“You’re telling me, I have a week of doubles on the rig. They’re going to have to roll me out of the station in a wheelchair,” she hisses.
A flash goes off, and Sunday pulls the disposable camera away from her dirty face. “It’s one for the book,” she waves it around. “Still doesn’t beat the great back bruise from the opening game, but it’s a close second.”
“I hope one day the police have a reason to raid you, only to find that creepy bruise binder you keep.” Kaia groans, letting her shorts unroll as she straightens out and puts all her weight on the other leg. If there’s one thing I admire about Kaia, it’s her ability to complain once and move on. She thrives in taking care of her shit, despite the state of her body. The idea that if she stops, she’ll die is lived out every day in the roughest possible way. “I want a bacon cheeseburger, buffalo fried pickles, and at least fourteen shots of booze in my body as of thirty minutes ago.”
“That does sound amazing right now,” Cosy huffs, running her fingers through her hair as she loosens her braids and shakes out her hair.
“I can’t, I have a shift in two hours, and I need a nap,” Sunday says, following us back toward the locker room.
“That’s the fourth game in a row, Sunny. I thought you weren’t picking up after game shifts anymore,” Cosy asks.
“I’ve kinda got used to the quiet?” She says, pushing open the door. “The ER is always a mess, but it’s a lot quieter later at night. Not to mention it usually lines up with your shifts, and you always bring in themost insane patients. Keeps me on my toes,” Sunday pinches Kaia’s ass and pulls off her jersey before heading to her locker.
“I’m in,” I say, pulling off my own and sinking to the bench.
“You live there now, of course you’re in,” Kaia giggles. “Have there been any moreincidents?” She says it quieter, like it’s supposed to insinuate something more than just shirtless sightings of Brighton Black.
“No, we’re friends,” I say, thinking about the fact that he’s been making my lunch all week, and try not to blush. He’s quiet and respectful, he’s always out of the apartment before I get up from bed, and even though I can hear him moving around while I’m in the bathroom, he’s always down in the bar when I get out and leave for work.
Yesterday evening, after school, the pile of dirty clothes I had been collecting in the corner showed up folded and clean on my bed in a brand new laundry basket that didn’t belong to me.
“The Terminator did my laundry,” I add, just to keep her satisfied and quiet.
“Like all of it?” Kaia stares at me.
“Folded and separated.” Our cleats click against the tile flooring as we kick them off.
“I wonder if Bright is a panty sniffer.” Kaia flips the script, and I practically choke on my own spit.
“Yeah, cause this isn’t awkward enough for me,” I groan, rubbing my hands over my face.
“I’m just saying, guys like that always have weird kinks. ” She shakes out her hair, and it whips me in the face.
“Guys like what?” I ask, a little concerned.
“You know the silent serial killer type,” Kaia explains. “Quiet, mysterious, a little mean, and too pretty to bethat weirdand that antisocial.”
“I think he just likes his privacy,” I defend, and Kaia’s eyes spark with mischief.
“Yeah, most serial killers do,” she smiles.
“Wasn’t Ted Bundy a social butterfly?” I challenge.
“Ted Bundy wasn’t hot, definitely not like Brighton is. There’s something messed up going on in his head, Reaper. He’s twisted and quiet; it’s dangerous.” She strips from her jersey and shorts and stands in her sports bra and Spanx, “Make no mistakes, I want you to climb that mother fucker like a tree, but just make sure that'sall you do.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I scowl.
“You fall in love with every tall, dark-haired man you see, and Bright is not the one,” she warns. “Honestly, the only thing that’s missing is the ugly mustache. You know better than anyone he’s fucked up; if he wasn’t, we’d know more about him. Sunday brings up Boone constantly; weknowhim. Why doesn’t she talk about her very handsome second brother as much?”
I strip down and wrap a towel around myself, my mind drifting to horrible places. We wander to the showers as Sunday leaves for her shift, and I chew my lip thinking about what Kaia said.
“Do you think he’s dangerous?” I ask, turning on the hot water.
“No,” Kaia answers quickly, “if he were, they wouldn’t willingly allow Daisy to stay there. I just think he’s messed up worse than the Black siblings like to put out there.”
“Maybe it’s not our business,” I say, trying to calm my own thoughts down as I wash out my hair.
“Sure, before, but lines are blurred now that you’re sleeping under his roof.” She adds, grimacing at the bruise on her leg one more time.
