“And why do I have to attend?” I ask.
“Because you’re a Harden.”
He says it as if it’s supposed to mean something to me. As if it’s supposed to make me care.
“Are you saying I shouldn’t become a rock star to get out of shit like this?” I volley.
His chuckle is low and throaty. “If it worked, do you really think I’d be here?”
The man’s got a point.
And since we’re on the subject… “Why are you here?” I ask.
It’s the closest we’ve come to an actual conversation. Usually, I steer clear, but I can’t help it. Why bring up the fight if he has no intention of putting any real effort into stopping it? Not that he necessarily could, but still. It doesn’t make sense.
“Why am I here, huh?” Judge’s gaze cuts to mine and he almost looks…sorry? “Excellent question, Jag. Excellent fucking question.” Moving closer, he pats my shoulder. “Good luck with the fight tonight.”
I hold his stare and tilt my head. “What fight?”
His mouth lifts. “And you say you don’t have my genes. Smartass.” His heavy hand lands on my shoulder one more time. “Tell your brothers I say hello.”
Then, he walks away.
6
JAGGER
With a groan that would make any toddler proud, Ford drops his head toward the ceiling. “I’m bored.” After I filled him in about Judge’s pop-in earlier today, we’ve all been in shitty moods.
“You’re always bored,” Hawke points out. “You,” he adds, addressing Roman. “Get your feet off the table.”
Roman’s legs fall to one side as Hawke reaches for the remote on the coffee table and turns on the television.
“What about fight night?” Roman asks Ford. “Everything ready?”
Ford nods. “Same old, same old.”
“So, it’s a yes?” Roman prods.
“I guess so. It’s just missing the…” Ford hesitates, his eyes rolling toward the ceiling as he searches for the right word to describe whatever the hell he’s feeling. His therapist would be so proud. That is, if he had one. “It’s missing the high, you know?”
Hawke snorts on Roman’s opposite side. “Because you’re an adrenaline junkie and when you can’t be in the fights, you usually get a hit by planning them. Not anymore, huh?”
“Guess not,” Ford pouts. His baby brother syndrome shines like a damn beacon in the quiet house. “Maybe I need to goskydiving or something. Get out of this town for a little while or…”
“So, how’s it feel to be back in the game together?” a reporter on the television asks.
Curious, I take a seat beside Roman and Hawke on the couch as a few players from the NHL Lions appear on screen. They’re in a locker room being interviewed, but I have no idea if it’s before or after the game. Hell, maybe it’s only practice? I’ve never really been into hockey. Not much, anyway. Roman’s a casual viewer, though he prefers football and basketball. Hawke just likes the background noise, and Ford’s obsessed with anything he can take bets on, which includes every sport known to man.
“Feels like we never left,” one of the players replies.
“Really? How so?” the reporter prods.
“Let’s see.” Another player leans forward on the bench and the reporter pushes the microphone closer to him. “For starters, we just got together for a friend’s wedding, and it was like we never left. We even had a Game Night, which was awesome.”
“Oh, really?” The old reporter looks at the camera as if he’s intrigued. “And what are these Game Nights? Is it cards or a board game of some sort?”
“Not exactly.” The players exchange amused looks until the guy on the right explains, “We used to throw them all the time in college.”
