Chapter 10
TEN
PARKER
I tear my old room apart like I’m looking for buried treasure.
Except the treasure is a last name.
When I moved out, my dad turned my room into a playroom for the kids. Locks on the drawers, anchors on the furniture, soft covers on all the sharp edges and covers for every electrical outlet.
He’s moved everything that I didn’t take. Everything I didn’t think I would need.
Clothes hit the floor first and after I flip through the old notebooks, looking for my physiology notes, the ed up in the same place.. Maybe, just maybe, I wrote her last name down or have a referral from the football staff.
There are two broken trophies at the bottom of the drawer. I stare at the t-ball trophy from when I was four. I didn’t understand my mom passing away, I just knew I missed her and this trophy was shortly after she passed away.
I dig through stacks of old toys and sports equipment dad is saving for when the grandchildren get older. I rummage through boxes like something important has to be hiding in here.
What was her last name? How do I not remember?
Annika. Just Annika. That’s all my brain will give me.
I sit back on my heels in the middle of the room, surrounded by push toys, singing stuffed animals and a ball pit.
As I drag my hand through my hair, I remember the way she looked at me while tutoring me in college.
Like I was some kind of experiment she couldn’t decide whether to admire or dissect.
She chose to dissect.
Did I dismiss her?
Did I treat her like the rest of the world—just another girl orbiting the football team?
Maybe that’s why she’s always had a pissy attitude with me.
Maybe I earned it.
The thought sits heavy on my chest. I look around at the mess I created, as I pick up a notebook and file through it one more time.
Witt’s voice drifts from the hallway. “Did you get into a fight with a raccoon?”
“Something like that.”
He steps in and leans against the white doorframe, arms crossed. Clothes are everywhere. Empty boxes strewn all over and papers scattered across the floor. Witt raises a brow. “So much for a playroom.”
I glare at him.
“Dad said when the grandkids get older, this is where they’ll come to destroy things.” He toes some clothes out of the way, stepping farther into the room. “Looks like you beat them to it.”
I stand up, kicking a shoebox.
“I’m looking for something.”
“Yeah, I couldn’t tell.” His voice is steady and dry. “This looks more like emotional instability.”
“I’m trying to find the last name of someone.”
“Should I be worried?” he asks. “Who?” My younger brother has this way of not talking and just staring until someone else fills the void, so this seems out of character.
“My therapist or performance coach.”
He scoffs, “I know her name.”
“What is it?”
“Anna Morrow.”
“No shit, Witt. Not helpful… at all.” I blink and stare at him. Obviously I know her professional name. “I need her old name.”
He studies me like I’m joining a cult. Witt analyzes everything, just like Annika.
“From college. Back then she went by Annika.”
Witt tilts his head. “You had the same therapist in college. Bro that girl from Michigan must have done a number on you.”
I can’t get a deep enough breath. “No, Annika… Anna was my tutor, but I know her last name wasn’t Morrow.”
“You had a tutor?”
“Damn, you really do live in your own little gaming world. Remember we saw her at the pizza parlor when Noelle told us she was pregnant? Annika was my physiology tutor.”
He crouches in front of me. “What do you need me to do?”
“I need her number and her last name.”
“Why?”
One word, that’s all.
I rub my face. “Why didn’t I pay attention?”
“Because you were busy being a college football god.” Witt shrugs like it’s a fact.
It’s not.
Was I popular in college? Yes. Did I go to parties? Yes. Did I leave alone? Most of the time.
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
He watches me for a few beats and then says, “You pissed her off.”
“Oh, I definitely pissed her off.”
“Seems like she got the last laugh since she’s your therapist now.” A chuckle gets caught in his throat when I give him the death stare, but I can’t argue with his logic. Witt nods toward the door. “Come on.”
“Where?”
“My room.”
Being invited in to his sanctuary is rare. “You’re helping me?”
He looks back over his shoulder. “I’ll get her cell…” His fingers move fast over the keys. “I just need to log into the Armadillo system.”
“I forgot you’re an Armadillo employee. Is your gaming division connected to the rest of the company.”
“It’s a partnership and no.”
He doesn’t offer more. He usually doesn’t but his gaming empire is expanding. Somehow, he’s the youngest and has more money than all of us. Would anyone ever know? No.
Entering Witt’s bedroom looks more like a tech command center than a bedroom.
Three monitors.
Two headsets.
At least ten gaming controllers.
Whiteboards covered in diagrams.
“What the hell?” I mutter. I haven’t been inside in years. My room was first up the steps so that’s the playroom, far away from him.
He explains the drawing. “I’m analyzing the best way to build the Armadillo esports team.”
“I know a lot of guys that are into gaming but is there enough to have a professional league?”
He sits down at the desk, taps on his keyboard. “You’d be surprised. You know I’ve earned a ton of money over the last ten years.”
I lean against the wall. “Strategy?”
“Reaction time… team communications… pressure tolerance.” He glances at me. “Sound familiar?”
“Unfortunately, it does.”
For the first time in years, Witt and I are speaking the same language. He cracks his knuckles, clicks a few keys and mutters, “I’m in.”
I notice there are white envelopes stacked in a drawer so I walk over, plucking one from his nightstand. “You got a pen pal?”
Witt spins in his chair and snaps, “Put that down.”
I grin. Witt has never shown interest in anything but gaming. Not in girls or guys.
“That’s private,” he says as he stands.
“And a female pen pal at that.”
He stretches out his long arms. “Give it back.”
I flip it over. International postage. “Are you writing letters to a girlfriend? Who is she?”
He snatches it from me. “Not relevant to your emotional crisis.”
“Who handwrites letters anymore? You of all people.” I say, shocked.
“People who don’t want everything they say floating around the internet.”
I laugh, even though he’s right. Nothing is ever truly deleted.
“Are you dating a spy?”
Witt glares. “Can we focus?”
I raise my hands. “Fine. Not my business.”
His shoulders relax and he sits back at his computer. His screen fills with data and he leans back. “Well, here ya go.” He turns the monitor toward me and says, “Her cell.”
He scribbles her number on a sticky note and hands it to me.
My pulse jumps, now armed with knowledge of her number. I pull out my phone.
“Do you want me to research her past?”
I shake my head no. “I’ll email you everything I remember tomorrow. I’m good for now.” Witt thinks I’m crazy because a half hour ago I was wrecking my old room wanting to know her last name. “Maybe it’s better if I ask her myself—on the sly.”
“What are you going to say?”
“I don’t know.” I stare at the sticky note.
My younger brother, void of expression, says, “Avoid sounding like a stalker.”
Says the man with a stack of handwritten letters.
I type. Delete and type again. My thumbs hover over the screen.
Maybe I should just surprise her tomorrow, but before I can overthink it, I hit send. The message whooshes away.
I stare into the phone, hoping she reads it, but I’m left on unread for several minutes.
Witt leans over my shoulder. “What did you say?”
I read it out loud. “Looking forward to our appointment tomorrow night. I think we have a lot to talk about.”
Witt nods. “Yeah.”
“What?” I ask as I shove my phone into my pocket.
“That definitely sounds like something that could terrify a person.”
I can’t help the smirk forming on my face. “Good.”
Because if Annika or Anna thinks I won’t find out what she’s hiding—
She’s about to find out how wrong she is.