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It was Lenny's idea.

I told her that Vienna was getting impatient about turning on her implant. She suggested that I distract her by giving her something to look forward to that wasn't another follow-up visit.

I agreed.

So, now we're here in Grand Oaks, and Vienna is having the time of her life.

Ruthie has two teenage friends here. The three of them have been toting V around like she's another one of them—a scary look at what my future will be ten years from now, I guess. And I've gotten to see my sister come alive again with someone outside of our immediate family.

Appreciation runs through me as I watch V yank JJ from his seat and push him toward the front of the room.

My sister is with me, my best friend letting her flip his hands in all sorts of directions without hesitation or even a glance my way. My team has won the first two games of our series against the Oilers and just filled up on a good dinner before dissolving back into their hotel rooms. And my mom is content at home, getting a well-deserved break, knowing damn well her son has her daughter's back.

There's just one person missing.

Seeing that V is more than okay in the hands she's in, I slip through the one foot gap in the dividing wall of the ballroom and find the other half still empty—nothing but a dozen round white tables scattered across the floor, padded chairs spaced neatly around each one. Two long conference tables sit pushed together at the front like ours, only these ones aren't weighed down with rolls and baked ziti. In the far corner, a chair rack stacked as tall as I am holds extra seats just in case, and a podium waits off to the side for someone to lean against and speak.

I move toward the wooden stand, my eyes on my phone as I pull up my contacts and find her name.

The call connects as soon as I rest my elbows against the smooth flat finish. It rings once, then twice, then another handful of times before I almost hang up. But just as I shift my weight to stand back up fully, she answers.

"Hi," she says, quick and hushed. I smile instantly, glad none of my teammates aren't around to witness it. The rest of her words come out laced with something close to panic. "Everything okay?"

"Uh, yeah," I say, my thumb looping under my chain. I drag it across the metal links, slightly unsettled by her tone. "I just thought I'd call."

"Aw, that's so sweet." Her inflection shifts to something lighter, but equally quiet. A short silence follows, where I can't help but picture her smiling. "I'm still at work," she says. "Well, I'm currently in a supply closet, but—"

"A supply closet?" My brow furrows as I throw an arm across my chest, hooking my hand into the crook of my elbow. Then, my lips curl. "Accident or strategy?"

Lenny bursts into laughter that's quickly smothered by what I'd assume is her palm. The endorphins I feel from pulling it out of her rival those from the win earlier this afternoon. And that, combined with the thought of covering her mouth to muffle other noises, makes me grateful for the covering that the podium offers.

"Strategy, actually," she finally says.

"See," I shoot back.

She giggles again, controlled this time. "I wasn't sure why you were calling since I know you're probably still at dinner, so I ducked into the closest room I could find."

"Oh, well, we can talk later," I blurt. "I wasn't even thinking about the ti—"

"No." She cuts me off, bold and frantic, and that adrenaline returns. "I'm good. You're actually doing me a favor. There's a guy who came in with a sprained wrist, and he keeps asking if I'm single."

My jaw tics and my free hand jumps to cover it.

"So, are you hiding from him or the question?"

There's another pause, and suddenly this half of the room feels much warmer than the other.

"Both," she decides.

I stop the response I'd like to give from slipping out.

"Why's that?" I ask simply, shoving the rest back down.

Lenny's tongue clicks as if she's going to answer, then doesn't. "Actually, ya know what?" she says eventually. "Considering the reason behind the injury… I'd definitely say him."

My eyes narrow as I stare at a tiny piece of splintered wood in the corner of the stand, my shoulders still tense.

"I don't even wanna know," I admit.