Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 81281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
“I’m not building a case.” I push my pickle around my plate. “I’m just… I’ve never been here before. Wherever this is.”
“No map for it,” Van says with a chuckle. “That’s how you know it’s real.”
I don’t say anything to that, mulling over the possibility.
Real.
It does feel that way.
“For what it’s worth,” he says, picking up his utensils again, “if it’s real, then you don’t leave anything on the table. Whatever it costs, you pay it.” He pauses, eyes locking with mine. “Because the only thing worse than it being hard is looking back at it from the other side knowing you didn’t go all the way.”
We eat in silence for a while, Van scrolling video on his tablet and me mulling his advice.
A future with Livia? Is that possible?
I’ve spent so long not letting myself look at that horizon that I’m not entirely sure what I’m seeing when I do. I don’t have a framework for it. I don’t have a vocabulary for it. What I have is the specific and uncomplicated knowledge that the idea of a future that doesn’t include her is significantly less interesting than one that does.
That’s not nothing.
Chapter 24
Livia
The bar is called the Burnside Social and we’re here because it’s convenient, a mere three blocks from the arena. The Wildfire team has effectively taken it over in the hour since the final whistle of our game against Quebec. Someone claimed the back room and Boss has been running an unsanctioned bracket competition involving darts and a lot of trash talk.
Quebec flew in ranked and flew home with a loss, and the mood reflects that.
I’m at the bar with Molly, who came to watch the game and hang out with me after. She’s nursing a whiskey sour and I’m sipping on a mule, listening as she fills me in on drama with Josh’s family. It’s not new drama and because I’m aware of the fact his parents wanted him to date another surgeon like himself and not a nurse, I’ve only been half listening. Ordinarily, I would never tune Molly out, but the other half of my attention is hopelessly stuck on Locke.
He’s at the far end of the room, drinking a beer and talking to Rome, Arch and Crosby, which seems to be his new little bro group. I didn’t even have to push him into joining the team for the celebration. He sent me a text from the locker room, his typical alpha scheduling that said I’ll follow you home after the post-game celebration.
That told me he was choosing to be social on his own and was once again going to be spending the night in my bed.
So yeah, I’ve got an ear on Molly and an eye on Locke and every once in a while, his pale eyes find me across the room.
“You’re doing it again,” Molly says.
I look back at her. “Doing what?”
“That thing where you’re pretending to listen to me but you’re actually somewhere else entirely.” She sips her drink and then her head turns Locke’s way. “Specifically somewhere about thirty feet in that direction.”
“I’m listening to you,” I insist. “Josh’s parents are unaccepting, blah, blah. My advice is the same as it always is… fuck them. Josh loves you and that’s all that matters.”
“That is true,” she says with a dopey smile. She sets her glass down and turns my way. “But let’s talk about what’s got you distracted.”
“Nothing’s got me distracted,” I say weakly and without conviction.
“Bitch,” she drawls playfully. “Who do you think you’re talking to here? I’m your ride-or-die.”
“It’s nothing,” I say, lamely this time.
She tilts her head, narrows her eyes. “Is it a player?”
I look at my drink.
Molly makes a sound. “Oh my God.”
“Be quiet,” I hiss.
“Which one?” she says, twirling on her barstool to look around.
“Molly,” I warn. “Don’t make a spectacle.”
She spins back to me, cuts a glance in the direction I’d been staring—right where Locke is standing with the guys. “I can rule out Crosby because Juno has that fully covered and Arch is totally not your type.” She lasers her gaze, cutting it back and forth between the remaining two men, before turning back to me. “Locke?”
I say nothing.
“Livia Catherine Cross.”
“Please stop using my middle name.”
“He is the most closed-off human being I have ever seen in a social setting, and I work in an emergency room.” She lowers her voice to an appropriately private volume. “How did this even—”
“It’s complicated,” I say. “It’s also not your business yet.”
Her eyes go round with offense. “You did not just say that to me!”
Guilt sweeps through me. “You’re right, and I’m sorry. You’re the first person who should have known about it—”
“Someone else knows?” she says angrily.
“Only Juno, and that was just the day before yesterday and I hadn’t seen you yet.” The glare doesn’t lighten. “But I’ll spill it all now,” I assure her.