Page 77 of Set Play

I can practically see him rubbing an exasperated hand down his face. His silence is weird though; I can think of maybe ten times that he’s been silent in our entire lives. Hell, he even talks in his fucking sleep.

“Jade fucked you up five years ago. It’s nice to see you enjoying yourself again. I know it’s supposedly fake or whatever, but I think she has the potential to be good for you. Once you two stop pretending to pretend, of course. Not to mention that you’re kicking ass on the field.”

“Lukas,” I start, but he interrupts me, barreling on as if I’m a figment of his imagination.

“Don’t even try to say you don’t have feelings for her, Teo. You’re literally missing practice to go to fucking Québec for her. You don’t do that for just anyone. Face it, you care about her. Anyway, pick up the flowers at the address I’m texting you. Be safe. Te amo, mano.1” As he hangs up without waiting for my answer, silence fills the car once more.

Listening to the rumble of the tires on the road, I realize he’s right. I'm falling for her.

Now to hope she feels the same way.

1. Te amo, mano = I love you, brother.

Chapter 44

Mateo

“Yes, sir. It appears that your wife was admitted and is in room 817. As you requested over the phone, we did ensure that she’s in a private room. But uh—” The receptionist’s eyes flick between Niamh and me before homing in on the flowers in my hands. “Only family is allowed to visit at this time.”

“I see the confusion. This is my wife’s sister.”

Thankfully Niamh keeps her mouth shut, because if she were to talk, this whole charade would be over. No one who has ever talked to someone from Canada could mistake Niamh’s accent for local.

“Oh!” The receptionist gives us a megawatt smile, even if disbelief remains in her eyes. “Of course. Well then, the elevator is right through those doors.”

We give our thanks and quickly move to follow instructions. Neither of us speak until we are safely in the closed elevator. Niamh snorts a repressed giggle into her hand before bending at the waist, erupting into shrill laughter. “Are you okay?” I ask cautiously, eyeing her with extreme concern.

Has she gone mad? Is the elevator being filled with nitrous oxide?

We don’t know each other at all, so I have no idea what is happening right now. Rather than talking to me on our flight, Niamh sat by herself, mumbling something about punching a hen in the cock.

I’d sent a message to Cillian asking if it was an Irish idiom or something, but when he said he had no idea what I was talking about, I shrugged it off and went back to reading my book. But now I regret that choice. Maybe we should’ve talked more, gotten to know each other.

At least then I’d be confident that I’m not in an elevator with a psycho.

“I can’t believe ye said Éllie was yer wife!” Niamh screeches, the sound bouncing off the metal walls and ringing in my ears. “She’s going to kick yer ass when she hears about this!”

I guess I’ve learned why Élise called her a banshee the night of the gala.

Thankfully, the elevator doesn’t stop for other passengers, because Niamh shows no sign of regaining control of herself. As we approach the eighth floor, it starts to unnerve me. “Will you shut up? It was the only way to get them to let us see her. Or would you rather sit in the lobby? I figured you’d want to be by your best friend’s side, but I could’ve just as easily left you downstairs, you know. I just,” I trail off, at a loss on how to explain what I’m feeling.

When the elevator doors finally glide open, we step out into a blindingly white hallway. Ugh, fucking hospitals. Just before we move toward the nurses’ station, I drop my voice so only she can hear and finish my thought. “I just need to see her. If that requires telling people she’s my wife, then I’ll tell the whole goddamn world.”

The severity of my words kills the last of Niamh’s chaotic snickering. Her soft hazel eyes find mine and she smiles. “That’s kinda cute, Spliúchán.1” She moves toward the nurses’ desk before I can question what the hell she just called me.

After ‘introducing’ ourselves at the desk, we’re bombarded with questions from a nurse who’s even more untrusting, and way more combative, than the receptionist. Nurse Interrogator, as I have named her, refuses to grant us access to Élise’s room until we provide proof of our claims. Luckily for us, another nurse, one wearing a genuine smile, comes over to our group, dismissing Nurse Interrogator, and leads us down the hallway.

I look over to Niamh to see her sticking her tongue out at the nurse behind us. She turns to me when I jab her with my elbow, but before I can admonish her childish behavior, Élise’s voice slices the air around us. “I’m sorry. Did you just say my husband and sister?”

Niamh and I exchange a slightly panicked glance before we speed up and burst through her door, cutting her off midsentence. “What are you talking about? I—”

At our mildly aggressive entrance, two heads swivel in our direction. “Big Shot? Niamh? What the hell are you two doing here?”

The doctor sweeps his gaze over the three of us and excuses himself, saying he’ll return shortly, then bolts from the room.

I don’t, no, I can’t respond.

My hands clench around the crystal vase that Lukas ordered. The faint smell of sunflowers and calendulas tickles my nose, but I’m too busy cataloguing every inch of her body for damage to care.