Viv: I’m sitting on your front porch, so what do you think?
Maggie: We’ll be there in twenty minutes. Love you.
Viv: Love you. And tell JT to hit all the green lights.
Maggie: I let him know.
“All right, my love. What was so important that you had to sit outside and wait for us? You do have a key, you know,” she says, dumping out her suitcase on the laundry room floor. I’m helping her separate laundry because I’ve got nothing better to do, and also because I need her perspective. If the price of that is separating lights and towels and darks and unmentionables, then so be it.
“Yeah, but that felt creepy. I would have used it if I had to pee, of course.”
“Of course,” Maggie says. “Now, what did you want to talk about?”
“I’m in love with Mickey,” I blurt, unable to keep the words in any longer.
Maggie’s quiet for a moment, her eyes searching mine, and I know just what she’s asking, so I tell her my truth. “I’m in love with him, Mags. Yes, I love him like a friend. And yes, he’s my boy bestie. But that’s not all. I love him. And I’m in love with him. And he’s my person, and I don’t know what to do now because he probably hates me and —”
“He doesn’t hate you,” a disembodied voice speaks through the walls. It ‘s not weird, though. It’s just JT. He’s upstairs giving Calla her bath and the vent in this room leads directly to the vent in that room. Maggie’s house is adorable, but it’s a terrible place for secrets.
“Okay, hate is a strong word,” I concede. “But?—”
“No buts,” bodyless JT says. “He loves you. He might be pissy. His feelings might be hurt, but I know that guy better than anyone. He loves you, and that kind of love doesn’t just go away because you have a fight.”
“It was a little more than a fight,” Mags interjects.
“Ouch,” I say, pretending to pull a knife out of my heart.
My best friend just shrugs. “The truth hurts, babe. And the truth is that you were in a relationship, no matter what you called it or didn’t call it.”
She’s right. I know she’s right. I know that my past—and my inability to deal with it—got me here. I just don’t know how to get back to where I was, if that’s even an option. I love how optimistic JT’s being, but I’m not quite so convinced. “So what do I do now?” I ask.
JT walks into the room carrying a squirmy, sleepy Calla. “Now,” he says, “we make a plan. First I’ll text Wagner. I can’t remember if Mickey was going with those guys up to Ollie’s cabin or out to the lake with Leo and the guys. Let me ask around and see.”
An hour later, Maggie’s living room is crawling with hockey players, but not a one of them is Mick Mikalski.
“Swear to god, I thought you guys had him,” Ollie says, pacing the room and gesturing to the freshmen who are lined up on the couch like they’re on trial. “You were even talking to him about fishing rods last week.”
“Yeah, we talked to him,” Dime says. “That doesn’t mean we’re in charge of him. We figured he was with you guys cause you’re the old folks.”
“We’re the what?” Dutton asks, his voice low.
The poor kid looks like he’s going to piss himself. “Not like old, old, but?—”
“That’s enough,” Blue says, stopping the argument before a fight breaks out. “You guys can bitch at each other later. Right now, we’ve got a problem to solve. Where the hell is Mickey? And how the hell do you lose a grown ass redhead who stands six feet, two inches tall and weighs over two hundred pounds?”
The guys start arguing again, because of course, everyone has an opinion. But this time, it’s JT who cuts through the noise when he holds up his phone in triumph. “Found him! He’ll be over in ten minutes.”
Ten minutes?Holy fuckballs. I’ve got ten minutes to figure out how to get my shit together? Ten minutes to come up with all the right words? Ten minutes to figure out how to apologize? Ten minutes to make a plan to convince him to give me a chance?
Holy fuckballs.
The minutes fly by, and when he opens the door, I’m not at all prepared.
God, he looks good. That’s not surprising, but still. It throws me off my game a little. Not that I was ever on my game.
Before I can rush into his arms and beg forgiveness, the guys all start talking. It’s a damn good thing Calla’s a sound sleeper, because no one’s using their inside voice.
“Where the hell have you been? We’ve all been worried sick,” Ollie says, pacing the room and gesturing wildly.
