Wolf stops short and shoots me a glare. To an outsider, they’d think we’re about to throw punches—I won’t lie, it crosses my mind. We’ve all brawled, then made up like brothers.
As the oldest on the team, at times, they’d underestimate me. Now, they call my fists Lightning and Thunder. I’m fast and hit hard—on the field and off. Little do they know that when my brother and I were kids, that’s what people in our neighborhood and kids at school would call the pair of us. He was Lightning. I was Thunder. But all I am now is stormy.
Sometimes, Wolf needs a mouthful of humble pie, though I’d try not to break any teeth. But in this instance, he’s being a football brother because he recognizes the clouds that drifted into my life several months ago, stuck around, and then turned downright dark last month when I hadn’t heard from my ex for weeks and discovered she dumped our kid with her mother.
“Who started the newbie initiation, Grey?” he asks.
Nearing forty, I’m the oldest member of the team and it’s the only one in the league I’ve ever played for—I’m well aware that it’s rare not to be traded at some point. Even Coach Hammer jokes that I run the show and seeks my input for plays and team business.
“Who was the original mastermind behind all the pranks?” Wolf asks.
My lips form a thin line because I know what he’s getting at.
“Don’t forget who you are. Don’t letitget you. He wouldn’t want that.” Wolf turns back to the room.
My nostrils flare on my exhale, but I get his meaning. No more needs to be said, except the news that balances on the tip of my tongue. In addition to Bran being MIA, presumed KIA, I should tell them what’s coming my way, but footsteps echo from down the hall.
Wolf signals that we get into position for the prank on Brandon.
In Rylen’s absence, Declan leads us in what would be the classic start of a game and says, to the tune ofHut, hut, hike, “On the count of three...”
I have second thoughts. I’m getting too old for this, but the door swings open.
Wolf says, “Now.”
At that moment, whoever stands there gets an eyeful of the Boston Bruisers’ star players’ backsides.
“It’s a full moon in Boston,” Declan shouts.
Wolf howls.
Someone gasps.
A camera flashes.
I groan because as we turn around, it’s clear Brandon isn’t alone in the doorway. Pro league Commissioner Starkowsky and his daughter Elyse, along with several other team officials, wear various expressions of surprise and disgust.
The commish, shielding his daughter’s eyes, starts yelling.
We make fast apologies. Well, except Wolf. He’s never one to say sorry.
Elyse wiggles out of her father’s grasp. “Dad, I’ve been in and out of locker rooms for almost thirty years. I’ve seen?—”
Starky’s face looks like an overripe grape. “You are excused,” he blusters.
It all happens in a split second, but we flee from the lounge, dispersing like kids caught ringing the neighbor’s doorbell and running.
All that does is remind me of Thunder and Lightning. But where there should be a swell of emotion, there’s nothing but emptiness.
3
EVERLY
This is my big beginning, my chance to start over and forget Todd, the wedding fail, the fear when I got the diagnosis, and the kissituation. Okay, being real here. I’ll never forget that. In fact, I should probably do the Viking a favor and send divorce papers so he can move on with his life.
But will I?
With no plans or interest in dating anytime soon, the ring stays on my finger to ward off vampires and turds like Todd.
