Page 71 of Wild Card 13

Her eyes narrowed. "I am serious."

"No, I know. That's objectively hilarious."

"He asked if the players got tired skating so much."

The beer I had just swallowed nearly came back up.

Lucy shook her head. "Then Keith called."

"Oof."

"Then my inbox exploded."

"Double oof."

"And then Marco somehow locked himself inside a service elevator while you were being interviewed."

I blinked. "Actually, that one's kind of impressive."

"He was in there for forty-five minutes."

"Did he deserve it?"

"Probably." The smile she tried to hide finally escaped. It transformed her face.

For a second I wasn't sitting in a hotel bar.

I was seventeen again. Standing outside a coffee shop. Listening to her laugh at one of my terrible jokes. Thinking maybe the world had accidentally given me something too good to keep.

The memory hit hard enough to steal my breath.

Lucy looked away first. "How are you still awake?" she asked.

"Elite athletic conditioning."

She shook her head.

I watched the movement. The small smile. The warmth that appeared whenever she forgot she was supposed to dislike me.

And for one dangerous second, I forgot too. Forgot the years. Forgot the silence. Forgot all the reasons things were different now.

Because this felt familiar. Easy.

The way it always used to be. The way it should have stayed.

"You know," I said quietly, "you don't have to carry the entire organization on your shoulders."

Her expression softened. Just a little. "I know."

"You absolutely don't know."

She stared into her glass. "Maybe not."

The admission surprised me. Lucy rarely admitted weakness. Especially to me.

The silence stretched between us again.

Not awkward. Not forced. Just... there. The way it used to be. The way I missed more than I would ever admit out loud.