Triple Threat (Erie City Hawks #3)

Chapter 1

ONE

TWO YEARS AGO

Copyright’s sole purpose was to encourage the circulation of ideas by giving authors the opportunity to derive a reasonable financial reward from their works. However, copyright sometimes goes—

“God, what I wouldn’t give to be in my bed right now.”

Groaning, I forced my gaze out of my study book as my best friend, Chelsea, sauntered into the office.

She slammed the door behind her and then rested her head against it.

“Remind me again why we bought a bar, of all things?” When she turned and found my waiting scowl, she just chuckled.

“This late night shit is for the birds. You’re the smart one, Kinsley. ”

“Why is that?” I asked.

“You found a job with normal hours.”

“Yeah, right.” I shook my head, highlighting the passage I’d just read a dozen times. Then, it might sink in. “If I’m the smart one, why did I agree to come in and help you out for the night?”

“Because you love me,” Chelsea said as she sauntered behind the desk, dropping into her plush white leather chair. “But you’re having fun, right?”

I shrugged as I turned back to my study guide, trying to cram in a couple more minutes before I had to get onto the floor.

But Chelsea kept staring at me. Oh, was she waiting for an answer?

Seemed rhetorical to me, but, then again, Chelsea always needed to hear the words.

You’d think after two decades of friendship, I’d remember that.

Without looking away from the text, I mumbled, “It’s not so bad. ”

“High praise,” Chelsea muttered as she pulled a compact mirror and her makeup bag out of the desk drawer. She tutted at her lip line before tracing the edge with her thumbnail. Before she closed her makeup bag, she held it out to me. “You want to touch up anything? Add a little color?”

“Nope,” I mumbled, chewing on the highlighter cap.

I’d thrown on some mascara and a little concealer before I left the house, but that was it.

Honestly, after the month I’d had, Chelsea was lucky I was wearing real pants and a bra.

Not that I have anything against Chelsea using her looks to get bigger tips.

Hell, if I had any talent with a makeup brush, I’d be right there with her, trying to hide the dark circles rimming my eyes.

But right now, there were too many other things taking center stage in my mind, and I’d shoved them all aside for one goal: getting a decent score on the LSAT.

If my practice test scores were any sign, it would be a long time before that ever became a reality.

After placing her bag back in the drawer, Chelsea strutted over to me and lifted the cover of my binder. She grimaced as she read the words. “Haven’t you read that, like, ten times?”

“Yup,” I groaned. “But I need to do it again. No reputable law school will take me with my current score, so now I have to wait to take it again, not to mention dish out a bunch of money I don’t have.”

“Maybe you should stall until the winter, Kins. No one would blame you for taking a few months off.”

I glared at her, but it fell from my lips when I took in the concern in her eyes. That was the problem with having the same best friend from birth—it was impossible to hide anything. But delaying the test wouldn’t change the fact that my mom was dead.

God. My mom died. Even after three weeks, it was weird to say. I half-expected her to call me every night, checking in before we both closed our eyes. Just breathing without her felt monumental.

I shook my head, unable to meet my friend’s eyes.

If there was any pity in them, I’d break down again, and considering it was the first time I’d left the house in over a week, I didn’t want it to be over so soon.

Chelsea had been the only reason I’d come out, citing some work emergency with half of her servers calling in sick.

Even though I hadn’t tended bar since college, I was happy to jump in and help her out, especially considering how much she’d saved me over the past month.

She made the funeral arrangements when it was too painful, held my hand during my eulogy, and even cleared out my mom’s fridge.

I could keep myself together for a few hours if that was what she needed.

“I can’t go there.” My eyes leaped up to meet hers. “The test is the one thing I can control right now, so I’m giving it everything.”

Chelsea studied me for a long moment and then let out a dread-filled sigh. “Okay, then tell me what we need to do.”

Should have known that would be her response.

Chelsea had been there for me during my first attempt at the test. On slow nights, she’d quiz me about different scenarios, checking the answers as if the words made sense to her.

She’d even forced me to take the week before the exam off, hoping it would help me relax.

But it was all in vain. No matter how much I studied or how much I tried to absorb the information, the moment I sat down in front of the screen, my mind went blank. The information was there, waiting—pleading—for me to access it. Yet, no matter how hard I tried, nothing seemed to help.

“It’s not the studying,” I answered. “It’s the practical element. If it was only reciting facts, I’d ace it every time. But there’s too much room for judgment calls, and that’s what trips me up.”

Chelsea gave me one last, sympathizing smile, not bothering to give me any platitudes. That was what I liked best about her—no bullshit. No promises of doing it better this time, no lies that made me feel like my brain would sort itself out.

Better a harsh truth than a pretty lie. It was one of my mom’s favorite sayings. She’d told me it a million times growing up. Funny how, when it mattered most, she chose the lie.

“Tomorrow," Chelsea said as she stood from her desk. “We’ll make a plan. I’ll camp out in the living room with you if I have to, but you are going to crush this test.”

“Or it’ll crush me.”

Chelsea squeezed my shoulder as she walked past, looking as if she were ready to take on the world.

Her asymmetrical blonde bob showed off the stark line of her cheekbones, which gave her a distinct, don’t-touch-me attitude, helpful when the bar got crowded and the drinks flowed freely.

Everything about her stood out and made all the patrons flock to her.

Me? One glance in the mirror told me I’d see the same old thing. Weight that clung in all the wrong places, dark smudges under my eyes, skin almost too pale to be healthy. All added perks of the grief that clung to my soul.

Not that I was doing better before my mom passed.

Considering all the hours I pulled at the firm, I was practically nocturnal.

Ever since I could remember, I’d always dreamed of moving to Manhattan and becoming a sought-after lawyer.

Right now, my office sign said paralegal, but I was gaining the experience I’d need for law school.

My apartment might be the size of a shoebox, but at least I could say I was actually living in New York City.

I made it out of Erie City, my hometown.

That had to count for something, even if it always seemed like I was drowning.

Between my steep rent and the mounting debt from my undergraduate program—not to mention the inevitable bills law school would accrue—I was making just enough to scrape by.

Eventually, I hoped to be able to do more, to live an adventurous life.

But that required making the jump from paralegal to attorney.

So, most nights, after working from sunup to sundown, I’d go home and study for hours.

Sleep was a luxury I literally could not afford.

With a sigh, I tossed my study materials back into my bag and attempted to tame my wavy mess of hair. That was a problem for another day.

Working at the Skyline Lounge might only be only for tonight, but I had to admit—I liked it.

The constant pounding bass of the dance music drowned out my intrusive thoughts.

People’s inhibitions came free when they escaped under the pulsing strobe lights, and it fascinated me.

For a few hours, I left my lonely world filled with textbooks and facts and just…

existed. No grief, no studying, no demands other than a fake smile and another round of drinks.

It wasn’t an easy job, don’t get me wrong, but it allowed me to shut down the part of my brain that loved to remind me of everything I’d lost—for a few hours, at least.

As I shoved the last of my errant locks into my hairband, Mark, Chelsea’s husband, walked into the room. He ran his hand over his bald head, staring at me as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Hey, I need a favor. Think you could help upstairs tonight?”

I froze, peeking behind me to make sure he wasn’t talking to someone else. “Me?”

“Please, Kins. I need someone to cover the VIP bar. Our usuals, Lara and Paulo, both have the flu, and Chelsea’s needed to keep everything running smoothly downstairs.” He stared at me, almost wincing. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t an emergency.”

God, I wanted to say no. I’d never stepped upstairs into the VIP area.

Even as Chelsea’s best friend, I didn’t have enough clout to sit in that section.

They always reserved the secluded area for our hometown heroes—namely, one of the major league sports teams. Erie City might not be the biggest in New York, but, over the past decade, it had become home to two different professional teams: the Sparks, for football, and the Hawks, for baseball.

With the Hawks playing tonight, there was a good chance some players would head our way.

I swallowed, trying to ignore the pit in my stomach.

Sure, I’d seen plenty of the guys walking through the bar, but it was different to serve them.

A cold sweat broke out on my palms, but I squeezed them together. I couldn’t let Chelsea or Mark down.

“I can handle it.”

Mark took a step closer and then paused, his lips pursing, deep in thought, most likely listing off the names of any other bartender who might come in to cover upstairs.

While Chelsea and I had been friends forever, Mark and I had a bit of a frostier relationship.

Probably because his wife was my soulmate, and I had no interest in sharing that title with him.

So, he surprised me when he said, “Thank you, Kinsley. Means a lot to Chelsea that you’re here. Means a lot to me too.”

“Yeah, of course.” I nodded. “I’ll be up there right away.”

Without another word, Mark stomped out of the room, off to make sure Chelsea had everything covered. As I watched his back retreat into the bar, I steeled my shoulders and took one last look in the mirror. Shit, I should have taken Chelsea up on her makeup. Too late now.

“Don’t fuck it up,” I whispered to myself. “How hard could that be?”