Page 100 of Taking Sides

I laugh. “How long have you been waiting to use that line?”

“All my life.”

“Seriously, though, I don’t want to get in the way.” I smile tentatively at his parents. They can’t be happy I’m crashing their time with Conrad. “I can head to the hotel and meet up with you all tomorrow.”

“Nonsense.” Bruce shakes his head. “We are so looking forward to getting to know you.”

Conrad nods as if they’ve discussed this and wants to reassure me.

“You’re staying with us. I already made up the guest room,” Cleo says in a tone that leaves no room for arguing. She might be petite, but she has a certain determination about her that has me replying back, “Yes, ma’am.”

Conrad lifts one brow in amusement.

“Ma’am?” he mouths as we follow his parents out of the airport.

“I panicked,” I whisper, and fan my shirt. I think I’m sweating.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you nervous before,” he says, grinning at me. “It’s usually me who’s freaking out.”

“Yes, I prefer it that way.”

I don’t really, but how am I going to survive an entire weekend with his parents and not make a total ass of myself?

An hour later, I’m sharing a seat with Conrad as his mom brings us another photo album. We started with college and now we’re going backward to high school. There are at least three albums per year of his life.

“I bet you can’t pick me out of this photo.” Conrad points to a team shot of his varsity hockey team senior year.

I take it from him, smiling as soon as I place young Conrad with his shy smile, hiding in the back. “It’s too easy.”

“How?” he asks, wide-eyed.

“You look exactly the same.”

He makes a face, clearly unhappy with my answer.

“You do.” I stare back at the younger version of him. “What number were you?”

“Seven. Always. It was my dad’s football number too.”

Bruce looks up from his iPad. He’s reclined back in a leather chair with his reading glasses on.

“Football, huh?” I ask him.

“High school state champs.” He winks, aiming a proud smile my way before he goes back to his iPad.

“Did you play other sports?” I ask Conrad.

“Sure, but hockey was always my favorite.”

“I think there’s a picture of him in his baseball uniform around here somewhere.” Cleo goes back to the bookshelf along one wall and pulls out another photo album.

She flips it open. “Nope. This is your rookie season with Moonshot.”

I hold my hand out eagerly. I can’t get enough. Dad didn’t really keep albums of me and Victor. The few printed photos I have of us over the years are ones I stashed away.

As I’m flipping through the first season of Conrad’s professional career, one photo grabs my attention.

“When was this taken?” I point to a picture of Conrad. Victor and three other guys from other teams in the league are standing with them, all in their individual team jerseys.