Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 113072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
“I heard you’re here to stage an intervention,” she says, pressing a button that causes the elevator to slide open. “The neighbors below Chase’s place keep calling to complain about the depressing music. Godspeed.”
“Um, thank you,” I say. I dart into the elevator with a quick salute.
The car begins rising smoothly, and I wonder whether visiting Chase is the right thing to do when he literally ran from my apartment an hour ago. I’ve already inflicted a lifetime’s worth of difficulties on the guy. This might only annoy him.
But Tremaine showed me a video of Chase seated outside in the cold on his terrace, listening to “Hallelujah” on repeat. The Jeff Buckley version. It’s the most depressing song in the world, right after Wicked Game, Tremaine texted. He’s really down, and I can tell you two have some unresolved issues.
What if I can’t solve them? I asked on my way out the door.
Just try. We have to beat Montreal tomorrow night. The team needs you.
And then: I think you can fix more than his pelvis. A moment went by, and then Tremaine added: I meant that in a completely non-creepy way.
Noted, I replied just before I began to jog.
When the elevator doors part, I find Tremaine pacing on the landing of The Lair. “There you are!” he says. “It’s bad. I tried talking to him, but he threw me out.”
Yikes. “I owe him an apology, but what if he’s not in the mood to hear it?”
He’s already unlocking Chase’s apartment door. “Then you will have tried, Zoe. We need the win tomorrow night. Not to mention that the downstairs neighbors are super sick of this song. It’s after midnight.”
“Fine. But when this goes bad, it’s on you.”
He grins and holds the door open, and I take a deep breath and step inside. “Chase? It’s Zoe!” I call out. It’s only polite to announce yourself when you’re breaking and entering.
But he doesn’t answer. So I walk all the way into his living room. And I spot him through the glass—exactly where Tremaine’s video showed him—seated on one of those outdoor couches that only fancy hotels and rich people have. He’s got a comforter spread over his lap and a dire expression on his face as he studies the twinkling lights over the river and into New Jersey.
I can hear Jeff Buckley crooning from here.
I walk over to the sliding glass door and open it.
Somehow he hears this over the music. “Tremaine, just leave me alone. Or else I’ll dig up that recording of the time you thought you were alone in the locker room, and sang ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart’ at the top of your lungs in the shower. And I’ll share it with the whole team.”
“At some point I’m going to need to hear that.”
His head jerks at the sound of my voice. “How did you get here? Were you summoned?”
“Yeah.” It’s not a warm welcome, but I slide the door shut behind me and approach him anyway. He taps his phone, and Jeff Buckley stops singing mid-phrase.
Besides the sofa, there’s one other piece of furniture on this balcony, and it’s a little metal chair. So the moment I sit down on it, my ass practically freezes to the iron. “Look, I know you don’t want me here, and I’ll get out of your way in a second. But I owe you an apology. A big one.”
He looks away. “Nah. You don’t.”
“Yes, I do. And not for stupid mistakes—like wanting to break all the rules with you when I was eighteen, or for interfering with a fan in a bar. And not for taking this job, either. I did all those things out of love.”
He glances quickly at me but then away again.
“But you were right about me and my family. I never held my ground. And I never asked the tough questions. If I’d had a backbone, then I could have loved you out in the open. I wouldn’t have made you lie and get fired and maybe lose your place on my uncle’s team. I still don’t really know what happened there.”
He tips his head back and looks up at the sky. “It’s okay, Zoe.”
“No, it isn’t.” My voice chokes up, catching me by surprise. “I broke our agreement, just like you said. I told myself I was trying to save you, but it was more complicated than that. I’ve spent my whole life trying to win her approval. I could have told my mom to get lost when she caught us eating ice cream on the roof. We could have just asked for a night off together.”
“Or here’s an idea,” he says, suddenly meeting my gaze. “What if your mother looked at two kids playing Battleship on a roof and thought, How nice for my daughter. She has someone who makes her laugh. We weren’t exactly doing heroin up there, Zoe.”