Before he can answer—I’m sure Talon has an extensive plan for a talk show he would host already written down somewhere, if not at least in his imagination—my phone vibrates in my pocket.
This stupid suite has Wi-Fi and it’s the only place I can get service when we’re at sea.
A text from Shay flashes.
Shay: Have you thought any more about Zane’s offer? They’d like to start talks when you’re back.
Talon, who’s never been able to mind his own business a day in his life, leans over my arm, eyes curious when they flick up to me. “What offer?”
I shove the phone back in my pocket in favour of the beer Jay hands me. “The network wants me to do some feature show next season ... conversations with other athletes. Injuries, recovery, mental health. Bullshit like that.”
“Like a podcast?” Talon asks. “Is that something you want to do?”
I shrug. “Maybe. I said I’d think about it.”
“Maybeweshould start a podcast.” Talon twists the cap of his beer off, tossing it onto the ground beside him.
“We’re not starting a podcast.” Jay cuts him a sideways glance.
Talon nods. “We could. And we could call it ‘The Only Podcast to Ever Exist.’”
“No. The only line to ever exist was bad enough.” Jay rolls his eyes, bottle pressed to his mouth, hiding a smile.
“Well, has there been another line that’s even come close?” Talon leans forward, raising his eyebrows.
“No.”
Talon’s arms go wide. “Then I rest my case. The only line to ever exist.”
I smile in spite of myself, dropping my head back against the wall of the ship, where I hope the only girl to ever exist is sleeping peacefully on the other side.
Sloan
Then - College
I’m trying not to move around too much. It’s not my bed, after all.
I usually like staying at Bohdan’s. His bed feels just as much mine as my own.
But tonight—everything is so loud, the sheets aren’t sitting right against my skin, and all I can think about are all the things I’ve done wrong.
I’d try to untangle myself, but he has one arm around my waist, his chin at home in the crook of my neck.
He’s so exhausted. He crawled into bed right after his second practice of the day, barely bothering to take off his clothes.
I don’t want to wake him, but my brain won’t shut up—so I try counting.
I know the thoughts won’t go away, I just don’t want them to be so loud.
Tapping my fingers against my chest in time with the words, I mouth,One, two, three.
“Sloan,” Bohdan mumbles, half asleep and voice rough. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.” My fingers still.
I swallow.
I blink.
