Page 4 of North

“Of course. Best camp counselor ever.”

“She’s the current director. I’m just filling in as assistant program director for the summer.”

“Mom made a call.” Chloe shook her head.

“It’s fine. It’s perfect, really. Three months in the forest, clean air, clear water⁠—”

A change in the train’s motion pulled her attention away from the phone. Then screeching—the train’s brakes engaging. She might have heard Chloe shout her name as the phone flew from her hands, as she grabbed the railing.

Screaming erupted from the dining car, and metal shrieked against metal, and just like that, the car lifted, jerked up. An explosion shook through the train and she went airborne. Glass shattered, the world spun.

Her body slammed against the windows, and she clung to the railing as the train car rolled off the tracks and careened into the valley below.

And all she could think as the world turned to smoke and terror was: Don’t expect me to show up.

* * *

The Blue Ox hockey game blared through North’s house before he even got the door open. Game night. Right.

And once again, North rued the day he’d said “I have plenty of room” to his teammates from Jones, Inc.

Sure, his four-bedroom house overlooking Medicine Lake in Plymouth, just outside Minneapolis, did have plenty of room. And had sometimes felt a little lonely after the years he’d spent renovating it on his own. So having roommates had felt like the right answer.

Until today. Today, all he wanted was quiet. Maybe a good book—he could finish that Victor Holt book that Selah had given him once upon a time. Maybe if he did, he’d have a reason to call her up, drop it off, and casually say, “So...yeah. I’m sorry.”

Except, maybe he wasn’t sorry. Or mostly wasn’t sorry.

Aw. All he felt was the hole skewered through him at his stupid, angry words, and the fact that she’d blinked out of his life.

Just. Like. That.

He shouldered through the front door and dropped his workout gear on the floor of the entry. Of course Skeet sprawled on his leather sectional, in a pair of shorts and an EmPowerPlay coach’s T-shirt, clearly home from a baseball practice for his volunteer gig.

West, however, dressed in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, paced in front of the coffee table. “C’mon—that was a personal foul!” He gestured toward the screen, then shook his head.

A quick glance as North headed to the kitchen showed the Ox up by one goal. “First game of the Cup tournament?”

“Yeah,” Dakota said, seated in the recliner, one eye on the TV, the other on his phone, probably watching the Twins baseball game. “Wyatt is in spectacular form. But he’s getting tired.” He set the phone on the side table. “There’s some leftover pizza.”

North lifted the lid of the box that sat on the counter. No, no there wasn’t.

He opened the fridge and found a take-out box from Loco Joe’s. Lifted the Styrofoam lid. Old nachos. “Can I throw these out?”

“Not if you want to keep your hands,” said Skeet. “Those are my breakfast.”

“You eat like a teenager,” North said and grabbed a packaged ribeye. He opened it and left it to sit on the glass cutting board while he headed upstairs to the master bedroom.

But not before snagging the mail that sat on the console in the hallway.

“There’s an invite to Scarlett and Ford’s wedding in the pile,” West said as the game went to a commercial break. “Apparently it got routed back from your previous address in Mariposa.”

North picked it up, stared at the scrawl. Nice. Why couldn’t they have eloped like Ford had suggested over a year ago? Then again, that was before a rogue arm of the Russian Bratva had tried to infiltrate the UN with AI-infected killer dogs, so that had eaten up a chunk of the active SEAL’s off time.

“Scarlett has you down as a yes, by the way,” Dakota said. “You—and Selah as your plus-one.” The room turned silent as Skeet and West glanced at Dakota. “What?”

“Ix-nay on the Elah-say,” Skeet said and made a small explosion motion with his hands.

“What?” Dakota turned in his chair. “You two broke up?”