End Game (New York Stars Book 1)

𝅘𝅥𝅮 𝄠 Sign Of The Times – Harry Styles

I’M NOT sure what I expected when Liam came to my place, but a night watching old movies wasn’t it.

After dinner, he seemed to clamp down more than at the bar so I suggested we just hang out and I enjoyed it.

Too much.

I always got along great with him, even consider myself his ‘first friend’ in the family, but I was pushed aside when Kow decided he wanted Liam to be his BFF.

Not that Kow called him BFF, but, given time, I could have. And, after, I’d always been jealous and kinda hurt.

Just one more way I didn’t measure up in the Bukowski household.

So, it’s nice to drift into wakefulness the next morning with memories of last night putting a smile on my lips.

We watched three Groucho Marx movies and while it definitely wasn’t the first time we’d seen them, we’d sure as hell laughed like it was.

Good times.

I take a deep breath and gently pry open my eyes.

That’s when I realize he’s behind me.

On the sofa.

My really small sofa.

His arms are around my waist.

His face is burrowed into my neck.

And all his hard bits are pressed into my soft bits.

Including his morning wood.

A long time ago, if I even dreamed of waking up like this, I’d have died and gone to heaven. Now, it’s awkward. Hella awkward.

I want to melt into him.

I know I can’t.

How do I escape the only place I want to be without waking him up?

For a minute, I just stare at the TV screen. The news channel is on like always and I groan at the headlines.

“God, talk about a slow news week,” I mutter, more embarrassed about that than waking up with Liam’s morning hard-on burrowing between my butt cheeks.

That’s probably why dubious fortune is on my side.

If I’d tried to maneuver off the couch without disturbing him, I’d never have managed it.

But when I surge upright because I see Chuck on the big screen, he doesn’t even stir behind me.

Grabbing the remote, I tap the unmute button, realizing Liam must have turned off the volume at some point during the night.

“Gracie’s always been one of my best servers. Great kid. Can’t help that she loves hockey over baseball, you know? But the facts that girl has in her head.” Chuck whistles. “Honestly, I always tell her she belongs on Jeopardy.”

My eyes narrow.

‘Love’ hockey? Ha. Hockey ruined my freakin’ life.

“How long has Ms. Bukowski worked for you, Mr. Charles?”

“Oh, three years now. She’s Canadian, eh,” he says, laughing like he cracked an original joke. “Call me Chuck. My bar is named after me. Anyways, she came over here for her studies.

“I reckon the reason she’s so brave is because she grew up with so many boys. She always talks about her brothers and—”

I close my eyes.

That is why this is on TVGM’s Morning Show.

Them.

Always them.

This is why I hate hockey because everyone will always value it over me.

Case in point…

“—Liam Donnghal. Didn’t realize until last night who he was when he came in to visit. Just clicked when you guys called.”

“Yes, Ms. Bukowski is related to Noah, Trent, and Kow, isn’t she?”

Chuck beams at the news reporter. “She sure is. I bet they taught her all their moves.”

“Shall we break his heart and tell him that you taught them all yours first?”

Liam’s voice is gravelly and low. Deep and rumbly. I mean, it’s first thing in the morning, so that makes sense. What doesn’t make sense? My reaction to it which supersedes my annoyance at the systematic destruction of my privacy that’s going down on the TV set.

Agitated, I whip around and find that he’s watching the TV and that he’s covered his dick with a strategically-placed throw cushion.

That I notice the tactic, period, when I’m as furious as I am tells me something I’m not ready to think about.

“Did you plan this?”

Liam gapes at my seething retort. “No, of course not. How could I? In fact, fuck that—why would I?”

I close my eyes and release a hissed breath. “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry. Wishful thinking.”

“I’m offended,” he grouses.

I rub my forehead. “This must be Chuck.” Which hurts. Sold out by my boss. A boss I liked. Great. “Fucking asshole. Sell me out for some free publicity, why don’t you, Chuck.”

It’s not as if I can help noticing that the storefront windows, which I complained about being overdue for a cleaning two weeks ago, sparkle like diamonds in the low morning light.

A soft buzz vibrates between us. It’s followed by a couple more until Liam retrieves his phone.

He clears his throat but silences his cell. “They know.”

My mouth tightens.

‘They’ being the whole Bukowski clan.

“It’s on PSN.”

“How the hell is this on PSN when it’s not even sports related?”

Liam grimaces as I surge to my feet and start pacing in front of my TV. Which, in my tiny apartment, doesn’t give me a whole lot of distance to goddamn cover.

“Well, you know what the networks are like when it comes to anything Bukowski,” he tries to appease, but he fails. “It’s no wonder it’s gone national.”

“Do you know how hard I worked to stay under the radar here?” I demand. “No one knows me as anything other than Gracie. They don’t think hockey’s in my blood. They don’t see me as someone to use to get to my brothers. They just think I’m a regular person.”

“Nothing regular about you, Gracie,” Liam quips.

I freeze. “Is that supposed to reassure me?”

With a stretch that has his entire body moving—no, I did not notice—he yawns. “Not reassure you but it’s the truth.”

“Not in my family.”

He squints at that. “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing.”

“No, not nothing.” He angles his head to the side. “Your brothers love you like crazy.” He waggles the phone. “When I say crazy, I mean it. They saw you take on that kid. Not sure if they’re impressed, terrified, or both.”

My mouth pinches. “It wasn’t about them. It was about some asshole stoned out of his mind on crack who thought it was funny to throw a toddler into the street. I just saw red.”

“And that’s why you’re not regular, Gracie. Anyone else would scream and try to call the cops. Not you.”

I don’t bother to skewer him with a glower, not when Chuck introduces Mia, my so-called work wife, to the nation.

Bitch.

Before my very eyes, lies about Mia hanging out at the bar with me and my brothers when they’re in town between games start falling from the cow’s lips.

“I can’t believe this is happening. I do something nice, something decent, and even then, it’s about them,” I rasp, both bewildered and unsurprised because when isn’t everything about my brothers?

And no, I don’t mean to seem petty, but I’m just tired of this. Of their fame affecting my life because this is just the start.

The baseball bar will turn into a hockey one overnight as fans crowd in to see if my brothers will visit their poor, unfortunate server sister.

I’ll get hounded. My anonymous life here will change forever if I don’t cauterize this wound before the infection can spread.

Tears of fury prick my eyes as I contemplate what Chuck has unleashed.

Hockey fans are crazy for my brothers. CrAZy. Then, he had to make them feral by dropping Liam’s name. This won’t end—

I jolt when Liam places a hand on my shoulder. “It’s not about them.”

Gaping at his naivety, I gesture at the TV. “I beg to differ.” I release a second hissed breath. “I’m going to have to get another job.”

“No—”

“Yeah, I am. Of course I am.” I motion to where Chuck’s standing—strategically so that you can see the bar in all its cleaned-up but still grody glory. “This is a walking ad for Chuck’s. People will visit because they think you or my brothers just drop by for a beer every now and then. Throw in your recent trade and it’ll be like a circus in the bar.

“I liked it there. I liked them.” My mouth trembles. “How could they do that? How could they sell me out? I’ve been there years, Liam. Years.”

Before I know what hit me, I’m crying and he’s hauling me into his chest.

He smells like laundry detergent and aftershave that costs more than my rent, but I slide my arms around his waist and let him hug me because damn if I don’t deserve a Liam hug.

I love my brothers, I do. I love my family. I just get sick of everything being related to goddamn hockey. Of it controlling my life when I have no horse in that race.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make this happen,” he rumbles as he places his chin on my head. “The guy on TV mentioned my name. I-I didn’t think when I… I just wanted to see you. It’d been too long, you know?”

I can hear his guilt but don’t know how to assuage it. Right now, I’m having to replan my life because I can’t not work.

If I ask my parents for help, Mom will tell me again that my MBA is a waste of time because all my problems would be solved if I’d just come home and work for the family printing company.

That will make me want to smash her over the head with one of the many hockey sticks that litter our basement.

I don’t need a murder one charge to add to my woes.

And I won’t ask my brothers.

Sure, they’d cover my costs but I’d never hear the end of it.

A hand smoothes over my still-damp-from-last-night hair, and I jerk back to the moment.

I should pull away, but the comfort feels good, nice, even if it’s from Liam and he’s a no-fly zone.

Still, I squeeze him harder, trying to fight how right this feels, how much his embrace helps calm me down.

“You did something good, Gracie. You don’t deserve to have it used against you.”

My bottom lip trembles at his validation of my feelings, and I know it’s dumb to cry, but I do. I can’t stop the tears from falling.

Pathetic it may be, but I’m used to being pimped out by people to get access to my family. That Mia and Chuck betrayed me on TVGM’s Morning Show…

Clearly, they don’t get what they’ve done.

They tried to grab five minutes of fame for themselves and the bar, but they just wrecked my life and I doubt they’ll care.

Everyone wants a piece of the spotlight nowadays. Me, I want to stay in the shadows and do my own shit.

Turning my face to the side so I can see the segment that, of course, has moved onto my brothers’ stats and where they’re currently playing, I bite my lip as old photos flash onto the screen.

Me at games with them, cheering them on. Me hanging out with them afterward, lingering at their sides after they played at the World Junior Championships and, of course, won the gold.

A strong hand smoothes up and down my back.

I grit my teeth at how good that feels then gently dislodge myself from him, explaining, “I need to email over my resignation. Effective immediately.” If that came out sounding like a growl then so be it.

No more wasting my tears on people who don’t give a shit about me.

“Won’t you forfeit two weeks’ pay?”

“Look at you, knowing the little man’s labor laws,” I mock.

He squints at me. “Ouch.”

“Don’t make it seem like you’ve worked a regular job in your life.”

“Hey, I—”

When he stops, I arch a brow at him. “Yeah, thought as much.”

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he huffs. “You don’t have to work.”

“Don’t start.”

“I know for a fact Noah said he’d pay for your student loans.”

“And what about how I lead my life makes you think I need one of my brothers to pay my way?”

He purses his lips. “Nothing.”

“Exactly.” I jab him in the chest. “Nothing.” Swiping my hand through my hair to gather it into a bun, I grab a tie from the coffee table and fix it into place. “Do you want some breakfast?”

“Please.”

I stride over to the kitchen. “Bacon? Eggs? Toast?”

Watching me retrieve my laptop from a side table, he clears his throat. “Back bacon?”

Despite the situation, I hide a smile. “What do you take me for? An American?”

He grins a little. “Then, sure. But I can make it.”

“I know you will,” I agree, staring at him from over the device as I take a seat at the table. I shoot him a sweet smile. “Get cooking, Liam. You owe me for the pierogi. Three pieces of bacon and one egg, sunny side up, please.”

He chuckles as he walks toward the refrigerator and retrieves the fixings for breakfast.

Absently, I watch him bend over now and again, trying not to focus on the fact that he takes up a lot of freakin’ space as I type out an email to Chuck.

Another person might think I’m overreacting by resigning without having another job lined up, but I made it a rule that if anyone in my life tries to use the ties to my family for their own gain again, I cut off the dead weight.

Immediately.

I owe it to myself to not be used.

When I hit send, even though everything is still up in the air, I feel better about it.

That’s when I realize Liam is watching me. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“This happens a lot, doesn’t it?”

I could be facetious and point out that this is definitely the first time I ever got into an argument with some dopey kid on the street while saving a toddler from a head-on collision with a Mack truck, but instead, I just nod.

“I’m sorry.”

The sincerity in his voice hits me on the raw. Hell, it does more than that—it chokes me up.

Bowing my head, I shrug. “It’s life.”

“Doesn’t make it right.”

“It’s my life then,” I snipe. “I should be used to it, but I’m not. Mom says I let it get to me too much.”

A frown flashes over his face. “Hanna says that?”

I sniff my disdain. “Yeah, she does. Then she wonders why the last time I went home for Thanksgiving was two years ago.” And only then because Liam had still been fragile after the kidnapping.

“We miss you. At Thanksgiving, I mean,” he says uneasily. “And Christmas.”

I want to believe him, but I’m not entirely sure that I do.

It’s not that my family doesn’t love me; I’m just not sure if I’m relevant.

I have no idea why I’m prodding this particular wound, but… “Is the best son competition still ongoing?”

His grin is wry. “Of course it is.”

Slowly, I nod. “Thought as much.”

“Why do you ask?”

I tap my nails on the table. “Not very inclusive, is it?”

“No.” He winces. “I guess not.”

“But then, they never expect me to actually do anything worth winning, do they?” I heave a sigh. “It doesn’t matter. It stopped mattering a long time ago. Some days, it just pisses me off more than most.” I point to the stove. “The bacon’ll burn if you don’t turn it.”

He shifts focus to the food while I bring up some open positions at local places that are looking for staff.

When he serves us breakfast, I close my laptop and vow to have the situation under control by this time tomorrow.

In a sense, I’m fortunate that I’m a year into getting my MBA. I’ll be able to work in my field sooner rather than later. Plus, it’s summer break. I have time to get my feet back under me before the semester starts.

Thanks for nothing, Chuck.

Getting up, I collect the cutlery and some glasses that we’ll need, then the OJ from the refrigerator.

After, I dive into my food. With my thoughts definitely elsewhere, it’s all quiet in here. Liam, obviously aware he’s on thin ice already, doesn’t push his luck and stays silent. It might be awkward, but I’ve had thousand-plus breakfasts with him over the years. If anything, I appreciate the company.

When I’m almost finished, Liam rasps, “At the risk of you jumping down my throat for thinking this is about charity… I need some help.”

“I’m not too proud for charity,” I drawl. “Independence comes with a requirement of common sense. What help do you need?”

“PA.”

“Pennsylvania?”

“No,” he says with a chuckle. “A PA. An assistant.”

My lips twitch. “You couldn’t handle me as an assistant.”

His chuckle dies and a slow grin makes an appearance, one that has me questioning all kinds of things when my body responds to it like it wasn’t Liam frickin’ Donnghal who just smiled at me.

Good God, he’s pretty.

He’s got a scar on his eyebrow from a run-in with Trent’s skate when he was seventeen, and a couple more nicks and bumps from hockey, but he’s the epitome of male beauty to me.

His eyes change color depending on his mood—shifting from green to gray to blue thanks to a play of the light. His jaw has these dimples on either side where my thumbs were made to slot into. His lips are wide and soft but when he gets mad, they firm up into an almost-pout.

As for his hair—seriously, I want to rake my nails through it and use it as a steering wheel.

Short and wavy, chestnut brown—everything about him is catnip to me.

“Why? Would you ride me hard?”

My nails dig into my palms.

To play dirty or not to play dirty—that is the question.

For a few seconds, I fight myself.

Then, I live up to the rep of having three massive hockey players for brothers and four other hockey stars who’d billeted with us when I was growing up.

“Hard and wet, Liam,” I retort, brow arched. If only. Then, I mock, “It’s okay if you want to rescind the offer.”

He doesn’t take the bait and I’m not sure why I’m disappointed. Of course, he didn’t.

I’m just Kow’s sister to him. He was messing around. That’s it.

Simmer down, Gracie.

“I don’t know anyone in the city,” he admits, “and those I do know, I don’t want to ask.”

My brow puckers. “That’s an oxymoron.”

“What is?”

“How can you not know anyone but know enough people not to ask them for their input?”

He purses his lips. “My father’s moved to New York.”

Everything’s illuminated.

Still, that has me gaping at him. “Padraig moved to the States?”

“After the kidnapping.”

I cover his hand with mine. It’s a reflex because Liam and his father have never gotten along great. After his mom died and the kidnapping, shit just got worse.

Biting my lip, I tell him, “If you don’t mind the fact that I won’t cut you any slack, I’ll take the job.”

“Gracie, I never imagined you’d give me any so we’re all good.”

A thought occurs to me. “Is that why you came to the bar last night?”

“Partly. I was going to offer you the job anyway but mostly, I just wanted to see you.”

I don’t want to admit, even to myself, that that makes me feel better.

“Why?” I ask softly.

“Because when you’re with me, I’m reminded of what I like about the world.” His hand turns so that he can clasp my fingers in his. “I’ve missed that. Missed you. But I’m sorry for… everything.”

When his thumb smoothes over my knuckles, I catch his glance with my own, and my heart falters in my chest.

It has no business stuttering, but it does.

Twice.