Brooks: I try. But before I give that another go, let me warn you that Mira is an assassin.
Me: What?
Brooks: She’s silently trying to kill Lora right now with her eyeballs. They’re shooting invisible lasers into the back of her head. One or two might’ve hit you, but the majority are aimed at her.
My lips twist to hide a smile. Lora gives me a curious look, then turns her attention back to the pastor.
Me: Stop.
Brooks: What happened between you two last night?
Me: Nothing.
Brooks: Why are you lying to me?
Me: The fighting community would love to know that the former champ is now the small-town gossip.
Brooks: I have some gossip for you.
I shouldn’t ask. I shouldn’t wait for him to continue. I should shut my phone off and focus on Pastor Reed's message. Besides, what Brooks considers interesting gossip usually fails to register with me.
He’s easily entertained.
But I have a feeling that Pastor Reed’s sermon this morning won’t capture my attention, even if I turn my phone off. My brain will start pondering why Lolly wants to chat this afternoon, and I’ll spend the next hour working myself into an ulcer.
If she wants to sell, she can sell. There’s nothing I can do about it.
God, you’re going to have to forgive me this week, please.
Me: Fine. I’ll bite.
Brooks: Tomorrow will be a big day for Andrew Van.
I frown.
Audrey’s brother is one huge piece of shit. I don’t know all the details—mostly because I don’t ask. I operate on the premise that if people want me to know things, they’ll tell me. Otherwise, I’m better off in the dark.
But Andrew tried to ruin Brooks’s fighting career, destroy his relationship with Audrey, and blackmail him—simultaneously. That I know. What I don’t know is why Brooks is so eerily calm about it all. Sure, he got Audrey in the end, so it all worked out, but Brooks is taking it all in stride … and that’s not Brooks Dempsey.
Me: Why?
Brooks: I guess there’s a case opening against him with the combat commission. And, from what I hear, it will bleed over into a legal case.
Me: Really?
Brooks: That’s what I hear.
My fingers fly over the letters as I respond. His smirk says it all. There’s a lot more to this story than he’s sharing—which is fine—but something tells me he’s more involved in this than he’s letting on.
Me: Well, if he deserves it, good.
Brooks: Oh, he fucking deserves it.
Brooks: Nah, he deserves more than whatever he gets. But if he got what he really deserves, I’d end up in prison.
What the hell is going on?
I shrug, figuring he’ll tell me if he wants me to know.
