Last but not least, there’s Hayes, who happens to be the doctor and the most grounded of all of us. I think.
Listen. I love my brothers, but I’d give anything to have a peaceful, average life. Is that too much to ask?
Chapter One
Hadley
One of the benefits of working as a social media director for a hockey team is that you don’t work on Mondays. There are a few others, like getting signed jerseys for Dad or for charities. There are a few disadvantages, though, like dealing with jocks who don’t take my job seriously. They think I’m just some kind of hockey groupie—not to be confused with a puck-bunny—whose only purpose in life is to ogle at them and post pictures of them online, when really, I'm there to make them look good on social media.
Another disadvantage: after a long Saturday game, I’m so exhausted I don’t even have the energy to call my friends and do something fun.
I stare at my fingernails, a freshly painted dark green. At the very least, I can pamper myself during my downtime. I even blow dry my hair instead of letting it air-dry and tying it up into a ponytail. If only Randall, my live-in boyfriend, was here, we could order take-out and have a candlelit dinner, but I have no idea where he is at the moment.
We don’t see each other often. Lately, I feel like he’s my roommate.
My mom has a special radar. She knows when to call me, when I’m causing trouble, or when I need some homemade cookies. The lady is wise in many ways. She lacks in others, but that’s a different story. It’s Sunday evening. I’m alone at home waiting for my boyfriend to come back from what he calls “work.” I was working just like him, and yet, I’m here.
Today is one of those days when I wonder if our relationship still works. Other times, I believe we’re meant for each other and we’ll get married soon. Like last December, when I caught him browsing the Cartier website—I thought that was it, he was buying me an engagement ring.
My hopes to get a sparkly, solitaire ring vanished when he showed me his new Cartier watch. Listen, I’m not dying to marry the man. But, if marriage isn’t the next step, what are we doing together? After three years living in the same place, we’re like an old boring married couple.
Hello, I’m just twenty-eight.
Work and his family, who pretty much own him, come first. He always comes late from work. I can’t even remember the last time we had sex, it was that long ago.
So much for dating an older guy who wouldn’t be playing games and would know how to treat me. I’d happily give up our fancy Downtown apartment for a more loving relationship.
What are the alternatives?
I can push him to discuss our relationship, but my hints don’t seem to land, and we only have so much time to fix it. The other option? Break up with him, move out, and probably find a job where he isn’t my boss. It sucks, because I actually really love my job.
But my old college roommate, Alice, who is also a social media director for the company where she works, swears I can earn more than what I’m making right now. Even worse, she says I’m earning the same as her intern. That’s pathetic. But dating the boss makes things tricky. If I ask for a salary increase, Human Resources and his family might look at it differently.
If I had known when we met that he was my boss, I would never have agreed to date him.
Would it be too crazy to suggest couple’s counseling?
We’re not married, but we’ve been living together for two and a half years. Maybe if my schedule was a regular nine-to-five, we’d see each other more often. This would be a great moment to discuss my relationship with Mom.
She might have an idea or two on how to bring my relationship back to life. She’s been married to Dad for thirty-two years. She might agree that it’s time to search for a new job. Unlikely, since she loves that I am a: director.
My phone rings with a call from my mother just as I’m searching for new jobs. She really is scarily perceptive.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Hadley, sweetie, how are you? Your dad and I were just talking about you,” she says. “I’m sorry the Troopers lost the game.”
“If you ask me, they need a new coach. But Randall isn’t listening.”
Okay, that might be another reason why Randall is not home yet. He must be at his uncle’s house discussing the game and strategizing their next move. The Denver Troopers used to be one of the best, if not the best, hockey teams in the league. Now, the Vancouver Orcas have taken that spot.
“How is Randall doing?”
Mom likes my boyfriend just enough. Well, more like she tolerates him, but Dad isn’t a fan. When they come to visit us, Mom’s always complaining about Randall. Dad barely speaks to him. He says he’s an entitled asshole, but as long as he treats me right, he’s okay.
If you ask anyone else who lives in Baker’s Creek, they’ll tell you Randall is the best boyfriend a woman could ask for. Mom likes to make up stories that are far from the truth and make me sound like the perfect daughter. Therefore, I have the perfect boyfriend too—even when she doesn’t think so herself. Thanks to Mom’s tales, the people in my hometown believe he’s the second coming of Prince Charming and that I live a fairy tale. It’s not.
It’s just like any other relationship in the world. We have our ups and downs. Well, we've been in a down for a while now, but maybe in a few months when hockey season is over, we’ll get back on track. Instead of brooding, I should be googling trips to the Caribbean. That’s what we need: a vacation outside the city, far away from his family and work.
“He’s been busy. Being the general manager for the team isn’t easy. His family is demanding. I think they are going to trade a few players.” The excuses I make for his absence just flow like a well-known nursery rhyme. It soothes the curiosity of others, and it makes me sound like I have everything under control.
I should tell her the truth, that I don’t really know how he’s doing. We barely see each other. We don’t speak much, and I don’t know what I should do about it.
“How’s the town?” I ask instead, moving the conversation along. “Are the Aldridges still in Baker’s Creek?”
“Things have been strange since that explosion,” she sighs.
Mom called me a week ago, almost crying. There had been an explosion and gunshots in the Aldridge mansion. The police confirmed the blast, but they said there were never gunshots. The rumors about the brothers killing each other spread like wildfire for days up until four of them reappeared.
I won’t lie, it worries me that the explosion was caused by a person and not an accident. “Mom, is there any more information about the explosion?”
“We don’t know what happened. The doctor and the musician are still missing.” Her voice cracks. “Some people said they died in the fire along with the bandmates. After all, it was his studio.”
If that were true, the real news outlets would have reported it. There’s nothing about the band Too Far from Grace circulating.
“If he is indeed dead, that’ll be two Aldridge boys gone before the age of thirty. At least the rest are safe.” Her voice is slightly lost. “He was a good kid. Always polite. He left good tips in the jar. I don’t know what to believe, the Google says that he was on tour and he had an accident—he was drunk and fell off the stage. He is in the hospital, recuperating. I hope it is true and that he is alive.”