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See you soon.

Not goodnight.

Not safe flight.

See you soon.

“Bus in ten,” Jax calls from across the room.

“Yeah.”

Baby Becks: P.S. Why 22?

Me: Because 44 was taken.

I shove my phone into my pocket before she can ask again. I’m halfway to the doors when it buzzes against my thigh.

I don’t check it. Mostly because I know myself well enough to know I will. Eventually.

My body aches. My lip hurts. I smell like a locker room, and I’ve got another flight between me and Chicago.

Doesn’t matter. Because she’s there.

And apparently, knowing that changes what going home feels like, even after a few days on the road.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

DELANEY

I’m not waiting up for Bishop. I’m reading.

There’s a difference. A fairly significant one, actually. People who are waiting for someone stare at the clock and check flight statuses every six minutes. I’m not doing that.

I’m relaxed, curled into the corner of Bishop’s ridiculously large sectional with a book, a blanket, and Darcy stretched across the cushion next to me.

Completely different. Yet I can’t stop myself from glancing at my phone on the coffee table.

11:11

“Make a wish.”

Darcy’s ear twitches; he’s heard me say it hundreds of times. Yet every time, I give in to the urge to close my eyes.

I’ve been making wishes for as long as I can remember. Birthday candles. Shooting stars. Loose eyelashes. And 11:11, every single time I catch it.

Declan used to make fun of me for it. So did Bishop.

You know that’s not how wishes work, Baby Becks.

Technically, for me, they kind of do. My birthday is November eleventh. Eleven-eleven. If anyone gets to claim that birthday wishes have to come true, it should be me.

I open my eyes and look toward my phone again.

No new messages.

According to the last one Bishop sent, they were headed for the airport after the game. Which means he probably won’t be home for another couple of hours. Not that I’m keeping track.

I look down at Darcy; his gray eyes stare back at me.