Page 15
Silence.
“It’s not fine, fine. But it’s mostly fine, and I already talked to Mom, except I didn’t exactly tell her all of it because she’d make Dad get in the car, and I do not need them driving three hours to rescue me.”
Still nothing.
“So there was apparently a tiny mix-up with the fellowship. It’s a funny story, actually. Not funny ha-ha, but more ironic, you know?”
I stand and start pacing.
“By tiny, I mean I don’t technically have the fellowship anymore. But before you start, I do have a job. Sort of. It’s an internship. A paid internship, and honestly, I think I’m going to like it better because I’m actually working with editorial, so that’s good. What’s less good is that the apartment was only for the fellowship, which means I also don’t technically have a place to stay.”
Nothing.
“But I have a hotel room tonight, so I’m not homeless.” I look around. “Yet.”
Darcy makes a noise from the bed.
“Don’t judge me.” I shoot him a look while I make another lap across the room.
Silence.
“I know how that sounds.”
More silence.
“Anyway, apparently there’s some giant food festival happening this weekend, and every affordable hotel room has been sacrificed to the culinary gods. I’ve looked at sublets and short-term rentals, but everything either costs approximately one kidney or isn’t available until next week. So now I’m in a possibly haunted hotel, and as much as I don’t want your help, big brother… I kind of need it. If I make it through the night.”
I finally stop pacing.
“Declan? Are you even listening?” I pull the phone away from my ear and check the screen to make sure the call didn’t drop.
A low chuckle comes through the phone.
Every muscle in my body locks because that is not my brother’s laugh.
“Jesus, Baby Becks.” The voice is warm, amused, and painfully familiar. “Do you ever breathe?”
Oh. No.
No, no, no.
I slowly lower the phone and stare at Declan’s name glowing across the screen in confusion, before bringing it back to my ear.
“Bishop?”
CHAPTER THREE
BISHOP
The pass is there, then the shot. For a split second, I have both.
The Archers’ goalie drops low, expecting me to go five-hole, then shifts just enough to leave an opening on his blocker side.
I can bury it… I should bury it. Instead, I catch Mercer cutting across the ice. He has a better angle, and the goalie is committed to me. So I sent the puck across the crease, and just like I anticipated, Mercer catches it clean and takes the shot.
Red light.
The horn disappears beneath twenty thousand people booing us at once. Music to my ears.
