I switch my phone to the hand nearest the window. Ordinarily, we would be in single seats, but almost the entire team is flying out to Lake Garda this bye week to celebrate the wedding between key Blades defenseman Tommy Williams and his fiancée and New York Storm goalie, Jenna Miller.
It’s a crazy-long flight to Italy, but that’s where Tommy wanted to wed his girl, and who were we to say no to New York’s latest power couple? The entire city is obsessed with them both, and being honest, flying ten hours is the only way to fully eliminate attention from the paparazzi.
I work to soften my voice. I want Scott to accept the money willingly, not ram it down his throat. “How’s Billie doing?”
Over the plane’s engine noise, I still hear his sigh.
“That good, huh?”
“She’s not eating much, and she thinks all this is her fault when really …” He breaks off, and I can visualize his knuckles turning white as they wrap around his steering wheel. A little like mine would if I ever got my hands on Tucker.
“When I get back from Italy, I’ll stop by. It must be at least three years since I last saw Billie.”
“Over three years,” Scott clarifies. “You haven’t seen her since she was seventeen. That’s the last time she was home for the holidays.”
Memories of Billie sitting opposite me at the table push forward from the depths of my brain, along with the turkey Maria tossed on our kitchen floor during an argument. I wince at the way we imposed ourselves on the Quinns that year, thanks to my ex-wife’s childish behavior.
“That’s right,” I say, difficult memories morphing to a smile when I recall the way she annihilated me at Monopoly and then shoved her win and the bet we’d made in my competitive face later that night when we were doing the dishes and everyone else was watching TV.
Billie Quinn has always been a spitfire with top banter that made me belly laugh, even before she delivered the punch line. Ihate to think of her hurting at the hands of an asshole and his family. I’d reach out and text her to let her know that she had people around her if that wouldn’t be weird as fuck. We’ve barely spoken since she left for college.
I shift in my seat as Jack takes a cup of hot water from the flight attendant and snags a tea bag from the front pocket of his hoodie, adding it to his mug. I stare at him for a long moment as he stirs the bag around carefully.
The British are fucking weird sometimes.
“Why the fuck were you flirting with our friends’ teenage daughter?!”
More memories from that Christmas race back. The accusation Maria slung at me before we even pulled out of Scott and Freya’s driveway was fucking ridiculous, and she knew it too. I remember almost crashing the car when I threw my hands up and turned it back around on her, hypothesizing that she was being unfaithful, given that was all she could fucking think about or throw at me every time I spoke to any female who wasn’t her.
“You’re going crazy, Maria,” I snapped back, turning into our driveway and hitting the brakes way too hard, throwing us both forward in the process. “Next, you’ll suggest that I’m screwing Freya behind your back.” I scoffed and stared out of the windshield. “I’ve never given you any reason to doubt me, yet you repeatedly hurt me with ludicrous allegations.”
“It’s Billie’s birthday next week.” Scott’s voice penetrates unwanted memories of my ex-wife, cutting them short before I spiral into the abyss that is my divorce. “Why don’t you stop by and say hi? She’d likely welcome a friendly face.”
“The big two-one, right?” I ask, knowing exactly how old Billie is and that her birthday is right around the corner.
She always said that she was born on Valentine’s Day because she was the most lovable human being on the planet.
“You’re too damn cocky for your own good, Bill.”The gibe I made as she flicked soapy water in my face that Christmasheats my body for an uncomfortable second. Along with the look on Maria’s face when we came back to sit in the living room.
We were messing around, just like we always had. Billie was a fun girl, and I was in love with my wife. End of story.
“And before you ask, no. She doesn’t want or need anything for her birthday.” Scott’s tone is deadly serious, as is the attendant’s when she announces that we’re about to depart and to switch all devices to in-flight mode.
I choose to ignore my friend’s warning. There’s no way I’m showing up empty-handed on arguably the biggest birthday anyone can have. And if Scott won’t give me any pointers on what kind of gift to get his daughter, then I’ll just have to go rogue with my choice. Maria always sorted that kind of shit out.
“I gotta go,” I tell him. “We’re about to take off, and my captain is slurping his tea, to the point where I can barely focus on anything else.”
Jack’s head darts to me, eyes narrowed with annoyance when he brings his cup to his mouth and slurps even louder.
When he chokes on his mouthful, I offer a sarcastic smile.
Scott just chuckles, and it’s nice to hear him laugh. He’s under a lot of pressure, but honestly, I can’t recall a time when he and Freya haven’t been struggling to make ends meet financially. I know he’s been tempted to sell Shelby more than just once, especially when Freya’s late parents were taken into a care home and fees spiraled way beyond the scope of what their insurance would cover.
“Put me on speaker,” Scott instructs, and I do as he asked.
“Jack,” Scott continues after a couple of seconds, “I want to see the Blades lift the Cup again this year. Oh, and for you to beat your goal-scoring record.”
Jack’s all cocky bravado as he takes another unnecessarily loud sip of tea. “It’s already in the bag, Scott.”
