Page 43 of Double Puck

"Morrison. Any truth to the trade rumors? Are you really leaving the Bears so soon?"

I stop breathing.

Beck doesn't miss a beat.

"I hear I'm devastatingly handsome and a delight in the locker room." He shrugs. "Can't confirm either, but for now, I'm just looking forward to the game on the weekend."

The journalist laughs, jots something down, and moves off toward Declan.

Beck's eyes find mine as the crowd sweeps around him, offering a handshake or kind word until he's finally beside me.

"Sorry if I took too long." He leans in close, before his gaze drops to my feet and splits into a frown. "You getting blisters, Spreadsheet?"

"Please. I'm high society. I'm used to wearing these kind of shoes."

"Those are not shoes," he laughs, his eyes sparkling before me. "Those are tiny torture devices with a designer label."

I laugh before I can stop it, and he looks unreasonably pleased about it.

Then his attention drifts past me, and something in his face changes.

Across the room, my parents stand near the winning bidder's table, my mother mid-thanks to all the winners, all warmth and diamonds. My father is behind her, one hand resting at her waist, the other shaking hands.

Mom leans back into him without looking. She doesn't need to look, she's known where he is for thirty-one years, but when she finishes speaking, he bends and kisses her hair.

Beck watches them. He doesn't say anything, which for Beck Morrison is practically an alarm bell.

I think about what Josie said, about how the mansion feels tense and dangerous at the moment. So I move in closer.

"You all good?" I ask.

"Yeah. Tonight's been fun. Your parents are cool, Madden," he finally says. "Totally in love. It's sweet."

"They're certainly not afraid to show it."

"Nah." He shakes his head slowly, still watching them cross the room. "That's just… what happens when two people keep loving each other for that long. That's why it's so special."

His voice has gone quiet, and suddenly, there's no punchline like there was up on stage.

"Beck—"

"Mine used to do that." He flashes a look at me. "Or I thought they did, anyway. Turns out it was all just one big lie."

My throat goes tight.

I want to say something useful. Something a friend would say.

But before I can, he looks down at my feet again, then back to my face. The shadow's gone like it was never there, replaced by the grin that keeps pulling me in, closer and closer.

"Come on," he says, tugging at my arm.

"Wh-what?" I cry out while being dragged by a enormous man across the room. "Beck! Where are we going?"

"Somewhere you can stop pretending you're not in pain."

His hand closes around mine, and he pulls me through the crowd toward the service corridor behind the ballroom.

Chapter 7