The Risk: Briar U

by Kennedy, Elle

  I silence him with my eyes. Hollis is being vulnerable with us right now, and he doesn’t deserve to be mocked.

  Oh my God. Who am I? Is this the Upside Down? Because since when do I pass up the opportunity to mock Mike Hollis?

  “Did you not like any of her ideas?” I ask carefully.

  He stares at me. “I didn’t even let her start brainstorming. Who makes a list of nicknames and sits around voting on them like fucking American Idol? I told her it was crazy and that she was crazy and then I suggested that maybe her nickname should be ‘crazy’ and she lost her shit and stormed out. And then she texted me later to say she can’t be with somebody who isn’t, and I quote, all in.”

  “She has a point. It’s hard to be in a relationship when both people aren’t all in.” I shrug. “Also, I don’t blame her for bailing. Who wants to be called crazy all the time? It’s bound to give someone a complex.”

  “She already has a complex. It’s called insanity.”

  “Hollis,” I chide.

  He’s suitably shame-faced.

  “I bet you’ve called her crazy more times than you’ve said you liked her. Actually, I bet you’ve never even said the words, ‘I like you.’ Have you?” I challenge.

  “Yes.”

  “Hollis.”

  “Fine. No.”

  “Be honest—do you want to keep dating this girl?”

  After a very long, embarrassed silence, he nods.

  “Okay. Then give me your phone.”

  Despite the misgiving in his eyes, he hands it over. I scroll through his contacts until I find Rupi’s name—with the heart-eyes emoji beside it. She picks up on the first ring, which tells me not all hope is lost.

  “What do you want, Mike?” She doesn’t sound like her usual chirpy self.

  “Hey, Rupi. It’s Brenna.”

  “Brenna? Why do you have Mike’s phone?”

  “I’m putting you on speaker, okay? Hollis is here beside me. Say hello, Hollis.”

  “Hello,” he mutters.

  “Anyway, we were having a little chat,” I go on, “and Hollis has something he wants to say to you.”

  “What is it?” she asks warily.

  “Hollis?” I prompt.

  He doesn’t speak.

  “Okay, then I’ll say it. Hollis likes you, Rupi. He pretends he doesn’t, but deep down he does. He pretends he doesn’t like all the arguing, but deep down he’s all about the drama-llama. His favorite show is Keeping Up with the Kardashians, for Pete’s sake.”

  Hunter snickers from the armchair and takes a sip of his beer.

  “Yeah, but his favorite Kardashian is Khloe,” Ruby says darkly. “Everybody knows that Kourtney is the best one.”

  “Kourtney doesn’t even make the top three,” Mike grumbles at the phone.

  “See! That’s why it can’t work!”

  “Nah,” I disagree. “That’s why it will work. You don’t want to be with someone who’s exactly like you. You want someone who challenges you, who inspires you to open up when you’ve been closed off your entire life—” My voice cracks. Oh no. I’m thinking about Jake again, and I notice Hollis shooting me a strange look. I ignore it and keep talking to his stalker. I mean, girlfriend. “Listen, I know he’s always calling you crazy, but coming from him, that’s actually a compliment.”

  Hunter snickers again.

  “Explain yourself,” Rupi orders.

  “Have you met him? He’s crazy. And from the sounds of it, his family’s crazy, too.”

  “Hey!” Hollis protests. “I wish you wouldn’t bring my family into this.”

  “If wishes were horses we’d all be equestrians,” I say smugly, and that shuts him right up. “So really, Rupi, when he calls you that, it’s because he’s recognizing a kindred spirit.” I wink at Mike. “He sees his soul mate.”

  A breathy gasp floats out of the phone. “Is that true, Mike?”

  He scowls at me, slashing one finger across his throat to signal that he’s going to kill me for throwing out the term “soul mate.” But after the Kardashian snafu, I had to bring out the big guns.

  “Mike?” Rupi says.

  “It’s true,” he mumbles. “I like you, okay? I don’t think you’re crazy. I think you’re awesome.”

  “Then why don’t you want to give each other cute nicknames?” she demands.

  “Because it’s so—”

  I shake my head in warning.

  “—important,” he finishes, saving himself. “It’s a huge step forward in the relationship.”

  I’m worried that Hunter might die laughing. He presses his face to his forearm to muffle the sounds.

  “But fine,” Hollis says. “If you want to come up with nicknames, we’ll come up with nicknames. My first suggestion is ‘kitten.’”

  “Kitten!” Hunter howls.

  “I don’t know if I like that one for me,” Rupi says slowly.

  “No, it would be for me. I also think—actually, wait, I’m taking you off speakerphone.” He taps his phone and brings it to his ear. “I’m going upstairs. Brenna and Hunter don’t get a say in the nickname conversation.” As he nears the doorway, he suddenly stops. He glances at me over his shoulder and mouths, Thank you.

  My heart actually melts a little. For Hollis. Imagine that.

  I smile graciously. Once he’s out of the room, I turn to Hunter and say, “My work here is done.”

  He grins. “Solid job you did there.”

  I study him. “You seem to be in a pretty good mood, considering, you know…” I nod toward his cast. “And you don’t seem pissed at me at all.”

  “I was never pissed at you.”

  “You sent me a nasty text about thanking my boyfriend for you,” I remind him.

  “Yeah, the day after that jackass Hemley broke my wrist. I was still smarting over everything that went down during the game, and you were an easy target.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  He shrugs. “And I was indirectly pissed at Connelly. But…truthfully, he didn’t do anything wrong. He tried his best to break up the fight.” Another shrug. “That said, I still think if Nate and I were playing that night, we’d be the ones facing Michigan this weekend.”

  “I think so, too.” I release a glum breath. “We were in the lead for most of the first period, until you guys left the game. We had it.”

  “We had it,” he echoes, before taking a hasty sip of his beer. “And then we lost it because of me.”

  “Bullshit. You didn’t get injured on purpose.”

  “No, but my off-the-ice behavior cost us the game. I spent the last couple months banging my way through campus. And then when that got boring, I started hitting the bars in Boston and picking up strangers, and look what happened.” He groans. “Apparently Violet was aiming to get back at Hemley because they got in some fight. She knew who I was when we met.”

  “Really?” I gasp.

  “Oh yeah. And the first thing she did after I left was call him to taunt him about it. So the moment Hemley got on the ice during the finals, he started questioning me, and, well, you know the rest.”

  Hunter shakes his head in disgust. It’s clearly self-directed, though.

  “I never used to be like that. I hooked up, sure, but I didn’t make it my mission in life to sleep with any chick that crossed my path. I lost my head, became a ‘pussy posse of one,’ as Hollis likes to call it.” He offers a dry grin. “I need to clean up my act, get my shit together. I want to take the team to the Frozen Four next season. Nate’s graduating, and I don’t know if Coach will be choosing the next captain, or if the guys will vote on it, or what. But I want it to be me.”

  I whistle. “That’s a lofty goal.”

  “I know. And I plan on working hard to reach it. So…no more fucking around. Literally.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I’m taking a vow of celibacy.”

  A gust of laughter flies out. “Um. That’s never going to happen. I give you one w
eek, tops.”

  “You think I can’t keep it in my pants longer than a week?” He looks mildly insulted.

  “You’re a twenty-year-old hockey player. No, I don’t think you can keep it in your pants longer than a week.”

  Hunter smirks. “Alright, then. Guess I’ll just have to prove you wrong.”

  38

  Brenna

  “Holy shit!”

  Dad, who’s cooking breakfast for us at the stove, turns sharply to look at me. It’s Saturday morning, and my phone screen is currently displaying the most shockingly unexpected news since that Toronto player Ryan Wesley announced to the world he was gay.

  “Everything okay?” Dad barks.

  “Holy shit,” I repeat as I reread the message. “Tansy got engaged.”

  He blinks. “Your cousin, Tansy?”

  “Yup.”

  “Engaged?”

  “Yup.”

  “To who?”

  “Lamar, that basketball player she’s constantly breaking up with. According to this, he got down on one knee at a nightclub last night and popped the question. He had a ring and everything.” I flip the phone around so Dad can see the picture she sent. The diamond on her finger isn’t enormous, but it’s much bigger than I’d expect from a college student’s budget.

  Wow. I guess she wasn’t kidding when she told me they were talking about getting engaged.

  “Oh boy,” Dad says. “Sheryl is going to shit a brick.”

  I snort with laughter, and he responds with a loud chortle. It’s only been a few days, and our relationship is already different. It’s easier, almost entirely free of tension. Sure, we’re not going around hugging each other every other minute, but our conversations flow so much smoother, and we’re cracking more jokes. Real ones and not the sarcastic kind veiled with venom.

  We’re truly starting over.

  “Hold on. Let me text her back.”

  ME: Hey!!! Can’t talk right now b/c I’m having breakfast with my dad but OMG!! Congratulations! This is amazing news and I’m so happy for you. You’re going to be the most beautiful bride, T!! <3 <3

  Am I more or less bullshitting? I’ll be honest—yes. I still don’t believe a relationship with their track record is going to last. Lamar proposed at a club, for Pete’s sake. But Tansy is my cousin and I’ll support her no matter what, so while I’m not jumping-up-and-down ecstatic about this engagement, I am happy that she’s happy. And if by chance I’m wrong and they do end up making it down the aisle, I do believe she’ll make a beautiful bride.

  She texts back immediately.

  TANSY: Thanks, B!! CALL ME THE SECOND YOU’RE FREE!!

  I smile at the phone and put it aside as Dad carries two plates to the table. Scrambled eggs, bacon, and cucumber slices. I thank him for breakfast and immediately dig in, talking with my mouth full.

  “I can’t believe she’s engaged. This is going to be such a disaster. She’s way too young. Or rather, way too immature. I mean, jeez, I’m more equipped to get married right now.”

  His expression turns wry. “Does that mean I should be expecting you and Connelly to announce your engagement any day now?”

  I freeze. Then I pick up my fork and spear it into some eggs. “No. You don’t have to worry about that.”

  “Why’s that?”

  I chew extra slowly to delay my response. “Because we broke up.”

  “Why’s that?” he says again.

  “Because we did.” I roll my eyes. “You and I might be semi-cool now, but that doesn’t mean we’re best friends. I’m not going to reveal all my deep, dark secrets.”

  “First of all, we’re not semi-cool. We’re cool. Period. And given that you promised not to scare the shit out of me again, I don’t much like hearing this breakup might’ve been deep and dark.” There’s genuine concern in his tone.

  “It’s not,” I assure him. “If you must know, Jake dumped me because he wanted to focus on hockey.”

  Dad frowns.

  “It’s totally fine. It wasn’t going anywhere, anyway. He’s moving to Edmonton, remember? Long-distance relationships never work.”

  “Your mother and I made it work,” he says gruffly.

  I glance up in surprise. “When were you and Mom in a long-distance relationship?”

  “She was a year younger than me,” he reminds me. “After I graduated, she still had one more year left at Yale. That was the year that fuckhead made his move and—”

  “Wait a sec. Back it up like a Tonka truck. What fuckhead?” I suddenly gasp. “Are you talking about Daryl Pedersen?”

  “Yes. He was a senior like your mother. Same major, too. Broadcasting.” Dad smiles. “Like you, as well. Anyway, he waited until I graduated before making his move on Marie.”

  I’m horrified. “Did Mom…?”

  “Jesus. Of course not. Your mother was a sweet and proper Georgian peach. Loyal to a fault.”

  “So Coach Pedersen tried to steal Mom away and she shot him down.” I’m utterly captivated by this. It’s always so jarring to remember your parents lived full, well-rounded lives long before you ever came into the world.

  “Daryl played the ‘I’m going to take care of your girl when you’re gone’ card,” Dad says with a snort. “We weren’t close friends. I didn’t like him, but I tolerated him. Had to, because we were teammates. Your mother, well, she had a different opinion. She thought he was sweet, and she accused me of being paranoid for distrusting him. But I played with the fucker for three years, so I knew what kind of man he was. An arrogant prick, not above playing dirty, and damn sneaky—he was a ladies’ man, but around your mother he acted like a choirboy.”

  Dad shoves a forkful of eggs in his mouth, chews, swallows, and then reaches for his coffee. “You know, it’s not even that he made a play for your mother that bothers me. He could’ve been upfront about his intentions. Could’ve said, ‘Hey, I’m attracted to Marie and I’m going to tell her.’ Admittedly, I would’ve laughed in his face, but then I would’ve said, ‘Sure, go ahead.’” My father smirks. “I never had any doubt about your mother’s feelings for me.”

  Must be nice, I want to say. I hadn’t doubted Jake’s feelings, either, and he turned around and dumped me.

  “But he went about it in an underhanded way. You don’t have to love all your teammates, but at least respect them. He cozied up to your mother, planned study sessions, platonic outings. And one night they went out with a group of friends, and he walked her home. Escorted her all the way upstairs and then tried to paw her outside her apartment door.”

  “Please tell me he stopped when she said no.”

  Dad nods. “He stopped. But not before accusing her of leading him on, using him to help her study, taking his time and affection but then denying him what I guess he believed was his right. Finished off the speech by telling her she needed a real man to satisfy her.”

  “Gross.”

  “When I found out, I drove all the way to New Haven from Burlington—I was a skating coach at the University of Vermont at that point. Took me four hours to get there, but it was worth it to hear the sound of bone crunching when I slammed my fist into Pedersen’s jaw.”

  “Go Dad.”

  “She was my girl. You don’t disrespect a man’s girl.” Dad shrugs. “He didn’t go near her again after that.”

  “And that was like twenty years ago and you still hate him.”

  “So?” He pops up a cucumber slice into his mouth.

  “So don’t you think maybe it’s time to bury the hatchet?”

  “Can I bury it in his skull?”

  I snort. “I was thinking the metaphorical hatchet. Letting bygones be bygones and all that. You got Mom, had a beautiful daughter—” I wink at him. “You’re a three-time championship-winning coach. And he’s a bitter prick. Why not let it go?”

  “Because I don’t like the man and that’s never gonna change. Sometimes people don’t like each other, Peaches. Get used to that, because it’s a fact of life. Pe
ople are going to hate you because you hurt them, either intentionally or inadvertently. People will hate you because they don’t like your personality, or the way you talk, or whatever superficial bullshit some idiot can’t get past. There’ll be people who just hate you on sight for no good reason—those ones are strange.” He sips his coffee. “But at the end of the day, that’s the way it is. Not everyone is going to like you, and you’re not going to like everybody. I don’t like that man. I don’t need to change that.”

  “Fair enough.” I gaze down at my plate as the thought of Jake once again creeps into my brain.

  “I’m sorry about you and Connelly.” I guess my sad expression and the reason for it weren’t hard to decode.

  “Since when? You told me to stay away from him, remember? Compared him to Eric.”

  “That comparison might have been made in anger,” Dad grumbles. “Connelly has a good head on his shoulders from what I’ve heard.”

  “I told you so. He’s the one who helped me rescue Eric.”

  “Speaking of that, have you heard from Eric since then?”

  “No, and I have a feeling I won’t.”

  “Good. Is there a way to forward all his calls to you to my phone? So I can give him a piece of my mind?”

  “Dad.” The murderous glint in his eyes is a tad worrisome. “You’re not allowed to give him the Liam Neeson speech. Let’s just hope his mom convinced him to go to rehab. Maybe winding up in someone’s bushes was the wakeup call he needed.”

  “Maybe.” He doesn’t sound convinced.

  I’m not, either. It’s been five years since high school and Eric still hasn’t even acknowledged that he has a problem.

  “But I am sorry about Connelly,” Dad says, steering the subject back to Jake.

  “Me too.”

  He lifts a brow. “Thought you said it wouldn’t go anywhere.”

  “I did. That’s what I told him, anyway. He dumped me and I pretended not to care,” I confess. “I didn’t want him to see how upset I was. But I was upset. He’s the first guy I’ve met in a long time who I could see myself being in a relationship with. He was good for me, and he was good to me. Like, when I was nervous about coming home to talk to you, he lent me his—oh my fucking God!”