“Let’s see. Wait … I forget you aren’t the youngest. Jake?—”
He gasped. “Jake hasn’t called you? I’m gonna?—”
“Rory!”
“Hey, you’re the only person who always calls me Romeo.”
“Lay off the calls. Thanks, but I’m good.”
“Don’t forget, you’ve got family. Even if Lachlan … screwed up.”
I didn’t let that slide. “He did not.” The words came out too fast and defensive, even though I knew Rory only meant to play sides.
Rory hesitated on the other end. A heavy exhale filtered through the receiver. Why did it sound far away, though?
“Lach?” I asked, quieter now.
Farther from the phone came “I’d nothing to do with this.” Lachlan, a declaration.
My breath caught. That voice was deep, rich, and touched by that Highland drawl that lingered beneath the Scottish cadence. We called each other like clockwork. Check-ins. Neither of us let go. However, hearing his brogue at neither bedtime nor morning affected me. Deeply.
“Romeo,” I said, a little too calm, “give your brother the phone. Please.”
“I just snuck up on my brother.” Lachlan sighed. “I always promised to surprise him while doing a Live. Steal the show.”
“I remember you threatened to do that.” I smiled, body tucking toward the passenger door to make this conversation intimate as if we were having it tonight.
“After the Live, Rory called you.”
“Romeo.” His brother corrected in the background, always a clown.
I huffed a laugh. “What, are you six? Act your age, not your … birth situation-ship.” Laughter spilled through my lips before I could stop it. And when it came, it felt like something in me cracked open—sunshine through clouds.
“Sometimes I don’t know these people,” Lachlan muttered, “But …”—his voice grew achy and tense—“I miss seeing you laugh in person, Tash.”
My body craved the sight of this man. “Well, you sound cute, just likethesepeople.”
Silence threaded through the receiver. Did he catch my attempt to steer the call away from us? “Who’s the cutest, Natasha?” A teasing edge crept in. Lachlan’s tone curled around my name like he was holding it in his mouth.
We were flirting.
After the hurt, space, and silence, we slipped into the easy rhythm that always belonged to us. “Well,” I sighed, “Jake’s the youngest. Naturally, he’s the cutest.”
“Burn.” He chuckled softly. Something sounded like it shifted inside him. Maybe the good parts—our parts—replayed behind his eyes. It was similar for me, every call a photo. But strangely, the image of us just shifted into focus.
Then, gently, he said, “We’ve got a home game tonight. Come.”
My stomach flipped. I wanted to say yes. Immediately. Because I missed him. Missed us—the way we lit each other up without even trying. “Seven. I know. I’m planting a tree at the hospital at six. The traffic.”
“I can arrive by three.” Lachlan’s tone melted into a smile. “I’ll helicopter us out. That way, we’re early. Also, I figure, we’re already ahead of the game if you consider taking a few snapshots for inside the memoir. Granted, I’ve not discussed my past withThe New York TimesBest?—”
“Lach,”—my voice cut in, soft and apologetic—“the tree is for Lorenzo’s cousin.”
Silence.
The banter collapsed under the weight of that name.
I glanced around. Borya had stopped the car in the lot of the Crypto Arena. Fiddling with his phone, he leaned against a pole that identified which lot we’d parked in. He shoved ash-blond hair from dark-blue eyes that never left my person.Dang. Borya and his scowl had become my security blanket. When had he gotten out, though?
