send a limo for you, baby. Make it up to you.
Lena’s heart swelled, the memory of that promise resonating in her chest.
“Mom?” Max asked beside her. “Are you coming?”
“He got you a dress, too,” stepping out onto the porch with Con.
She couldn’t answer.
This was why she hated him. This was why she loved him. He was a Masshole who would do anything to win. But he always made it up to her.
She placed a hand on her stomach. Her pregnant stomach, as was confirmed a few days when she returned from her father’s new property and decided to stop binge watching teen dramas and get her adult life together.
Her dad had also come out to the porch now. And it felt like everyone, including the baby Keane had given her, was waiting for her answer.
Would she take Keane back? Accept his marriage proposal, like he wasn’t a walking red flag?
She took a deep breath and gave them and herself the final answer to those questions.
Chapter Thirty-One
Keane’s heart sank when Max showed up at the tenth anniversary Stanley Cup celebration and fundraiser with his Uncle Vihaan and Con, instead of his mother. He’d hoped sending a limo and dress along with a ticket to the celebration would draw Lena out of the house. But no, only his son came walking across the ballroom, with his Uncle Vihaan on one side and on the other, Con, the man Max had started calling Uncle Coach after he found out they were dating.
“Hey, Pop,” Max said, once again giving into his California impulse to give him a hug instead of a nod, like Con and Vihaan.
“Hey, son,” he answered, doing his best to cover up how disappointed he was that Lena wasn’t with him.
Apparently, it didn’t work. Proving he’d inherited at least a little bit of his mom’s empathy, Max said, “Sorry, Mom sai
d the dress you sent over was really pretty, but she didn’t get in the limo.”
“We all tried to convince her to come with us,” Vihaan said, apologetically. “But she decided to be stubborn.”
Yeah, Lena was turning out to be even more stubborn than he thought she was after Daytona Beach. She hadn’t taken any of his calls, and he was pretty sure she’d blocked his number. And even though her father had texted Max that she was out of bed and eager to see him a few days ago, she still hadn’t returned one of his texts.
Max, Vihaan, and Con took their seats at a table meant for six, leaving just one seat open beside Bono and his girlfriend. Keane stared at that empty chair, still trying to reconcile Lena’s absence. The limo hadn’t worked. She wasn’t coming back to him this time.
She just wasn’t.
It felt like something in Keane’s chest was cracking. The heart he’d refused to let shatter when she walked away like Marianne from “More Than a Feeling” eleven years ago. This was asshole or get assholed had gotten him. Not a win. But a loss, from which he didn’t think he was going to be able to recover.
Lena wasn’t his mother. His fucking family wasn’t a hockey game.
And no…he was no longer that boy from Southie. The one who’d fallen so hard for her.
But right now, he realized, that was whom he needed to be if he wanted to fix this. Not win this, but fix it.
“Remember what you said the other day. About me stepping down as CEO?” he asked, leaning over to Bono, who’d save for one trip to the restroom, had pretty much been on his Samsung texting since he sat down.
But now, Bono visibly jolted and put away his phone. “Are you serious? You’re thinking about taking on another job? Where?”
“Not, another job. Another state,” Keane answered. “It looks like I’m going to be moving to California.”
“What?” Bono whispered; shock written clear across his face.
Whatever it took. Deep down in his heart, he knew Lena was pregnant, so he’d make the move. Even if it meant living apart from Max and the baby until she trusted him enough to give him another chance. If she ever trusted him enough to give him another chance.
“You heard me,” he answered his brother, just as the Master of Ceremonies dinged for quiet.
“Before we get started with the official ceremony, we have a special presentation, regarding our Stanley Cup MVP, Desmond Keane.”
Keane scrunched his face at the rare sound of his full name, even as applause broke out across the ballroom. “What the hell’s going on?” he asked Bono. “I thought all the MVP shit wasn’t until the end.”
Bono just grinned. Then wolf-whistled, like the MC had just announced U2 would be performing. Con was clapping hard, too. And Max and Vihaan had come all the way out of their seats. Keane frowned. Was U2 performing or something?
No…
Keane rose to his own feet when someone way better than that Irish band walked out on stage. It was Lena, her hair down, wearing the designer dress Keane had sent around along with a ticket for the event. The dress sparkled. But not nearly as bright as her eyes as she came to the front of the stage with her own handheld microphone.
“Hi, I’m not used to doing things like this. Especially in public. So you guys are going to have to bear with me,” she said to the crowd, her voice shaking with nerves. Then she found Keane in the audience, and said, “Sorry, honey. I’m not as good at this as you.”
Keane could only stand there, his body vibrating as he waited to hear what she would say next. The words, when they came, stopped his heart.
“I love you. I never said that to you. Not directly. Because it scared me how much I love you, warts and all,” she told him on one big rush of breath. “But over the last few days, I’ve come to realize, that’s how I’ve always loved you, how I continue to love you. Unconditionally, warts and all. No matter what. I can’t run from that. I can’t hide from that. At least there’s nowhere you won’t find me. That within itself is a miracle most people only hope to find within their lifetime. And even more miraculously, you love me back. You’ve never said it either, but I know you do. Because you kept on believing in us even when I didn’t. When I couldn’t.”
She squeezed the microphone with both her hands, like she was summoning up courage to say the next thing. “And Keane, no matter what you’ve done, that makes you more than I ever thought I deserved. And you’re right. I’ve never chosen you. So I’m standing up here now, in this very, very public arena, to say I choose you. Over California. Over anyone else. I choose you.”
So this was what it felt like to have your heart explode and still remain standing. No, not just standing, moving.
Keane pushed through the crowd of tables towards the stage, like his own love was the puck and Lena was the goal.
“Keane,” she said as he bum-rushed the stage. “Will you marry me? Will you agree to be my hus—”
She didn’t get a chance to finish her reverse proposal, because he leaped up onto stage, like that accident and the last ten years never happened. “You bet I fucking will!” he answered before she could finish asking if he would marry her.
And as if cued by his heart (or as he would later find out, a few twenties slipped to the sound guy by Bono during that supposed trip to the bathroom), “More Than a Feeling” began playing overhead as they sealed that you bet with one hell of a kiss.
She’d put him through so much, and you know what, it didn’t even matter. She was his now. His forever. From that moment on, Lena’s ruthless ex, would become the man who would love and cherish her.
And never fucking ever let her go.
Want to see how Keane and Lena are doing now?
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Keep scrolling for a special preview of STONE: Her Ruthless Enforcer
And, if you’re enjoying the Broken and Ruthless series, you’ll LOVE the Ruthless Tycoons.
Check out Holt, Zahir, and Luca on Amazon!
Oh my gosh! Thank you so, so much for reading this epic romance.
I couldn’t believe when Keane and Lena presented their story to me, in one insane blast the very first I heard “Be Alright” by Dean Lewis on a random Amazon New Music list while cooking dinner. I don’t even remember what I made that night, but let me tell you, this story was the best gift my Echo Show has ever given me.
Max also has a special place in my heart. Parenting has become more and more complicated by the generation, and I’ve learned many times during my time as mother what a blessing a loving family can be. It was an honor and a privilege to give Max the family he will need to support him in his journey. I’m not much of a hockey fan myself, but I’m still cheering for Team KLM.
If you loved the story, and want others to find it, please do KLM the further boon of leaving a review on Amazon.
So Much Love,
Theodora Taylor
P.S. – Keep on scrolling for a preview of the next book in the Broken and Ruthless series, STONE: Her Ruthless Enforcer.
STONE PREVIEW
“Hey, Naima.”
I freeze, inside the empty rectangle of my doorless kitchen, a spike of fear replacing my early morning yawn.
There is a man sitting at my kitchen table. A total stranger I’ve never seen before. And, even scarier than that….
A gun rested on the otherwise empty kitchen table in front of him. Lethal and almost as menacing as the stranger’s non-smiling face.
And to think just a few moments ago, I’d been wondering if even a large cup of coffee would be enough to get me alert and out the door this morning.
I’m wide awake now, no coffee needed.
“Sit down, Naima,” the stranger says. He has a thick Jersey accent, but his voice lacks any emotion whatsoever. Neither do his cold black eyes. The single kitchen light I always leave on reflects off his completely shaven head. But other than
that, he’s all shadow. And though he hasn’t touched the gun on the table, it feels like he’s pointing it straight at me.
I can only stand there, my body stuck in a rictus of previously unknown terror. What does he want? Why is he here?
The midnight black suit he’s wearing looks like it was specifically tailored to fit over his huge, hulking body. It has to have cost more than the entire monthly rent on this townhouse, which I used to share with my blind parents before they moved to the Dominican Republic to retire way more cheaply than they would have been able to here in New York. He’s dressed for business, but I’m a social worker, living paycheck to paycheck. I can barely afford rent now that I’m handling it alone, much less a suit anywhere close to the quality of the one he’s wearing. If he came here to rob me, he’s incredibly stupid.
And this stranger doesn’t strike me as stupid.
“Sit down,” he says again. “We can do this the easy way or the dead way.”
Both my body and mind scream in protest as I fight my primal flight instinct to do what he says. But this stranger doesn’t strike me as stupid…or flippant. He said he’d kill me if I don’t sit down, and I believe him. Eyeing him warily, I take a seat in the chair furthest away from him at the table.
The stranger is technically handsome with tanned skin I’m almost sure isn’t due to the summer sun but genetics. He has ebony eyes, and what I’m guessing would be black hair to match, if he hadn’t shaven his head bald. His coloring and Jersey accent put me in mind of my best friend Amber’s ex-husband, Luca.
Keane: Her Ruthless Ex: 50 Loving States, Massachusetts Page 22