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Nothing I could do about it. And I was luckier than most. I had insurance. I had funds to set up another place in the coming days to weeks.
I had a bed and a full fridge and clothes in the closet of this apartment thanks to the team (I’d be wearing Rush and Gold-emblazoned clothing for the foreseeable future—even down to my underwear).
Lucky.
So, it was time to shut up.
Unfortunately, mybrainwouldn’t cooperate.
It was back in that school gymnasium, watching Billie Rose, trying to understand why she looked different,seemeddifferent.
And not able to figure it out.
I wasn’t book smart.
I hadn’t gone to college, had only gotten my GED a couple of years ago. I knew how to shoot pucks and hit opposing players.
I’d lived carefully, saved a shit-ton—I hadn’t needed to be smart for that, my parents had taught me well and I wasn’t one of those idiots who’d needed to blow my first paycheck on a dumbass sports car I wouldn’t be able to fit into anyway.
Newsflash, I was tall. I was big.
I didn’t enjoy getting claustrophobia just by sitting in my car.
I’d kept my clunker until it had died, and then I’d bought something practical.
So…not book smart.
But life smart—again, thanks to my parents.
Who’d finally just stopped texting me—tag teaming me with worry and excitement. Worry because the fire was still burning. Excitement because Axel had won a Cup.
He’d won aCup.
Which meant that I’d texted my former teammate—and gotten a reply from Bailey, pictures of my friend living it up, living his dream.
But it was late, and I should go to sleep. Fuck knew I hadn’t had enough of that lately.
Only…my mind kept drifting.
Back to Billie Rose.
She’d sat next to me earlier that night, herself and yet not, drinking a beer I got the distinct impression she didn’t want. Her eyes on the game being broadcast on the wall, seemingly concentrating, even as I’d sensed she was a million miles away.
She hadn’t seemed that far when she’d looked at me, when her blue eyes had pierced straight through me.
They always did that.
Acted like laser beams whose primary focus was to blast their way right through my soul.
And expose each and every one of my copious faults along the way.
Copious.
“Right,” I muttered, slamming on the mental brakes.
Sleep.
No more thoughts of the troublesome Billie Rose.
