She tries to step around me, fully intending to walk away from me, but I block her. I’m a hockey player, after all, and have blocked tougher opponents than a pissed-off Penelope Lee. “Take it. I told you there was a line and I’d be here.”
She frowns. “Told me how exactly?” She pulls her phone from the back pocket of her jeans and holds it up. “Because I promised someone that I wouldn’t use my phone, so how would I know that you hadn’t ghosted me? Huh, Griffin ... how would I know?” She taps a finger to her chin like she’s pondering the greatest question of all time.
“I said not to answer your phone. I didn’t mean not to read my text.” It’s a stupid argument, and I know it, but mostly I’m too focused on the fact that she really didn’t use her phone all evening. That means she probably didn’t check her emails or answer her door either. And given she’s standing in front of me, full of fire and sass, she’s okay. The goons didn’t find her, contact her, or most importantly, hurt her. The fear that weighed down on my chest all night dissipates. But while I’m finally relaxing, Penny’s ramping up to argue the semantics of our agreement, and in a last-ditch effort to thwart her, I blurt out, “I’m sorry.” She recoils like that’s the last thing she expected, so I say it again. “I’m sorry I’m late. I did text. You can check.”
She rolls her eyes doubtfully but clicks a few times on her phone screen and then says, “Huh,” before roughly shoving her phone back in her pocket. “Fine. You texted.”
It’s the hardest win I’ve ever made, and it’s not even on the ice. It’s against Penny Lee about a damn text message.
“Can we go? A-to-Z Pawn opens in twenty minutes, and it’s a thirty-minute subway ride.”
“It’s a fifteen-minute rideshare trip.” I’ve already opened the app and ordered before I realize that she’s glaring at me again. So much for the apparently short-lived win. “What?”
“You’re out here throwing around rideshare money to the girl who’s worried about next month’s credit card bill and can’t split the cost with you. I know you’re apro hockey playerand all,” she says, making it sound likehot pile of dog shit, “but it’s not like you’d get swarmed on the subway. Dom rides it all the time, and no one even recognizes him, much less bothers him.”
I ride the subway too. Hell, I rode it this morning to get to Penny’s. And the city is filled with options, from the subway to parking garages to various rideshare services and even those scooters you can rent on street corners. But I’m not taking any chances with Penny. I want her locked in, safely at my side, so I can make sure the goons don’t try to find her.
“You’re saying you’d rather take the subway and get to the pawnshop later? That’s what I’m hearing.” I show her my phone screen, hovering my finger over the Cancel Ride button. “Or we could be there when it opens and get this taken care of, whether that means getting the ring back or hitting the next shop, and the next, and the next, before it’s sold to someone else.” I draw the list out intentionally, emphasizing that this might take all day, and that’s if we’re lucky enough to find the ring.
Penny’s lips press into a thin line, and the fiery glint of a begrudging surrender appears in her eyes. “Fine,” she huffs. “But you’re paying.”
I never asked her to pay, not even half. She assumed. And if she tried to give me money for the rideshare, I would refuse it, but I decide to keep that to myself and let her think she’s won this battle. Sometimes, the more important fight is the war—which is getting the ring back, by any means necessary.
Paul’s Pawnshop, on the edge of the booming downtown square, was Saks Fifth Avenue compared to A-to-Z Pawn, which is farther out in an area best described as “don’t go there at night.” The bent steel bars on the dirty windows out front tell me everything I need to know. The ring isn’t here.
Still, we go inside. There’s a big guy lounging in a folding chair close to the door, and he looks Penny and me up and down critically, his coldly vacant eyes saying everything his mouth doesn’t. I don’t like putting him at my back, but I stay close to Penny, keeping me between her and the big guy. Security guard? Bouncer? Whatever his professional title, he’s the muscle of the place.
The store has an air of dust and despair, like the pain and poverty of its clientele are carried in every item spread about. There is truly everything from antique-looking lamps to zebra-print purses, and more, but Penny approaches the display case first since we’re on a singular mission for jewelry.
The woman standing there sets down her phone in favor of watching our approach, sizing us up with every step, which is fair, considering I’m doing the same. She looks wary, like she’s both seen and done some shit in her life and came out the other side because she’s willing to do whatever it takes. She’s not the rise-and-grind type, she’s the survive-and-thrive sort.
“How bad did he fuck up? One karat, two, five?” the woman asks Penny with a sly grin like they’re two girlfriends spilling the tea. She leans over, glances me up and down, and then whispers to Penny, “Go for the five. The watch alone says he can afford it, and that’s before the leather boots, designer jeans, and expensive shirt.”
I’m not used to being visually added up into walking, talking dollar signs, and don’t particularly enjoy the experience now. It makes me feel dirty, like I’m callously flashing cash around in a spot where people are starving. I don’t dress fancy compared to a lot of the guys on the team. But when you grow up with nothing, being able to buy a luxury item here and a quality thing there is something you enjoy. Responsibly.
Penny’s eyes light up. The girl has zero poker face. “Do you have a five-karat ring? Round cut, smaller baguettes, in a bezel setting?”
“Picky thing, ain’tcha?” the woman scoffs. “I don’t have anything like that, but I’ve got this.” She taps a long nail to the case, pointing at a multistone ring. It’s big to the point of gaudy, but nothing like Penny’s ring.
“Enough with the pleasantries,” I grunt, interrupting the sales pitch that’s wasting everyone’s time. “We’re looking for a specific ring. One we were told might come here due to its ... um, ‘questionable acquirement’ by a guy on the sidewalk downtown yesterday.” I hear a creak behind me and peek at the convex mirror above us to see that the big guy is now standing by the door. “No judgment there,” I rush to explain. “We just want the ring. I’ll even buy it if you have it.”
Penny pushes her phone under the woman’s nose to show her a picture of the ring on her finger. “It looks like this. Have you seen it?”
The clerk barely ticks her eyes down, the glance so quick I would’ve missed it if I’d blinked, before she shakes her head. “Nope, never seen it. Gus can get the door for you.” She jerks her head toward the big guy, who pushes the door open for us. It’s definitely more of a “get the fuck out” move than anything resembling politeness.
“Well, shit. Now what?” Penny asks once we’re outside, looking at me like I’ll have an answer.
I don’t have a damn clue. I don’t know how to find stolen jewels, or track thieves, or hide from Mob guys, but that’s not what I say. I hold up Paul’s list and offer, “Hit the next one?”
“Fine. I think it’s close enough we can walk there.”
Penny marches past me, giving me a good foot of berth, and I traipse along behind her, feeling like a lost puppy. No, I feel useless ... which rolls right into my old friend, worthless.
In my head, I’m screaming at myself ...
Fix this!
Do something, anything!
