Page 117 of Taking Sides

“What do you want me to do?” Conrad asks. He doesn’t look panicked, but I know that he can see it on my face.

“Wait in the bedroom?” I ask. It’s possibly a shitty thing to do, but this is not how I pictured my brother finding out that I’m dating his archnemesis.

Conrad goes without saying another word, and I step back to the front door.

“Whitney!” Victor yells. His next knock sounds more like he’s pounding his fist on the other side.

I swing it open before he wakes up half the neighborhood.

“Hi.” My voice is breathless and a little too high-pitched as I face my brother.

“What the hell took so long?” He pushes past me into the house like he’s been here a million times before and like he hasn’t been openly stating he’d never, ever step foot in this place.

As I shut the door, I glance back to the hallway toward my bedroom. The door is open, but the light is off and there’s no sign of Conrad.

Victor steps a few feet into the house and turns slowly as he takes it in. When he faces me again, I note the bags under his eyes and the rumpled clothes.

“You look like shit.” I close the distance between us and hug him.

He snorts as he circles one arm around my back, half-heartedly returning the gesture. “I feel worse.”

I go into the kitchen to clean up some of the mess. Victor follows, standing on the other side of the counter.

“I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for two days. Where have you been?” I ask him.

“I had my meeting with the Department of Player Safety yesterday and then I got in my car and started driving.”

“You drove here?” I stop what I’m doing to stare at him. That had to have taken . . .

“All night. I only stopped for gas.”

“Why?”

“I needed some air.”

“So you drove across the country?” I ask, then my voice softens. “What happened with the Department of Player Safety?”

His jaw tightens. “I’m suspended for two games, and I have a meeting with the GM at the end of the week. They’re going to trade me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. They’re done with me.” He places both hands on the counter and leans forward.

I have about a million things I want to ask him, but he doesn’t look like he’s in any mood to talk. And Conrad is hiding somewhere not far away.

“Do you want coffee or something to eat?” I ask instead. “I just made eggs and bacon.”

“You hate bacon.” His gaze narrows, then he takes in the rest of the kitchen like he’s looking for evidence of . . . something. My bare legs now feel like an indictment.

“Do you have a guy here?” Victor asks, then wrinkles up his nose. “Gross.”

“Shut up. No.” My face flushes hot.

“Is he here?” He looks around.

“No one is here,” I lie without meeting his gaze. “You know what? Forget all this. Let me take you out somewhere for breakfast. I know how much you hate this house.”

“No. I just want to sleep. Is it okay if I crash on your couch just until I can check into a hotel?”