Harley nods.
“She didn’t have a leg to stand on, so she crawled back under her rock, and I never heard from her again.”
Harley shakes her head.
“Here’s the irony, the woman who gave birth to me when she was twenty-one and Dad was twenty-three, was a flight attendant for the Boston Bandits team. She cheated on me with the captain of the Boston Bandits.”
“I can’t believe it.”
“I always hated playing that team.”
A beat of silence passes between us.
“I’m guessing your dad named you,” Harley says, breaking the silence.
“Nana Saoirse did,” I say. “Since my grandfather was Norwegian, my grandmother wanted a name that fits my last name. My middle name is Beckham. She liked the name.”
Harley angles her body on the couch so she’s facing me, in the process her pink, fuzzy slipper falls off a foot. She removes the other one.
“A few articles online suggest you and your dad…”
“Aren’t on speaking terms,” I finish for her.
“It’s as if he has a vendetta against you.” Expectant green eyes stare up at me.
“I’m lucky I had grandparents who were only too happy and eager to shower me with love and devotion.”
“Message received,” she says.
I reach for my beer, take a swig, and grimace.
Fuck, it’s warm.
I drop the bottle on the coffee table.
“In the short time I dated Chett, I always had the impression there was some kind of weird power-play game he wanted to exert over you,” Harley says.
If the idiot had kept his filthy paws off her, none of this would’ve happened. The asshole came after her to antagonize me. To rattle my cage. “Chett and I shouldn’t breathe the same air.”
“Why is there so much bad blood between you two?”
I rub a hand over my face. I’ve had my quota for the day of talking about my ex-wife and her spoiled brat, but after today’s brawl, Harley’s question doesn’t come as a surprise. “He always wanted to play for the New York Blazers instead of playing for the New York Supersonics. He assumed once I tied the knot with his mom, I’d be championing his cause. I told him that’s not how it works. He had to earn his position on the team by getting drafted. He wasn’t going to get any preferential treatment.” I shrug. “He resented me for not going to bat for him. No way was I going to put my career on the line for a guy with such a sense of entitlement.”
“That was a smart move on your part,” she says. “Imagine divorcing his mom, but having to have him on your team.”
I shake my head. “I dodged that bullet.”
“Speaking of dodging a bullet,” she says, with a coquettish shoulder shimmy. “As far as addressing your concerns, you might’ve made a threat, but Chett is going to come out looking like the aggressor.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“There were people recording when that guy stated he was a predator who was intimidating me. That’s not the best label for a guy who wants to become the greatest hockey player of all timeby pulverizing every one of Kaz Lindström’s records.” Harley deepens her voice to say that last part, mimicking Chett.
“Good call on kicking him.”
“I was willing to do anything to prevent you from looking like the bad guy in the story.”
“Such a protective fake girlfriend.”
