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“Thanks, for that,” I said irritated. She fell into step beside me when I didn’t stop to greet her.
“What, no kiss, lovie?”
“Nope. Why the hell did you do that? I’d almost made it through the airport without anyone stopping me.”
“You’ll thank me later,” she retorted, pouting. “You’re a hot commodity. We have to cultivate our brand, Ace. Mobs are free publicity. How many times have I told you that?”
She pointed to the left and I strode toward the entrance she indicated. “That stuff doesn’t matter to me. It’s flattering sometimes, yeah, but I have shit on my mind and I don’t even want to be in Brazil.”
“You should care,” Bronwyn quipped. “You’ve got contract negotiations coming and you’ve become the linchpin of this team and this is a huge event.”
I rolled my eyes behind my glasses so she didn’t see. “How much money does any one person need?”
There was a limousine waiting at the curb with a driver holding the door open.
“A cab would have done,” I muttered as I silently compared this waste of cash to Teagan not having enough to pay for her house to be cleaned so Remi could spend a few days there.
“Pish,” she waved away my objection, climbing into the car before me. “This was easier.”
I slid in and dropped my duffle on the seat between us on purpose. “I’m sure it was.”
I could feel her eyes studying me and could almost hear the gears in her head turning. It was dark in the back of the limo, but I still kept my glasses on.
“Ace, I understand you’re going through a lot, but don’t I even get a kiss? Didn’t you miss me?”
“I’m just really tired. I didn’t sleep much and had to get up early for more tests. I just want to go to the hotel and get a quick nap before practice.”
“More tests?” She huffed slightly. “Really? At hospital?”
It still struck me how the British never used words like “the” or “an” in the same way American’s did. I’d asked Bronwyn about the difference soon after my move to the UK, and she explained that the omission meant going to the place for its intended function, but adding them indicated the person speaking was a visitor to the place. As in; Remi was "in hospital", and I went "to the hospital" to visit her. It made sense, but even after years in London, it still sounded strange to me.
“No, at the circus,” I retorted, unable to drop my Americanism or the slight sarcasm that dripped from my words. Why couldn’t she just be supportive instead of berating me? “Yeah, at the hospital.” I looked out the window and watched the city streets blur as they passed, hoping she’d stop talking. For some reason, everything she did or said, was pissing me off.
“What for?” Whenever Bronwyn got indignant, it always seemed to amplify her accent.
I closed my eyes in irritation, though I was sure she didn’t see my reaction due to the sunglasses and the way my posture turned away from her. “I told you already, remember? Remi needs a marrow transplant.”
“Yes, but I thought that you tested already. Yesterday?”
“The DNA test was yesterday, yes, but today there was blood work and a few other routine things they needed from me. Plus, a load of consent forms that I needed to fill out.”
“Before they even know if you’re a match?”
Her voice was so unconcerned and annoyed as if my tests inconvenienced her. I didn’t need to explain that the tests today were done in advance and at my insistence so that if we did match we could get on with it. “Look, I’m not a doctor. I just do what they tell me.”
“It just seems a waste, that’s all. If you’re not a match, I mean.”
I wasn’t sure if it was a gut feeling or my heart begging God, but I knew I’d be Remi’s match. I had to be. “I will be. Don’t worry.”
“If her mother isn’t a match, then I can’t believe you’d be more suitable.”
“You can always dream.”
“That’s a pissy thing to say.”
“I’m pissy? You aren’t exactly gushing support,” I retorted with heavy sarcasm.
She hesitated for maybe a minute, and it was obvious she was fuming.
