Boomer laughs, and something in my chest loosens up hearing it. But that wince at the end isn’t good.
I give him an encouraging smile. “Don’t stress. I’ll get Baby Boomer moved in, make sure she has everything she needs.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He sighs. “Just try not to kill each other. And keep fucking Static away from her, will you?”
Like I have with every other guy on this team. Myself included. “Count on it.”
3
Piper
Three and a half hours since Bowie “needed a minute,” and this isn’t awkward at all. Wade Grady and I are sitting on his floor with little Otto Erikson doing this lurching Frankenstein walk through the space between our legs and back.
Otto’s pretty cute. Not much of a crier. And since Wade’s the one officially babysitting him and not me, the toddler doesn’t freak me out too much. It’s when people want to hand the babies over and walk away that I get antsy.
I’m not exactly a natural.
Fortunately, no one asks me to watch their offspring since I’m usually considered a package deal with my brother, and he’s been blacklisted from babysitting after an incident this summer when he took Otto to the lakefront to pick up girls.
The gossip sites picked it up and yeah, no more QT with the team’s tiny mascot.
Wade pulls a bowl holding bits of banana and Cheerios from the end table, and Otto flaps his arms, giving up a juicy grin.
“Any word from Bowie?” he asks, probably afraid he’s going to get in trouble for having a Boerboom crash his babysitting gig.
“Not yet.” I check my phone again, but there’s nothing from him or any of the other friends I begged for a couch to crash on for a couple nights. It’s not a surprise. The reason I went to my brother in the first place is that most of my friends are already the extra roommate. “Don’t worry. I’ve got a backup plan.”
It’s Randy, my manager from the club. And it’s more like the dead last of the backups. Not that Wade needs to know.
Honestly, I’ve already overstayed. Pushing to my feet, I make up a lie about meeting a friend who has a room. Then, after giving Otto a quick pat, I hike my oversized bag across my chest and head downstairs. Exiting the elevator, I nearly bump into Bowie.
He’s lost the jacket and is down to a snug-fitting, shoulder-defining long-sleeve T-shirt and his jeans.
“Oh, look who’s back.” I step around him and keep walking for the lobby exit. Jerk.
“Hold up. Come on,” he calls, jogging around me so we’re face-to-face. “I didn’t mean to be gone so long.”
“Don’t care.” It’s a blatant lie, but I’m not giving him the satisfaction of knowing he hurt me. Embarrassed me. Made me look like every bit the screwup everyone thinks I am.
His jaw flexes, and he’s looking anywhere but at me. “Yeah, you do.”
I keep walking, but then he’s in front of me again. “Piper, I’m sorry. Look, I moved your stuff in. Let’s go… home.”
“Geez, Bowie, you can barely choke the word out. Forget it. I’ve got a coworker I can stay with.”
We get to the door, and he holds it open for me.
There’s a bus stop two blocks over, but I’m exhausted and emotional, and Randy really isn’t a guy I want to turn to. And when the first flakes of snow hit my cheeks, I give up.
Bowie’s hand meets my back, and I let him walk me over to his SUV, which is parked right in front, engine running.
It’s a short drive through the city back to the apartment, but the strained silence makes it feel like forever. Makes me wonder what he’s thinking. And why, for the love of everything holy, didn’t Ben just tell him about me?
This is going to suck so much.
We park in a claustrophobic garage in the basement of his building and walk over to a door that leads to a sketchy stairwell with some serious murder-scene vibes. But when Bowie swipes a card in front of the sensor, a well-lit, clean elevator car arrives, and we take it up to the third floor.
Bowie holds the door to the apartment open, his jaw set and his eyes hard. The only thing about his body language that isn’t telling me to turn around and get the hell out of there is the halfhearted wave of one hand into the space beyond.
“Umm, thanks for this.”
“No problem,” he says with exactly zero inflection in his voice, eyes somewhere over my shoulder.
I wasn’t exactly expecting him to roll out the welcome wagon, usher me in, and offer me a cold drink while he directed me on where to find the towels. But seriously, does he have to be such a dick? It’s like the person he is around everyone else, the person he used to be around me… is just gone. Erased.
Not that I can really blame him after what I did.
Yeah, it was years ago, and I was a kid. But I should have known better. I shouldn’t have spent a year embarrassing myself mooning over Bowie, not so subtly suggesting interracial rom-coms for movie nights. Pointing out girls who looked like me and asking if he thought they were pretty. And when he pulled away, I shouldn’t have doubled down embarrassing myself even more by trying to show him how mature I was— at barely fifteen —by dating the absolute worst guy I could have picked.
I hate thinking about Charlie.
I hate how stupid and selfish it makes me feel. I hate being the reason my brother lost the guy who’d been his best friend since they were five years old learning to skate together.
I hate the reminder of what I did when every now and then I see him pop up on the hockey sites spewing poison about Ben or Bowie or whoever else happens to be on his radar that day.
Pushing that thought aside, I walk in, expecting to have to pinch my nose or tiptoe past a forgotten pizza box with some random’s skanky panties draped over the side. But two steps into an apartment I’ve always considered just this side of needing to be condemned, and my brows lift as I look around.
“Did you guys find a new cleaning service?” For a multitude of reasons— namely, my brother —they’ve had trouble keeping one. But tonight, the floor is clear of stinking hockey gear, leftovers, and the lacy trophies that always seem to be floating around when I show up, announced or not.
Behind me, Bowie shuts the door and locks it.
I turn back just as he’s flipping a shiny lock. “Is that—” No way. I feel my blood start to boil. “Is that new?”
He takes a slow breath and meets my eyes. The contact is unnerving, but I don’t look away.
“Your brother needs to rest and recover. He doesn’t need to be worrying about whether you’re safe. So, I had it installed.”
Uh-huh. “Because the jacked guard downstairs and NHL player living here isn’t enough.”
He doesn’t answer.
Looking around at the cleared floors and counters, I take a breath of air slightly tinged with floral freshener and hoist my duffel higher on my shoulder.
“This was really nice of you.” I shrug, feeling uncomfortable about the trouble he went to for me. Even if it wasn’t actually for me. “You didn’t have to. But I really appreciate it.”
Ben would have been fine with me climbing over whatever mess he’d left before the hospital.