“Did he say anything on the drive here? Was he going somewhere? Meeting someone?” Mom wrings her hands.
“I told you, didn’t I?” I ask but I honestly don’t remember. I may have only told Dad and assumed he told my mom that Nash bailed on me. She blinks. “Nash didn’t ride with me. This morning he texted me to say he was going to make his own way here."
“What? Why?” She lifts her hands to rake through her blonde hair, a move she does when she's stressed but then remembers her hair is professionally blown out and goes back to wringing them instead. "So we don't even know if he's here. In the building? In San Diego?"
“I’m sure he is,” I reply as I sit on one of the padded chairs they have throughout the room, which looks like a friends-and-family lounge. “Nash doesn’t fuck up when it comes to hockey. Or anything.”
Other than being a good brother.
Mom sighs and shoots me a skeptical look. I swear she heard that last part that I only said in my head. I decide to change the subject. “I’m dating someone.”
She at least stops pacing at that announcement. “For real?”
"Yeah. Oh, and I found a place to live. A new place. A house in Laurel Canyon," I explain. "I'm signing the paperwork as soon as we get back."
“Please do not say this new person is living in this new place too,” Mom warns. “I love you Crew but I don’t want you rushing into anything like last time.”
“No worries there, this one is slow and steady,” I promise. “So slow in fact that I’m not introducing you guys yet.”
“Can I at least get a first name?”
“Olivia.”
“Californian? Hockey fan?”
“Mainer. And no. I mean she’s aware of hockey but I wouldn’t call her?—”
Mom gasps and grins. “Olivia Garrison?”
“How did you get that so quick?” I ask as she walks over, motioning me to stand up.
“Because I thought I saw you two making eyes a couple weeks ago at the first Quake game,” she tells me and pulls me into a hug. “I’m happy for you, Crew. She’s a nice girl from a good family and with a solid head on her shoulders and a gentle spirit.”
“She’s all of that,” I agree and give her a quick squeeze back as the door opens and my twin steps into the room.
“What are you hugging about?” Nash grumbles.
He’s wearing the deepest darkest scowl I’ve ever seen on his face, and that says something. He’s got on a button-down shirt and some pants that are wrinkled. And the shirt is buttoned wrong too. His eyes are ever so slightly bloodshot. I motion for him to move his sunglasses from his head to his eyes. He blinks but does it as Mom lets go of me and turns around.
“Your brother’s girlfriend. Crew just told me he’s dating Liv Garrison,” Mom tells him, smiling. “So glad you got here. I was beginning to panic. You’re never late.”
“And Crew is never dating again,” Nash says, a hard smile flashing on his lips that says he’s kidding, but not really. “Guess everything is a lie!”
His tone is high and bright. Too high. Too bright. My brother is not only in a mood, he’s also drunk. Or close to it. My mother tilts her head and takes in her other son. Her mouth starts to open but thankfully so does the door, bumping Nash straight in the ass. He curses. “Nash!”
A head pops in through the opening. A dude with dark wavy hair and clear blue eyes says, "Hi. Oh good both twins are here. Stephanie, we're going to interview you now. Can you follow me? Guys, I'll be back for you in a few. Thanks for your patience."
Mom shoots Nash a concerned look but follows the producer guy, who told me earlier his name was Fisher, out of the room. As soon as the door closes behind them Nash rips off his sunglasses. “So Mom and Dad know about Liv. When were you planning on telling me?”
“I figured you’d heard because Tate and Grady and other teammates know." I shrug. "Nash, have you been drinking?"
He ignores me and shoves a hand into his hair, which isn’t as neatly styled as it usually is. “So Mom gets an actual conversation but I get to rely on the hockey gossip chain?”
“I would have talked to you about it on the ride down but you didn’t want to come with me anymore,” I reply and step closer to him. But not too close. He’s got an energy I don’t recognize and I don’t like it. “Have you been drinking?”
“I had some bloody marys at lunch,” he snaps.
“Some?” I echo, horrified because this is so not like him and so not appropriate. “How many and why?”
