Superfan (Brooklyn #3)(69)

I shake my head. Will I ever stop getting played by this guy?

Carl takes out his trusty notebook, flips to a fresh page, and starts making notes. “I’ll see what I can dig up about his business and run a credit check.”

“That family is loaded,” I point out.

“There’s a lot of ways to be loaded. Brett might have leveraged himself. Or maybe he leveraged his pride instead of his cash. He lost his girlfriend, but also his star talent, right? Although if he’s short on cash, it would explain a lot.”

“If he’s short on cash he could just release Delilah’s album,” I point out. “Problem solved.”

“Maybe.” Carl keeps scribbling. “When a man acts crazy, there’s often a very sane reason. Desperation makes people ugly. Let’s find out what he’s so desperate for.”

“Delilah. He lost her. Now he wants her back.”

Carl stops writing and looks up at me. “Let’s hope it’s not that simple. She’s safer if this is just about money.”

Shit. “I can’t just stand her up, Carl. I have to go to California.”

He puts down the pen. “Give me twenty-four hours to do some research. If your girl loves you, she’ll listen when you explain it all later. And give Brett a minute to think that he’s won. It’ll calm him down.”

“So right now I should just…”

“Do nothing. Say nothing. Her security team is spying, right? They might be reading her texts. I know this will hurt worse than a bee sting on your ballsack. But I need twenty-four or forty-eight hours of your silence to figure out how big a threat this guy is.”

I hate everything about this. “When she starts texting me, what the hell am I going to say?”

“You’re going to tell her that Coach changed his mind. It’s not even much of a stretch. Now eat that.” He points at my burger. “And let me get to work.”





Delilah





I’m sitting at the bar at Roadie Joe’s. The place looks exactly the same, except for the most important detail. Silas isn’t here. He stood me up tonight. My only date is Mr. Muscles.

I take another swig of beer, and I still can’t believe that Silas stood me up.

His text didn’t even roll in until I’d sat down at a table outside, wearing a low-cut dress and a flower in my hair. A goddamn flower, like somebody’s prom date.

I feel so stupid right now.

Sorry, something’s come up. Coach needs me here. My apologies.

That was it.

I’d read it three times, looking for a real explanation. Then—even though only assholes make phone calls from the middle of a crowded restaurant—I’d tried his number.

No pickup.

Trying not to panic, I’d ordered food just to give the hovering waitress something to do. And while I ate, I’d sent Silas a barrage of texts.

It isn’t like you to cancel with a text.

What is going on?

Is this really about hockey?

If something is wrong. I need to know.

And, finally, Is it something I said?

When I’d read back through my texts, I’d wanted to throw up. If they were song lyrics, I’d be panned for writing the most overused clichés on the planet.

My heartache is so very unoriginal. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

And while I ate food I could barely taste and sat there quietly freaking out, people kept stopping on the sidewalk to point at me and whisper to their friends.

I can’t even have my heart broken in private.

Eventually I’d paid the bill. There was still no word from Silas. But instead of letting Mr. Muscles steer me into the car, I’d paused on the threshold to the inside bar. The same dim room looked back at me, mostly empty. Just like the olden days.

I knew I should have gone back to my empty hotel room. But I couldn’t face it. There’s even a freaking candle on the bedside table, because I’d discovered my inner romantic just hours before Silas decided I’m not worth the trouble.

So I took a barstool instead, ordering a third beer that I’d opened myself. And wondered what the hell was really happening tonight.

It’s so tempting to leap to the worst conclusion. He changed his mind. I’m too much trouble. I didn’t respond enthusiastically about the idea of living in Brooklyn.

But it’s too soon to beat myself up like this. The last time I thought Silas stood me up on purpose, I was wrong. And I don’t want to be that girl anymore—the frightened one who always assumes the worst. For once I can just take a fucking breath and give the man more than two hours to explain himself.

“Can I get you anything else?”

I look up into the somewhat familiar eyes of the guy behind the bar. His name tag says Danny. “Have you heard from Ralph?” I blurt out. They were friends. I’m sure of it.

Danny’s eyes widen. “He doesn’t work here anymore.”

“I get that,” I say quietly. “But we were supposed to meet here tonight.”

“Oh,” he says slowly. “I didn’t know that. He hasn’t been in here since last summer.”

“Right. Okay.” I feel like an idiot now.

“Funny thing, though? It was me who was supposed to tell you that the surfing lesson was canceled. Three years ago? I’m the one he sent to tell you. But I was too late.”