The question seemed to snap something back into place, and I cleared my throat. Once didn’t do it, so I tried again.
“Yeah,” I said, shoving my hands into the pockets of my training sweats. “Yeah. Sorry. I just—”
I hadn’t planned this part. Hadn’t thought about what I’d say. Or do. I became acutely aware of the fact that I was still in my game clothes under my jacket. That I probably smelled like sweat and beer and stale hockey socks. And that she was standing here warm and relaxed and close enough that I could see the faint crease at the corner of her mouth as the ghost of a smile threatened.
“You’re staring.”
I dragged my gaze back to her eyes. “Sorry.”
“Two apologies in as many minutes,” she said, arms folded. “Either you’re dying, or you’re about to tell me it’s my days that are numbered.”
I huffed a quiet laugh, then sobered through nothing but my will to do it. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just wanted to tell you something.”
Her expression shifted, attention sharpening. “Okay.”
“I got a text from my contact after the game.” I managed to hide my relief when this little tidbit popped into the front of my mind. “The one I asked to help with your holy grail…”
“And?” She was at full attention within a blink, eyes wide open.
I hesitated for half a beat, then said, “He confirmed it tonight.”
Her breath caught, just slightly.
“He tracked the helmet to Little Rock, Arkansas.”
17
Nicole
I showed up at Landon’s apartment with my bag packed and my mind already halfway out of Texas. I knocked once, bounced on the balls of my feet, then knocked again for good measure. When the door opened, he stood there in a Surge hoodie and gym shorts, hair still doing that unruly morning thing like it hadn’t been formally introduced to gravity yet.
He blinked at me, then at the duffel slung over my shoulder. Then at the makeup bag in my other hand.
“Are you moving in?” he asked, voice scratchy with sleep, “because I think that’s a little excessive when you can just have your water heater fixed.”
“Good morning, Landon,” I said, stepping past him without waiting for an invitation. His apartment smelled like coffee and clean laundry, which felt unfair for how early it was. “You’re on a bye, right?”
“Yes,” he said slowly, turning to follow me as I dropped my bags near the couch. “Why? And seriously, what’s with the bags?”
I spun to face him, grinning. “How do you feel about Little Rock, Arkansas?”
“I feel… geographically aware of it.”
“Funny, but I want you to come with me,” I said, holding back about two percent of my total excitement. “Since, you know, you were instrumental in me finally tracking it down and all that. You should be there. I’d like for you to be there. I’m rambling, sorry, it’s early. What do you say?”
“When?”
“Today.”
His mouth dropped open. “As in, we’re getting on a plane today?”
I shook my head firmly. “This is a pilgrimage, and you can’t fly on a pilgrimage. It should be intentional, special.”
“It’s an especially intentional ten hour drive.” He sounded like a man doing the math against his will. “Ten. Hours.”
“And some change,” I said cheerfully. “Depending on traffic. But that’s why I wanted us to leave early so we could get a jump on it.”
He dragged a hand down his face and padded through to flop on his couch. “You are unhinged. It’s official. My neighbor is a crazy person.”
