Mile High (Windy City Series Book 1)
Mile High: Chapter 7

The Chicago Raptors have a home stand, which means I have some time off work this week. And even better, the Chicago Devils have the night off, so I finally get to spend some time with my brother.

Though, I’ve yet to see him today. He had a shoot-around this morning, then a press conference this afternoon, but we’re going to the movies tonight. A little twin bonding moment, if you will. I’ve stayed curled up on the couch in his amazing apartment, waiting for him to get back from the arena.

I’m not kidding. This apartment building is insane. It was built about four years ago, and Ryan moved in a year after that when Chicago picked him up. He’s not on the penthouse floor, but he’s a couple of levels below it, and the view is epic from his almost 180-degree porch. We can see most of Chicago from here, including Lake Michigan.

But the view isn’t all that pretty today, simply because it’s been pouring rain all afternoon. I’d typically be at the shelter on my days off, but the dogs aren’t getting their afternoon walks because of the weather, so they didn’t really need my help.

Instead, I’ve stayed curled up on the couch, wearing my comfiest and ugliest sweatpants.

The three quick road trips were a good way to get my feet wet for this season because our next trip is much longer. And it starts in Nashville next week. Most everyone loves a stop in Nashville, I’m sure. However, all it does is make me feel anxious.

I grew up right outside the city, and I was thankful to get out and go to the University of North Carolina when I did. There’s just something about being in Nashville that makes me feel like I’m not good enough.

I’m not blonde enough. I’m not tall and skinny enough, but I’m not short and petite enough either.

At least that’s how I felt growing up, and going back there has been hanging over my head ever since I took a job with a hockey team. It’s a stop on the NHL schedule, whereas I could avoid a hometown visit when I worked with the NBA.

Ryan is lucky. He doesn’t have to go back there multiple times a year for his games. Though he would be welcomed back with a parade, I’m sure. He was a local high school celebrity, and I was his twin sister that girls were nice to in order to try to get close to the star basketball player.

Regardless, I still have a couple of friends from high school, and though we aren’t super close, we are close enough that I should probably tell them I’ll be in town next week.

“Hey, Vee!” Ryan calls out as he walks through the front door.

Popping off the couch, I look at him with wide, eager eyes. “Did you get me one?”

“No ‘hello’? No ‘my dearest brother and favorite person in the entire world, how are you?’”

I scrunch my nose in disgust. “Gross, no.”

“Yes, I got you one.” He tosses the tinfoil-wrapped hot dog in my lap. “But you know I can afford to feed you a little better than a five-dollar street-meat hot dog for dinner, right?”

“Don’t judge me. The United Center’s street-meat is the best.” I eagerly unwrap my dog, replaceing it piled high with grilled onions and peppers, doused in mustard. Just the way I like it. “What time do you want to head out?”

“Head out where?”

My head snaps back to him in the kitchen. “To the movies. We’re still trying to get to the seven o’clock showing, right?”

“Oh, fuck, Vee. I completely forgot that we made plans tonight.” Guilt overtakes his face. “I have a date.”

“Oh.” Which is a pure surprise. Because well, my brother doesn’t really date.

“I can cancel.”

“You have a date?”

“Yeah, but I’m going to cancel.”

“No, don’t do that.”

My brother hasn’t dated since he’s been in Chicago. He’s too focused on basketball and his career to add women into the equation. In fact, he practically refuses to date, so even though he’s probably hoping I’ll help him get out of it, there’s no way I’m going to enable his singleness.

He’s the absolute best person I know, and he deserves to be happy, even though he thinks the only answer to that is basketball. Unfortunately, his first date in three years aligns with the only plans we’ve been able to make in weeks. Now that it’s basketball and hockey season, we won’t be seeing each other much.

“Can I make it up to you? We can go as soon as I’m back from this series of road games,” he eagerly offers.

“I’m leaving for Nashville the day before you’re home, but don’t worry about it. We’ll hang out eventually.”

Ryan comes behind the couch and wraps his arms around my shoulders. “Please tell me not to go.”

“You’re going. Who is she anyway?”

“Our team’s GM’s niece.” Ryan takes a seat on the edge of the couch. “She’s going to some big movie premier, and our general manager called in a favor.”

“So, you are going to the movies.”

A subtle laugh heaves in Ryan’s chest. “Apparently, she needs some kind of PR overhaul, and who better to show up with than straight-laced, boring Ryan Shay.”

“You’re not boring, Ry.”

“I’m pretty fucking boring, Vee.”

“Well, maybe you’ll actually like her?”

“Not my type. This is strictly a business transaction.”

“How do you have a type if you don’t date?”

“Uncle’s money? That shouldn’t be anyone’s type.” Ryan quickly shakes his head in disapproval. “Speaking of dates, there’s this big charity gala coming up that I need a date for.”

“Perfect, ask your brother-stealing famous movie star girlfriend.”

“You’ll go with me, right?”

“Sure. If I’m not on the road for hockey.”

“You’re not. It’s one of your players’ charities. Active Minds of Chicago. Take my card and buy a dress for it. It’s black-tie.”

I tilt my head around to look at him, my eyes narrowing. “I have my own money. And besides, I’d rather replace something secondhand.”

Ryan pulls his head back. “No way. Vee, you know I think your thrifted style is great, but you cannot wear a dress from a thrift store to this thing.”

“Why not?”

“Because that room is going to be filled with the highest-paid athletes in Chicago. You’ll stick out like a sore thumb.”

That statement quickly solves our debate. That’s the exact kind of attention I don’t want.

“Fine. You can buy me an expensive-ass dress to wear around your rich-ass colleagues.”

A satisfied smile slides across his lips. “Take the black Am-Ex when you go.” He gives my shoulders a quick squeeze before swiftly snatching the hot dog from my hands and taking a giant bite.

“What the hell?!”

“Fuck, that is good. I’ll have to get myself one of those next time.” He wipes the mustard from the side of his mouth. “So, Nashville, huh? You gonna tell Twiddle Dee and Twiddle Dumb you’re coming back to town?”

“If you mean Hannah and Jackie, then I’m not sure yet. Haven’t decided.”

Ryan rummages through the kitchen pantry, looking for something to snack on. “Don’t. Those girls are evil.”

“They’re my friends.”

“They’re not your friends, Vee. They’re mean girls.”

I let out an exhausted breath. My brother is right, but they were my closest friendships in high school, no matter how much I felt left out from our trio.

“Speaking of mean girls…have you talked to Mom?”

Ryan shoots me a death glare over his shoulder. “Mom is not a mean girl.”

“Not to you. You are the favorite child after all.”

“No, I haven’t talked to her. But you better tell her you’re coming back to town. She’s going to want to see you.”

No, she’s not.

“Yeah, of course, I’ll tell her.” I avoid my brother’s stare before he figures out the truth that I hadn’t planned on letting my mom know I’ll be back home. I would love to see my dad, but my mom? Not so much.

“Speaking of that gala…” Ryan takes a seat on the armrest of the couch, eyeing me cautiously. “Brett hit me up today.”

“Why?” I quickly snap.

My brother inhales a deep breath. “He wants to visit. Come to that event.”

“Visit? Here? Like Chicago?”

Ryan pulls his gaze away from mine. “I told him it wasn’t a good idea. He didn’t know you were living here, but he’s really struggling right now, trying to replace a job in sports. Every big team in the city will be at that charity gala. It’s a good place for him to network.”

There’s a shortness of oxygen going to my lungs and subsequently my brain from hearing Brett’s name. The last person I want to think about is my brother’s college teammate—my ex.

We dated most of college, but there were multiple periods of time when he would end things with me because he had other options. Then, he’d come crawling back when he was bored, only to keep me on an endless roller coaster of trying to be good enough to keep his attention.

And I was the idiot who took him back. Every. Single. Time. He was my weakness. I loved him, and all I wanted was for him to want me back, but he didn’t. Not really.

I was there to fill a void. To be a warm body in his bed while he continued to look for better options. I didn’t realize it at the time, but my confidence in myself took a huge plummet from constantly feeling like I wasn’t enough for him, and of course, it was the same time my mother started to make comments about the way I looked.

Then, in our senior year, when Brett found out he was offered a spot at training camp with a pro basketball team, he dropped me quicker than you can say, “I’ve been using you for three years,” which is essentially what he said without saying those exact words.

I remember it all, clear as day. I was waiting for Ryan outside of his locker room at UNC, but little did I know my brother was in the middle of an interview out on the court while the rest of his teammates were shooting the shit behind a thin door that was anything but soundproof.

“What about Stevie?” one of the boys had asked when they learned about my boyfriend’s new opportunity.

Brett’s response? “What about Stevie? She was there because I was bored, but I’m going pro. Do you know the quality of women that are about to throw themselves at me? You think I’m going to stay with Shay’s sister when I have better options?”

And that was that. That was the final straw on my end. He’s reached out a couple of times over the years, especially after he got dropped during training camp of his rookie season, never once making it onto a professional NBA team. But that day outside of the locker room was the day it clicked. I was never anything to him, and I’ve been carrying that weight of knowing I wasn’t good enough ever since.

Ryan has no idea how bad it was. Brett is his college teammate and was once one of his closest friends. Though, the heartbreak my brother saw me endure had him keeping his distance from his old friend without even knowing the full details.

Not to be dramatic, but he fucked me up.

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is why I will never date an athlete again. They’re shallow, only caring about the trophy on their arm. And I am no one’s trophy.

“I told him it wasn’t a good idea,” Ryan adds, pulling me out of the past and back to the present. “But I feel like maybe I should help him out? Get him in contact with some media networks? I don’t know. I feel bad for the guy.”

Ryan wouldn’t feel bad if he had any idea what his old teammate said about me. In fact, he’d probably kick his ass.

“I’ll tell him not to come.”

“No.” I shake my head. “He’s your college teammate, Ry. It’s cool. But could you replace him somewhere else to stay?”

He shoots me a thankful and understanding smile. “You going to ever tell me what happened between you guys?”

“We broke up. Simple as that.”

“I would like for you to tell me one day.” He walks behind the couch, shaking my curls before taking off to his room to get ready. “Love you, Vee.”

The distaste for Ryan’s college teammate lingers in my mouth as I finish the rest of my hot dog before falling back on the couch and hiding under my giant weighted blanket for the night.

I spend my evening in my coziest sweats. Albeit they’re also my rattiest, but who am I trying to impress? I’m alone in this giant apartment, in the heart of a city where I still don’t know too many people yet. I consider texting Indy to see what she’s up to, thinking maybe it would be a good chance to get to know her better, seeing as we are about to spend the majority of the next six to eight months on the road together. But the weight of this blanket and the fact that I really don’t want to get off this couch keeps me from doing so.

Thankfully, the rain has stopped, so when I get the mental strength to pull myself off this sofa, I’ll head out and spend the rest of my night loving on my favorite guys. And gals.

Of course, I’m talking about the dogs at SDOC—Senior Dogs of Chicago.

It’s a rescue a short walk from here, where older dogs wait to get adopted to a loving home where they can live out the rest of their days. I started volunteering there the day after I moved to Chicago. I did something similar back in North Carolina when I was in college, and it’s become sort of a passion project of mine.

If I could live off taking care of these animals and giving them the love that no one else will, I would. But unfortunately, it’s a nonprofit barely surviving off slim to no donations. So those of us who volunteer do so because we love the animals.

And I relate to them.

Not necessarily the senior thing. I mean, I am only twenty-six, but the idea of not being someone’s first choice. I get that.

These dogs are passed up for puppies, left to live the rest of their short lives in a shelter. I’m not going to be dramatic and say I get passed up by every man I meet because that’s not the case. But after that conversation about Brett, I remember all too well how it feels to be the backup choice. So, for these sweet senior dogs who just want a warm home and someone to love, I make them my first choice.

And if my twin brother weren’t allergic to dogs, I’d have an apartment full of them.

Surfing the channels to replace something decent to watch, I stumble upon the Raptors game. There are only two minutes left in the final period, and Chicago is up 4-2 on their opponent. Seems like an easy win for them.

Their stadium is packed to the brim, the way it is when I get to watch Ryan play in person.

I don’t know much about hockey, but I suppose I should learn now that it’s my job, so I watch the final two minutes. And in those last minutes, all I learn is that there’s a thing called icing—like cake. But I have no idea what it means. Though, they call it twice.

They do some sort of announcements of the best players for the game, and low and behold, Evan Zanders gets the first star, which apparently, is a good thing.

“How are you feeling tonight, Zanders?” one of the announcers asks.

He lifts his jersey to wipe the sweat off his brow before his hazel eyes lock with the camera, shooting his signature megawatt smile. It’s all attractive and smug and shit.

“I feel good. Good win for the boys tonight.”

“Congratulations on being named the first star of the game. Are we celebrating with someone special tonight?”

I’ve watched plenty of professional games, and I’ve never heard a question like this, though, from the bit I’ve learned about Zanders’ reputation, most of the media seems to only care about who he’s being a dick to or who he’s putting his dick in.

His lips slide up into a smirk, looking right back to the camera. “A couple of special someones.”

Gross. I lift the remote and shut off the TV.

Grabbing my laptop, I delve into the FBI-level stalking that Indy already did. If I’m going to be stuck on an airplane with these guys, I may as well figure out who the hell they are.

Rio is the first name to pop up. There’s not much information about the green-eyed defenseman, but he’s clearly the team clown. There aren’t many pictures of him where he’s not wearing his goofy smile or carrying his old-school boom box.

I don’t replace much about the other guys on the team except where they went to college, their home countries, and a few images that pop up from my Google search with them and their girlfriends or friends.

The team captain is a different story. When I click on Eli Maddison’s name, an endless list of websites comes up. His old university, the teams he played for previously, and most notably, the charity he’s the founder of. The name sounds familiar—Active Minds of Chicago.

As all the pieces connect, I realize that the gala I’m going to with Ryan is a charity event for Maddison’s organization to support kids and teens suffering with mental illness.

There are also plenty of pictures online of him and his family. His wife looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t quite place her, though her red hair stands out to me, and I’m almost positive I’ve seen this woman before.

There’s also an endless supply of pictures of Maddison with his daughter, including a clip of her bombarding a press conference last year that took over the internet.

It’s clear that Maddison is the family guy on the team.

Contrary to that is Evan Zanders. There’s about as much information on Zanders as on Maddison. However, there’s no family represented on Zanders’ Google search. But there are countless images of him leaving the arena with a different girl on his arm, no two pictures having the same woman. And below those photos are numerous headlines, including:

“Chicago Raptors’ Evan Zanders out at the club until 4 AM.”

“Number eleven, ejected from game for fighting. Facing fines.”

“Evan Zanders. Chicago’s resident bad boy.”

Jesus. Cliché much?

Unintentionally, I roll my eyes, replaceing exactly what I knew I would before I close my laptop and toss it back on the couch.

Standing, I whip my curls into a quick bun, throw on an oversized sweatshirt, and slip into my Air Force Ones. Before I hit the door, I grab a bag of dog treats from the console table and take a quick glance in the mirror.

I look like a hot mess.

My sweatpants are stained, the fabric so thin from being overly worn, and my hair needs to be washed. I don’t have a touch of makeup on, and there’s a good chance there’s dried mustard on my chin from my hot dog earlier. But these pups don’t care, and neither do I.

Grabbing my phone, purse, and keys, I leave the apartment and slip into the elevator.

I’m excited to see all my furry friends who I haven’t seen for days at this point. And that’s the thing with some of these older dogs—you don’t know how much time you’ll get with them. You just have the give them as much love as you can because you don’t know how much longer they have on Earth.

I ride the elevator alone down to the lobby floor as the low hum of violin strings pours out from the speakers and fills the metal box. As I said, my brother’s apartment is bougie as hell, and only the extremely wealthy live here. I’m sure the kind doorman has a mini heart attack anytime he sees me enter or exit wearing my baggy flannels, oversized T-shirts, and dirty sneakers. Though, he’s always polite and never says a word.

The elevator stops on the main floor, and as soon as the doors open, I step out, walking smack dab into something solid.

“Jesus,” someone says, holding me steady with a heavy arm. “You good?”

My head feels a little wobbly from vibrating off a chest of pure muscle, but I can see perfectly clear.

My eyes trail the stranger’s body, noting the contrast between my dirty sneakers and his shiny dress shoes. His legs are thick, but his suit pants are perfectly tailored to fit his strong thighs. His crisp white shirt is practically see-through, showcasing his tatted skin, and when my gaze falls on the thin gold chain around his neck, I realize who I ran into.

My body, thanks to the warmth flowing through me from the unexpected contact, knows too.

I lift my eyes slightly higher, hazel irises staring back at me as the most mischievous grin slides up his lips.

“Stevie,” Zanders says. “You following me?”