Lauren:You keep using that word.
I pocket my phone and flag down a cab. The driver asks where I’m headed, and I give him Archer’s address. When I say it out loud—his street, his house number—it sounds like going home.
But it’s not home. It’s temporary.
Everything about this is temporary.
I repeat it twice in my head during the ride back, as if the repetition can make it true.
Chapter Eight
The Spark
Archer
Practice runs long because Coach wants to drill the power play until it actually works, and by the time we’re done my hip is barking and my glove hand is sore and I’ve stopped thirty-seven shots in ninety minutes and I’m thinking about dinner.
Not that I have any idea what’s for dinner, though it has been nice having Sydney there. Most nights she cooks something simple or orders takeout. Today she texted me a photo at noon—the twins at the kitchen table, covered in flour, Lily grinning with dough in her hair, Luke carefully cutting shapes with a cookie cutter. The caption was just:we’re baking. pray for me.
I looked at that photo for too long. Zayden noticed.
“Is that her?” He leaned over in the stall, still pulling off his pads, and caught a glimpse before I could put the phone away.
“Yeah, that’s Sydney.”
He grinned. “How’s she settling in?”
“Fine. She’s good. The kids love her.”
“And you?”
“And me what?”
“How are you doing? With the whole—” He waved his hand. “Situation.”
“There’s no situation. She’s just helping with the twins.”
Banks appeared behind Zayden, towel around his waist, fresh from the shower. “This about Sydney?”
“How does everyone know about Sydney?”
“Because you mention her approximately forty times a day,” Banks said. “Not that I’m counting. Winnie just really liked her, by the way.”
“Good.”
“She also says—” Banks stopped. Glanced at Zayden. Some silent communication passed between them that I didn’t like.
“She also says what?”
“Nothing. Glad it’s going well.” He walked away. Zayden followed. I sat in my stall and stared at my phone and tried not to read anything into any of that.
Then Ollie dropped onto the bench next to me and said, “So I’ve got someone I want you to meet.”
“No.”
“You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m not interested.”
