CHAPTER FIFTEEN #2
“We are,” Casey says, but I catch the flush in her cheek. My brothers will be on that like flies on shit. “We’re also roommates until my sister’s wedding in August. Then I’m moving back to Chicago.”
“Hmm.” Jett takes a theatrical sip of his beer. “Good to know.”
I catch Piper rolling her eyes. I really have no idea what she’s looking at or bothered by, but it will have to wait, because Mom is bringing out the meatloaf, followed by the huge bowl of scalloped potatoes.
Everyone oohs and aahs over the food, and soon we’re all tucking in to the family recipes.
Conversation turns to innocuous things—Casey’s stint at Brews on the Bay, Jett’s recent repair work on some luxury vehicles, Dane’s new marina expansion, and the latest updates on Keegan Furniture Works, which Asher took over when Dad died.
Eventually the evening turns to euchre. Casey and I pair up against Piper and Mom while Asher brings out the hourglass holding Dad’s ashes so he can be involved.
Casey and I euchre Mom and Piper twice, which elicits endless huffs and groans from the two of them.
Then we go against Asher and Dane, who are neck-and-neck with us until we euchre them right at the end.
We are the victors.
“Dad wanted us to win,” I sniff as I toss the cards into the middle of the table. “I never euchre your asses that much.” I wink over at the hourglass. “Thanks Dad.”
Casey’s gaze is stuck on the hourglass. She already knows the slightly morbid history there. “I forget…does the hourglass keep time for sixty minutes or ninety?”
“Sixty,” Asher says as he puts the hourglass back in its feature spot. “Down to the second.”
“Fitting, because Dad was so punctual,” Dane muses.
“All right guys, we’re heading out.” I make my rounds with my brothers while Casey begins to say goodbye to the family. We’re heading for the front door with Mom trailing behind.
“It was so good of you to come tonight, Casey,” she says warmly. Then she stops, her gaze dropping to the floor. A concerned look washes over her face.
“Mom? Are you okay?”
My mom blinks rapidly, her gaze fixed like she’s concentrating on something. Then she blurts, “We have to try 41-33-14. That’s it.”
There’s a moment of stunned silence. Then there’s a thud from the kitchen.
“Hang on, I’m writing this down,” Piper calls out a moment later. She appears behind our mom, scribbling onto a little sheet of paper. “41-33-14?”
Mom nods, looking convinced. “Yes. That’s the combination. I can’t believe I remembered it.”
“Do you even know where it came from?” I ask gently. “Mom, you said you’d never seen that safe they found in the basement of your building. How can you remember it if it wasn’t even yours?”
She waves me off like the comment was something silly. “You guys go have fun. We’ll try to crack into that thing another time. Love you. Be safe.”
I give my mom one last hug before Casey and I step onto the front walk. Once the truck doors are shut, Casey allows confusion to crease her face.
“So what was that about? The numbers?”
I shake my head as I turn the key. “It’s a little weird. But ever since my mom’s business burned down last year and she went into that coma, she’s had these moments where she kind of…gets psychic.”
Casey reels back, her brows shooting up. “Excuse me?”
“I said it was weird.” I sling my arm across the seats as I back out of the driveway. Casey leans into my hand as I do this, humming happily.
“Well, it sounds like it could be a good thing. But clearly the psychic powers didn’t apply to how badly we’d euchre them in that first round.”
“Clearly,” I agree. “We’re still figuring it out. Actually, the last time she talked about the combination numbers was when I ran into you at Piper’s grand opening.” My phone begins to buzz from its spot on the console, and the dash display lights up from the Bluetooth connection.
INCOMING CALL: NEIL
I sigh, weighing the pros and cons of taking his call right now. If I ignore him, he’ll just call back. But do I want to hear what he has to say in front of Casey…especially if it’s bad news?
“It’s my agent. I need to take this.” I press the green button to answer while Casey mimics zipping her lips shut and tossing the key. “Neil, what’s up?”
“Keegan.” He pauses, and I've worked with Neil long enough to know that pause. It's the one that means he's choosing his words. "I just got off a call with Marchetti."
The general manager of the Crushers. The man who holds my fate, and my contract, in his hands. My jaw tightens.
"He wanted me to know—and he emphasized this was a heads up, not a decision—that they've been in serious conversations about Fletcher."
I know the name. Everyone in the league knows the name. Twenty years old, six foot two, faster acceleration than me, even if I had two good knees and a magical extra third knee. He plays my position. If he joins the team, I’m out. Traded. And what team wants an injured thirty-something?
“Okay.”
“They’re watching how the draft shakes out. But I wanted you to hear it from me first. They’re looking at him hard, Keegan.”
The cab of the truck is really quiet. I work my jaw back and forth as I let the news sink in. I know what this means. The knot in my gut doesn’t lie.
“All right. Appreciate the heads up.”
“Keep putting in the work. I’m fighting for you, you know that. You’re not a free agent yet. We’ve got till August first.”
He says a few more things, but I can barely hear him. All I can hear are my worst fears roaring to life. The phone call ends. I want to melt into the dirt and put my fist into something hard simultaneously. But all I can do is grip the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white.
“Griff,” Casey finally says.
“Yeah?”
“That didn’t seem…like good news.”
A humorless laugh slips out of me. “It was almost the worst news I could have gotten today.”
“But he said they were only looking at him,” she says, and I can tell she’s trying to be positive for me. She doesn’t know how futile it is.
“This is the job,” I say, turning into my driveway. I draw a deep breath before I add, “It just works like that. There’s always someone younger and faster. It’s only a matter of time.”
Her brows furrow. “But you’re healed.”
“I’m not.” I sniff, suddenly ready for anything that doesn’t involve continuing this conversation inside this tiny space. “You want a beer?”
“Yes. A beer sounds great.” Casey and I go inside, but only one of us is walking on leaden feet.
The roar inside my head grows louder inside the house.
Weight presses down on me, reminding me of the unsavory truth I’ve been circling like water in a drain.
This might be the end. This might be it.
And what have I been doing to fight for it?
“You sit down. Don’t get lost in your head,” Casey commands as she rummages through the fridge. “Or else.”
But it’s too late. I’m not just lost in my head, I’m drowning in it. I pinch the bridge of my nose, waves of critical thoughts swamping me.