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KNOX
Can’t lose.
Won’t lose.
But we do anyway.
I pat my brother on the helmet and leave the ice, trying not to lose my shit. Because Church, Rhodes, they seemed to be working against me out there. Getting in my way, drifting out of position, blocking my shots. But not overtly. Not in a way that would get them called out or cause coach to bag skate us again.
No, this loss was fucking subtle. 2-1, the last goal squeaking past Haverhill in the final minute of the game. When I was sure it was going to overtime and then confident that I’d be able to get the puck past my brother in a shootout.
I keep to myself and change quickly, leaving the locker room and catching a ride with Scofield. He and I haven’t bonded yet, but he seems equally pissed about us losing. Which, if there’s someone on the inside, probably isn’t him.
Unless his acting skills are superb.
Either way, we don’t talk much on the drive over. He lives a block down. I hop out at my building and head up, waving goodbye. Aurora probably won’t be back yet. Or maybe she is, and we will have it out.
That could make my mood considerably better. Yelling at her. Kissing her. Something along those lines.
Maybe both.
I nod to the new doorman and scan my fob in the elevator, allowing it to shoot up to my floor uninterrupted. I get into my condo and toss my bag down, then the keys, and check all the rooms for signs of life.
Nada.
My phone dings.
Miles: Our parents want to take us to lunch tomorrow.
Me: To celebrate your win?
Miles: Don’t be an ass.
Me: I’m not, I’m allowed to be upset that we lost.
Miles: You’re allowed to be whatever you want. But Mom will be sad if you miss lunch with her.
He’s got a point. My mother is a ray of sunshine, too. Like Aurora… like she used to be.
Me: Okay. Let me know when and where.
I drop my phone on the counter next to the keys and take another shower. This one scalding. While I’m humming to myself and doing my best not to mope all alone like a miserable fuck, the bathroom door opens.
“You in here?” Aurora asks.
“No, it’s a ghost taking a shower.”
“Okay, great.” The door closes.
I pull the curtain back and stare at the door like it offended me, waiting for her to return. Or… say something. But she doesn’t. My gaze moves to the counter and the glass of whiskey she must’ve left for me.
That’s nice.
I finish my shower and swallow the amber liquid in one go, letting the smokey flavor linger on my tongue and track a path down my throat. After I’m dry and dressed, I head to bed.
Because fuck this day.
Except when I get there, someone’s already waiting.
