“The same one as Knox.”
Levi huffs a half-amused sound. “Should be interesting.”
“Night, Levi. Sorry for the late call.”
“No worries, my phone never stops. I’ll keep you updated. Have a good night, Maggie.”
“You too.”
I tap the hang-up button and toss the phone on the bed.
Crisis averted.
Let’s hope.
By Tuesday my email is overflowing, and it takes me hours to respond to—slash move to trash—over two hundred messages and spammy garbage. Apparently having my name on a site that blew up over something that was supposed to be a favor for a friend ends like this.
I tap a message out to Hadley.
I wonder if he made the Bravos.
Hey Hadley. Tell me, are you brave?
Nope. I delete the ridiculous message and try again.
Morning. How’s the weather in Alberta?
Good lord, Maggie.
I tap the delete button so fast, the phone slips from my hand.
Seriously, why is this so hard?
We’re friends. Friends keep in touch over stuff like this, right?
Urgh, this is why I don’t have friends, let alone male ones.
My phone buzzes on the rug.
I drop to my seat, leaning against the bed. Phone in hand, I slide the message open. It’s Levi.
Guess who made the Alberta team! He’s officially on the books.
Yes! Thank the heavens.
I start a reply.
I’m so excited for Jo?—
Frowning, I hit the backspace button.
Flipping heck, what has gotten into me? Since when am I barely able to communicate? Words, telling stories and recounting events, sharing is what I do. For a living.
After three failed attempts to sound happy but not overeager, I decide to leave it at . . .
Wonderful news.
I feel like a terrible human. I know how hard Hadley’s worked for that spot. How desperately he needs it and needs to keep it.
