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  Just Listen

  Public Lives Series, Part 2

  By

  Clare James

  Copyright © 2014 Clare James

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without express permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

  This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or any events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Cover design by Berto Designs. Cover image used under license from shutterstock.com. Editing by Sara Biren, SP Critique and Editing Services.

  Table of Contents

  Plug (n.):

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  “Hockey seems completely lawless and, therefore, inexplicably sexy.”

  -Rachel Nichols

  Plug (n.):

  A hockey term used to describe someone who is completely and entirely useless.

  Finn

  In the NHL, players, coaches, and commentators talked endlessly about Hockey Sense. It was something extremely difficult to teach, you really either had it or you didn’t.

  A player with hockey sense made the correct play nine times out of ten. They were a step ahead of the play, rarely caught out of position or off guard. In other words, born to play hockey.

  I had that.

  But once hockey was gone, I lost it all.

  “Dude, you have no choice,” my friend and teammate, Nate Denny, said last spring after I emerged from another weekend bender. “It’s time to face this.”

  “Face what?” I asked, still in denial. Since the initial diagnosis, I refused to think about it, let alone talk about it.

  The only people who knew about my problem were Nate, my agent, Stan, and the doctors, of course. Nate took the docs side on pretty much everything, but Stan wasn’t all that concerned. In fact, he thought we could use my diagnosis to our advantage.

  Money-grubbing asshole.

  Nate didn’t let up until I finally checked into an inpatient facility. That’s really when everything changed. The fog began to lift and I felt my head clearing for the first time since I could remember. The clarity was something I couldn’t explain; the control and calm I experienced was something I knew I desperately needed. Unfortunately, that meant some big changes in the months ahead – necessary changes, if I wanted to have any quality of life.

  I called it the new normal.

  And when it became apparent that retiring from hockey was part of the new normal – at least until I got ahold of my life – Nate was the only person in my corner.

  When I woke up this time, he was the only person there again. Slumped over in the chair, snoring.

  I was happy about that. It gave me some time to get orientated after my latest stumble. As I looked around the hospital room, a familiar feeling came rushing back – a feeling I thought I experienced for the last time.

  I was wrong.

  The docs told me I most likely would have episodes at times – when I was stressed or faced certain triggers – but I didn’t believe them. I was too tough, too disciplined.

  I followed all the rules to get better, for fuck’s sake. Yet I still wound up here.

  It was a kick to the goddamn nuts.

  My last moments with Casey began to seeping in to my newly found consciousness. That smell of hers – spicy and inviting – hit me first. I could detect her scent in the hospital room even with the potent disinfectant filling the air.

  That meant she was there, at least at some point. A mild comfort.

  The memory of her striking face was the next blow. The look in those large brown doe eyes that last night, when she was bound for me, open and waiting for my next move. Her pupils large; her lips parted; her bare chest, rising and falling rapidly in sweet anticipation.

  And then, the disturbing image I couldn’t shake – the way her expression of wanton desire turned to panic.

  It was terrifying.

  I tried to recall the rest. What did I do? What did I say? What did she see? Was she okay?

  All I could think was that I had to get to her. Soon.

  I had no idea how long I’d been out. That was the trouble, it could’ve been hours or days. My body told me it had been a while. As I tried to get up, I was overwhelmed with an uncomfortable sensation of exhaustion mixed with regret. Like when I was young and getting trashed every night, waking up to a stranger in my bed and wondering what the fuck happened. It was like that. But worse. Far worse, because there was nothing (or no one) to blame. No alcohol, or wild party, or swarms of girls begging me to do filthy things to them. This one was all on me. My unstable, unreliable, crazy, fucked-up, destined-to-be-miserable self.

  Falling back into bed, I slowed my breathing. With the raging war going on in my chest, I could feel my blood pressure rising, which would surely start setting off these monitors I was chained to.

  I needed to calm the hell down, but part of me was livid that Casey hadn’t stayed. That she ran at the first sign of trouble.

  Then again, who in their right mind would sign up for this shit?

  I punched the mattress, but it hardly moved. My hands were no longer the lethal weapons they once were. My mind was fried, unable to focus or think clearly. It’d been months since I felt this worthless.

  Rendered incapable of doing anything, I let the exhaustion pull me back under. And I went back to dreaming of her.

  Chapter 1

  Two Months Later

  On the set of Good Morning U.S.A.

  Casey

  Anchor/Kiki Stuart: And that brings us to the woman of the hour, Casey Scott. We know her as the reporter who broke the story, and as Finn’s weak link, but I think I speak for everyone when I say, we are dying to hear from you, Casey.

  Casey Scott: Thanks for having me, Kiki. But I wouldn’t say I was the person who broke the story. I had it all wrong —

  Finn Daley: You’ve got that right.

  Casey Scott: I know; that’s what I just said.

  Finn Daley: Just want to make sure you’re not still delusional.

  Casey Scott: Hey, you’ve had your say. I think it’s time I’ve had mine.

  Anchor/Kiki Stuart: Oh boy. Guys, I don’t want to be forced to call security. Are you sure you’re going to be okay sitting next to each other?

  Casey Scott: We’ll be fine.

  Finn Daley: Speak for yourself.

  I hadn’t seen Finn for a few weeks, since everything was set in motion. It was the most brutal torture to sit this close without any physical contact. I missed his intoxicating smell; his electric touch; his deep laugh; and the way his face warmed whenever he looked at me.

  Though it seemed like forever since he looked at me that way.

  These days the looks were full of scorn and disgust. I tried to blame him for the situation. I told myself
it was his fault. If he had just been honest. If he had trusted me enough to tell the truth.

  But all that was bullshit. I betrayed him, and I lost him. There was nobody to blame but myself.

  I didn’t want to do this interview, because I didn’t care what happened to me at this point. Our agents, however, insisted. They both agreed it was the best way to put this whole thing to bed. I was outnumbered. Not that there was much skin off my back, it was Finn who I worried about. He was the one with everything on the line.

  Personally, I didn’t want to rehash it all in front of the American public. I didn’t want to remember that night. I can’t imagine he did either. When he went dark on me, it was the worst night of my life.

  The weeks that followed weren’t much better.

  Chapter 2

  ENFORCER (n.):

  A player who defends his teammates against members of the other team.

  Finn

  Nate said he got the call around midnight. I had to trust him on that. With these particular details, he learned to pay attention because he knew I’d want to know about everything that happened during the blackout. I had badgered him enough over the years that he finally understood the drill.

  All I remembered about the night was that one minute I’m having the most incredible moment with a woman I was crazy about. And the next? I’m out of my mind. Literally.

  “She called me right as it was happening,” Nate told me once I was able to have a conversation. “Said she wasn’t sure what was wrong with you, but she rattled off all of your medical stats like a pro.”

  Though I was miserable being back at this place, it could’ve been worse. Regions Hospital was the best place to be after an episode. It was well-known, not only for its specialists in the field, but for its experience in dealing with public figures as well. I was able to hide out in a special corridor that gave me the privacy I needed for recovery.

  My limbs were heavy and I was famished, but I felt alert. That meant the medication was working. I was leveling out again.

  “Casey thought you were stable enough to wait until she made a few calls. She wanted some back-up before bringing in an ambulance and causing a scene,” Nate continued. “She was pretty damn incredible, man.”

  If he only knew the half of it.

  “How’d she know to call you?” I asked, cringing. Thinking about Casey in my house dealing with me in that condition on her own made me physically ill.

  “She found my number in your phone and apparently she remembered you telling her how incredible I was. She said you were always blathering on about me, like I was your idol or something.”

  “Fuck you,” I snapped. Leave it to my only friend to razz me at a time like this.

  “And he’s back.” Nate laughed, his posture transitioning from rigid to relaxed. Guilt washed over me, knowing that he’d been worried too. I hated putting him through this shit.

  “She was good, Finn. Really good.”

  Leave it to Casey not to panic.

  “Does she know?” I asked.

  “Not yet,” he said, looking down. The clear sign he didn’t want to tell me something. “I told her you had a condition.”

  “A condition?”

  “I didn’t know what to say, but I knew it wasn’t my place to tell her.”

  “Okay. Then why do you look like that – what’s the problem?”

  “Promise you won’t go ape shit?” he asked.

  “Just tell me, Nate.”

  “Ava showed up?”

  “What? Why?” Just the sound of her name brought instant dread.

  “She’s still listed as your emergency contact on one of the forms.”

  “I changed all that months ago.”

  “Well, apparently you missed one.”

  “So?” I asked, encouraging him on.

  “So.” Nate blew out a long, labored breath. “Casey was here when Ms. Hell-on-Long-Legs came striding in, and let’s just say it didn’t go well.”

  “So Casey was here?” This is what I wanted to be talking about – my present, not my past.

  “She was,” Nate said.

  “Has she been back to see me?” I asked with that deep sinking feeling settling in my gut again.

  I waited for him to speak, but I knew Casey, and I knew the answer.

  “Nope,” Nate confirmed. “She hasn’t.”

  “Okay,” I said, going into recovery mode. We made it through the rescue, now it was time to salvage what was left. And Casey was my only priority.

  Chapter 3

  Casey

  Anchor/Kiki Stuart: What do you mean you didn’t break the story? If you didn’t, who did?

  Casey: I stumbled on it. I mean, yes, I planned to uncover the Finn Daley mystery, but then things became complicated. What followed was both a misunderstanding and an accident.

  Finn: Oh, that’s what you’re calling it now?

  Casey: Would you pipe down.

  Anchor/Kiki Stuart: Let me tell you, it’s getting a little hot in the studio this morning. We’re going to take a break and be right back with these love birds.

  He wasn’t going to take it easy on me – that was becoming increasingly apparent.

  Thankfully, Kiki took us to a commercial before I had to explain myself.

  Once they called an all clear in the studio, Finn’s agent came out for a quick powwow with his client. My agent tried to do the same, but I waved her off.

  Before the Finn story, I couldn’t get the attention of a broadcast agent if I showed up at their place of business in my birthday suit. After the story, I had to fight them off.

  So much had happened since that night with Finn. I tuned out the lights and cameras and noise and went back to that time in my mind. The way things were before my world was shot to hell.

  Finn had me bound, waiting for him, and I was wet and ready. I knew it wasn’t a modern notion, or even remotely appropriate for someone with my feminist beliefs, but I got off on Finn taking control of me.

  It was disgusting, but I loved every second of it. Seriously.

  He used his hands to guide my legs further apart. Then he took too long stroking them (hip to toe), neglecting my other parts far more in need of his touch. It was the most exquisite form of torture and probably one of the most effective.

  Finn should’ve introduced it to the military. Forget water boarding. Torture by orgasm denial would have had the toughest motherfuckers spilling secrets in record time.

  His hands moved to my backside in a way that was the closest to being worshipped than I’d ever come. His movements were slow and deliberate, marking me.

  I grew wetter and became ravenous – painfully waiting for him to get closer.

  He finally did.

  And when he brushed his covered chest against mine, I cried out. I had to feel his skin, his warmth, or I’d die. I’d die right then and there and Mr. Daley would have a lot of explaining to do.

  As if reading my mind, Finn removed his shirt and closed the distance between us. The skin-on-skin contact was sublime. Fucking incredible. I struggled against the binding, wanting to wrap my arms around him.

  Closer, closer, closer.

  The words bounced around in my head, and with my arms suspended above me, I nestled my head into the crook of his neck, trying to burrow my way in.

  He continued moving at an excruciatingly slow pace. In frustration, I bit him on the jaw. Hard.

  And then, well …

  He went dark.

  But if I was producing this scene – if I was in any sort of control of the situation – my first objective would be to rewrite the fuck out of my ending with Finn.

  This was how the story should’ve finished.

  In the very next moment, Finn ripped off his pants. He couldn’t move fast enough.

  “You really shouldn’t have done that,” he said, his eyes raking over my body, hot and hungry.

  I bit him again, provoking him further.

  “Are you sure you’re r
eady for me?” he asked.

  Before I had the chance to say yes, he spun me around – my arms still bound by the restraint – pushed me up against the wall and drove into me from behind.

  Halleluiah!

  Then the sea parted and the angels wept.

  Yes, that would be my version of happily ever after. Ending with him inside me, followed by an exploding orgasm.

  Too bad, I couldn’t rewrite my own life. A point made perfectly clear as the cameraman started counting us down until we were live in the studio.

  I took a huge gulp of my water in an effort to cool down so I could get through the rest of this godforsaken interview.

  It was times like this that I questioned if maybe my writing skills would be better suited for porn.

  I blamed Finn. He brought out the filth in me.

  But did porn stars even work off scripts, or was it all ad lib? Like they went into work and the director said, “You’re a lonely housewife; he’s a horny cable guy, and Go!”

  I had no idea, but it might be something to consider if this journalism thing didn’t pan out.

  Five, four, three, two….

  Chapter 4

  WHEELIN’ BROADS (v.):

  When hockey players shamelessly hit on girls while on the road, when they had perfectly loving girlfriends back at home.

  Finn

  “What happened?” I finally asked Nate about Casey and Ava’s meeting, though I had a clue. Ava was a handful, but not in the same funny, spunky way that Casey was. Ava was a demanding, hard-to-please, entitled little – and I hated using the word – bitch.

  “She barreled in, like she does,” Nate said in his animated way.

  “And then?”

  “Then she started barking orders to the staff, demanding they get Dr. Hart to the hospital.”

  “What did she do to Casey?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure we should go there, dude. You’re finally up and moving around. I think this discussion can wait. I don’t want you to get upset right now.”