She wasn’t reallygonegone. She’s a radiology tech at one of the local hospitals and works three twelve-hour shifts each week. It’s a great way to make full-time money, and gives her plenty of time off if she doesn’t take extra shifts. Unfortunately, she’s still too new to get the primo schedule, so her assignments are usually spaced out and then she’s sleeping at odd hours. Mix that with my work-when-I-want jewelry business plus my practice and game schedule, and we sometimes go entire weeks without seeing each other in person, even though we’re coming and going from the same apartment.
“Four. It’s Thursday,” I correct.
Talia’s eyes pop as they jerk to mine. “It is not.”
Nodding, I say, “Yes, it is. We had a single against the Beavers, then the whole ring situation happened, and there are games tomorrow and Saturday. Hawks versus Vortex.”
The games are how I keep track of time, and for some reason, the logic works on Talia, too, though she has no interest in hockey despite living with me and our apartment being constantly invaded by two professional hockey players. Actually, it’s probably a good thing she doesn’t give a rat’s ass about it, because if she flirted with Dom or Griffin when they came over, we would’ve never made it as roommates. Or best friends. And that would be a tragedy since she’s one of the best human beings to ever grace the planet as far as I’m concerned.
“It’s Thursday,” she says flatly. “Oh my God, I work Sunday. I have just over forty-eight hours before going back. I can feel the minutes slipping through my fingers.” She groans dramatically and virtually melts into the cushions, her arms and legs askew and her head lolled over to the side.
She looks on the edge of dying right on the green sofa we nearly came to blows over buying in the middle of IKEA. Not because we didn’t both love it, but because it was over our budget and she wanted to pay the extra with her sign-on bonus from the hospital, which I vehemently disagreed with. In the end, we halved it, and she’s currently lying on what I consider to be my half.
Talia’s reluctance about going to work is unusual. She loves her job. Like she’s one of the rare people who truly, deeply loves what she does.
“What’s wrong?”
She exhales heavily. “Nothing.”
Something is obviously wrong, and while she might not want to share, she needs to. It’s for her own good. But I don’t pry, at least not verbally. Instead, I hold up a Thin Mint and lift an eyebrow, the offer silent but there. It’s a surefire winner. I just have to patiently wait for her to give in to the chocolatey bribe and veiled threat.
“Bitch,” she mutters with less than zero heat, surrendering easily as she snatches the cookie and shoves it in her mouth. “We had a run of really hard cases. Motor vehicle accident with a van full of kids that all needed X-rays. Crying kids gut me.”
She closes her eyes, seeing the kids in her mind. I’m sure she helped them and was as gentle and caring as possible, but it makes sense that she’d want a break before going back.
“They all okay?”
Eyes still closed, she nods. “Nothing permanent. A surgery here and a cast there. They were just so scared without their parents.” She shakes her head hard like she’s rattling the memories out. “Let’s talk more about Griffin.”
“Or the ring debacle,” I suggest, stating the obvious priority. “What am I going to do?”
But Talia’s unswayed by my focus on the real problem at hand. “You really think he eats ice cream at a cat-themed shop all the time?”
Of everything I told her, that’s what she’s stuck on? Seriously? “Apparently. The lady in there knew him by name.”
“It seems so cute and sweet, especially since he’s all growly and grunty.Me, hockey man. You, go away.”
It’s a fair impression of Griffin’s usual gruff, short rudeness, and usually, I’d laugh. But it feels wrong to do that after he was kind and helpful. I mean, he also did kinda get my ring stolen, but he’s tried several ways to make up for that and fix it, and I’m not as mad at him. The situation? Abso-freaking-lutely. But Griffin? Not as much.
Though that might be the Thin Mints talking.
“You’re smiling,” Talia whispers, leaning my way with a grin of her own.
Immediately, my lips fall. “No, I’m not.” That lady who protested too much? Yeah, that’s me, doth protesting.
“Mm-hmm.” She takes a heavy drink of her wine, her brows arched high on her forehead, not believing me a bit.
Later, after we’ve gone through an entire box of cookies, a bowl of popcorn, and DoorDashed salads—because balance is important—I check my phone. I half expect Griffin to have texted me, but that’d be weird. Or for Dom to have magically divined that something was amiss in his universe today because Griffin and I were together without him. But he hasn’t texted either.
What is in my email inbox though is an inquiry from my PLDesigns website.
You bought a ring at Yesteryear Antiques yesterday. I am very interested in purchasing it from you. Contact me as soon as possible.
Of freaking course. I would already have a buyer for a ring I no longer have in my possession. And not just a ring but The Ring. I swear the universe must be laughing its ass off at me this week. What’s next ... an audit? Immaculate conception? Hit by a bus on the way to the arena?
“Look at this.” I hold my phone up to Talia so she can read the message.
“How do they know you bought a ring?”
