"You actually want me around?" she asks.
"I always do. I'm just bad at showing it."
Another beat. Then she turns back to her window, tucks her hair behind her ear, and says, "Okay. Then stop being weird."
"I'll try."
"Don't try. Just do it."
"You're kind of a lot, you know that?"
"You like it," she says, and she's not wrong, and we both know it, and neither of us says another word for the rest of the drive.
When we get back to the floating house, she kicks off her shoes at the door and collapses onto the couch. Gordie immediately materializes to put his massive head in her lap. I stand in the kitchen for a second, watching the two of them.
"You want to talk about something?" she asks without looking up from scratching Gordie's ears.
"What makes you say that?"
"You're hovering."
I pull out a barstool and sit on it. "Tell me about growing up."
She glances over. "That's vague."
"You and Beck. Vancouver. All of it."
She considers this for a second, then shrugs and settles back against the cushions. "Outside Vancouver, actually. About forty-five minutes from the city. My parents are great. They love us a lot." She pauses. "They also think I'm incapable of tying my own shoes, which is a thing I've been dealing with my whole life."
"Beck's the same. Not with me, so much. But with the rookies? He is the definition of a micromanager."
"Beck learned it from my parents." She scratches Gordie’s side, and he groans with pleasure. "I get it, I do. I was the younger one, I got injured, I gave them a reason to worry. But there's a difference between worrying about someone, and treating them likethey're perpetually about to fall apart." She looks down at Gordie. "I'm handling it. I'm more than handling it. It would just be nice if someone noticed without me having to fight to be seen."
"You're good at your job," I say. "Anyone paying attention can see that."
She looks up, seeming startled.
"Thanks," she says quietly.
"Your parents will figure it out."
"Probably. They're a little distracted by whatever your dad posts on Instagram." She gives me a side-eye. "Speaking of dads with Instagram problems."
"My dad is a different category of problem."
"The hall-of-famer."
"Douglas Thorne. Four Super Bowl rings, one Hall of Fame induction, and a very active social media presence.” I lean back. "He's coming to Seattle next month for some sports foundation banquet. Big press thing. His face is going to be on billboards."
"And you're going."
"I'm going." I study the ceiling for a second. "If you wanted to come, you could. Meet him yourself, make your own assessment. I could use someone in my corner when he inevitably tries to make the whole night about his legacy."
She's quiet for a moment. "As what?"
"As my date." I pause. "As my friend. Who accompanies me. To an event."
"Those are the same thing, Thorne."
