Текст книги "Delayed Penalty"

Автор книги: Sophia Henry

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

Chapter 17

“Nasty,” I grumbled, wiping my gravy-covered hand on the towel I had draped over my shoulder. After I had gotten most of the congealed brown slime off, I resumed my task, placing dirty dishes into a large plastic bin sitting on the table I was cleaning.

“Saving that for later, sweetie? I can get Chef to make you a plate, you know?” Loretta, one of my fellow servers, joked, plucking a large chunk of bread off my rear end as she passed.

“Ha-ha,” I said, but I did laugh as I straightened up, hefting the bin of dishes off the table and carrying it through the kitchen doors. How the hell had a roll gotten stuck to my ass?

I’d been back at school for over a month. It had been a month and a half since I’d seen Aleksandr. He was still in Charlotte playing for the Aviators, which was amazing for him but hard on me. The original objections I had for not getting involved with him in the first place were pounding in my head. Separation was inevitable, whether he got called to Charlotte or not. There was no hockey team in my dinky little college town, and I couldn’t transfer anywhere in my junior year.

Absence must be easier for my brain to comprehend when I’m the one walking away.

How could I even think about transferring schools for someone I’d known for a little over a month? Thank goodness I’d never been in love before. I probably would have been on the first season of Teen Mom.

“Apple pie, coffee, and a fruit plate, right?” I asked my grandparents, who had taken a seat in one of the booths in my section at Johnny’s. They were in town looking at apartments. They’d put their house in Detroit on the market after the first of the year and would be moving to Bridgeland when the house sold. Slower pace. Closer to me? And I fantasized about moving to wherever Aleksandr happened to be. Guess I missed the Number One Granddaughter Award. Again.

“Did you get your loan check?” Grandpa asked. For someone who wasn’t helping me pay for college, he was overly concerned about my finances.

I was well aware of my grandparents’ stance on financing higher education. If I wanted to pursue anything past a high school diploma, I was on my own. I’d been okay with that because I’d had my small athletic scholarship to play soccer. The academic scholarship I received for my grades and test scores, coupled with student loans, covered the rest of my expenses.

Grandpa was concerned for me because I’d lost my soccer scholarship, but having to answer to someone not helping fund my education annoyed the shit out of me.

“Should be here any day,” I told him. “I saved most of the money from translating for Aleksandr.” Then I added, “I do well here, you know.”

“What about that opening at the steakhouse Kristen told you about?” he pressed.

I should never have told him about that. Johnny’s Diner was my first waitressing job. Sure, tips would be bigger at the steakhouse, but the diner opened only for breakfast and lunch, so the hours were great for working around my class schedule.

“It’s always busy during my shifts. Good tips and quick turnover work for me. Plus, I’ve got customers that come back just to see me.” I winked at my grandma.

“I’m sure you do,” she said, glancing at my purple shirt. Did my grandma just check out my rack?

“Hey! I’m the reason you guys will be regulars, right?” I asked, casting my eyes downward to make sure my uniform polo was buttoned up. Didn’t want my grandparents to think I got my tips in shady ways.

“No, Audushka, it’s the cooking. You can’t get home-cooked food like this at those chain joints,” Grandpa said as he perused Johnny’s menu. His wheels were turning, probably planning on dragging my grandma back here tomorrow before they left town.

He hated chain restaurants. He loved dumpy little dinners like this one claiming they served “home-cooked” meals. My grandma dealt with it because she hated to cook. Don’t get me wrong, she cooked throughout my childhood, but once Grandpa retired, her cooking became scarce. I had a feeling that once they moved to Bridgeland, they would be eating out quite a bit. I didn’t blame her. Almost forty years of putting meals on the table had to have gotten old.

“I have to run and get an order. I’ll be right back.” I spun around, flitting to another table, letting the two older men sitting there know I would be right back with their lunches.

When I pushed back through the doors of the kitchen with the sandwiches, I noticed another one of my regulars had taken his place at a table in the back of the restaurant. It was the same table he always chose, back against the wall, facing the restaurant. I figured it was a cop thing.

Jason Taylor had become a regular after we’d met at Aleksandr’s game. In our short interactions, I’d uncovered a few things about the strapping hunk of law-enforcement eye candy. He’d moved to Bridgeland after graduating from college because he didn’t want to be a cop in Detroit. Said he wanted to help people. He came from a big family. And he coached a youth hockey team in town.

“Be right with you, Officer,” I called, flashing him a smile as I delivered the sandwiches. I wouldn’t call him a friend, but we got along well and he was a good tipper.

Jason waved in acknowledgment.

“Who is that, Audushka?” my grandpa asked, staring at Jason.

“Officer Taylor. He’s another regular,” I told him as I filled a glass for Jason. Cola, no ice. Every time.

“Are you gonna switch it up today?” I teased, setting Jason’s drink in front of him. He always ordered a Cola without ice and a club sandwich with mustard instead of mayo.

Jason smiled and shook his head. “Not today.”

“Come on, man, live a little.” I winked as I jotted his order onto my little green pad. I wasn’t interested in him, but he was too cute not to flirt with. I spun around and took the ticket to the kitchen.

My grandpa was still staring at Jason when I came back to the table with my grandparents’ desserts.

“Dedushka, please stop looking at him. He could arrest you, or something,” I said, though I’m sure Jason couldn’t arrest him for staring. But he could stop eating at Johnny’s, and I could lose a regular customer who tipped me well.

“He looks familiar.” Grandpa leaned back so I could set his pie in front of him, but he didn’t take his eyes off Jason.

“He’s from Detroit. His brother plays with Sasha on the Pilots. Landon Taylor.” I glanced at Jason as I spoke. Voices travel, and he could probably hear us.

“Enough, Viktor. Let the boy enjoy his lunch.” Grandma poked Grandpa’s wrist with her fork.

“Ow.” He laughed, shaking and flexing his hand.

I saw him shoot Jason one more look before he dug into his pie.

“He’s handsome,” Grandma said, spearing a strawberry from her plate and bringing it to her mouth. “Reminds me of you when you were young.”

Did Grandpa just blush? Time to find something to do. Thankfully I was at work, where I had many excuses to take leave.

Oh, look, table six needs to be wiped down.

“Are you coming to dinner with us tonight?” Gram asked.

“Nope. I have band practice.”

“Band practice?” she repeated, taking a sip of her water. Grandpa stopped chewing.

“Yeah. This guy heard me sing at karaoke and asked me to be in his band. Pretty cool, eh?” I answered, stretching to wipe the far end of the booth behind my grandparents.

“Your mother was in a band,” Gram said.

“Excuse me?” I whipped around, knocking my funny bone as I stood up. It took every fiber of my being not to curse in front of my grandparents. Instead, I grabbed my elbow and rubbed it briskly.

“In high school. She had a beautiful voice.” Gram shook her head as if coming out of a daze and speared a melon from her plate.

It was a Twilight Zone moment for me. My grandparents never offered information about my mother. And I never heard that my mom had been in a band during high school, not even from my aunts and uncles. I wasn’t surprised about all the things I didn’t know about her, I was surprised that Gram actually shared the information.

“Well, now I know where I got my voice. I mean, I’ve heard Dedushka sing in church and I knew I didn’t get my pipes from him.”

That got a smile out of both of them, so I spun around and retreated to the kitchen.

Joking was my favorite defense against awkwardness. You’d think by age twenty I’d jump on the chance to talk about my mom by asking more questions, especially since Gram was the one who brought her up. But no. She’d caught me off guard, and I tucked my tail between my legs and avoided the situation. If I tried to revisit the conversation at a later time, I’m sure their mouths would be closed tighter than a brand-new pickle jar.

The ever-revolving door of grief.

Chapter 18

“Here.” I thrust a small stack of papers at Greg. Using Gram’s rare revealing moment as inspiration to open up, I’d just handed one of my bandmates, someone I’d met less than two months ago, a collection of deeply personal and emotionally raw poems. As soon as they left my hands, I wanted to snatch them back. And burn them.

An eyebrow caterpillar crept across Greg’s forehead as he scanned the first page and flipped through the others.

“I write poems,” I explained, casting my eyes to my feet. My scuffed black boots had never been so interesting. “Not good poems, but, um. I didn’t know if you could use them for lyrics or whatever.”

Poetry had been a passion since I was a kid, but because they were an insight into my warped mind, I’d never been brave enough to share them with anyone. Slicing open my emotional wrists and allowing others to see the blood flow had never been a desire. Then I met Aleksandr, and removing the piano-sized weight of pent-up repression from my shoulders sounded like a good idea for the first time in my life.

Greg shook the papers at me. “This is awesome, Aud.”

I raised my head to meet his eyes. “That tune will change when you actually read them.”

He laughed. “I just meant it’s great that you write. And, yes, I can use them.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled.

Greg dropped to the floor in the living room of the house he shared with the guys. He patted the carpet. “Pull up a patch of”—he paused as he inspected the area—“gross, green, shag carpet from the seventies. We’re jamming tonight.”

Aaron was already on the ground, his long jean-clad legs sprawled out in front of him as he leaned against the most hideous sofa I’d ever seen.

“Oh my.” I held a hand to my mouth, eyeing the couch as I plopped down in between him and Greg. “That’s an unfortunate piece of furniture.”

Aaron let his head fall back against the light green couch littered with gaudy pink flowers. “My great-aunt died last year and this old girl is what my mom saved for me.”

“It’s ugly as shit, but none of us had any other furniture, so—” Greg shrugged.

“You have other furniture,” I said. “I see a lovely modern piece over there.” I pointed to a black, faux-leather beanbag across the room.

“That’s mine. I’m the one with style,” Josh joked as he walked into the living room carrying three white pillar candles. He squatted slowly, dropped to his knees, then set each candle down in the middle of the circle of seating we’d formed. It looked like a preteen sleepover about to have a séance.

“Are we gonna call on the spirits of rock legends gone too soon?” I asked as Josh settled into an Indian-style position.

“No,” Josh snorted. Then he lifted his eyes to Greg. “You think it’d work?”

“Shut up. Shut up. Shut the fuuuck up,” Aaron sang, using guitar chords to emphasize his point.

I stuck my tongue out. He winked and strummed the opening riffs of “Making Believe.”

“Oh my gosh! You learned it?” I shrieked, and pounded the carpet in excitement.

“Thank Greg,” Aaron said, casting his eyes Greg’s way. “He told us to learn it for the next gig. It is an awesome song, though.”

Greg flashed me a smile. “After you rocked it in your audition, we had to learn it.” Then he frowned and yelled at Josh. “Dude, come on.”

“What?” Josh asked as he lit his cigarette off one of the candles on the floor.

“I love you guys already,” I said, laughing at their banter.

“Hear that boys? She’s saying we have a chance.” Aaron winked again.

“Fuck you, man,” Greg mumbled. Josh released a gust of smoke toward Aaron’s face.

I didn’t get the inside joke, but I assumed Aaron was teasing me because he still needed time to get to know me before he felt warm and fuzzy. I knew from the start he’d be the one I’d have to win over.

–

When I’d returned to school after winter break, I’d braced myself for the harsh reality of a schedule with no soccer activities. The humiliation of being cut still thrummed through my veins, but it was refreshing to be rid of countless practices, meetings, and games thrown on top of classes, studying, working, and starting the after-school program in Detroit. By taking a step back, I finally saw how grueling my first two years at Central State had been.

But if I thought joining a band would be easier on my schedule, I was wrong. I’d assumed the guys would give me a break because I didn’t know my ass from my elbow when it came to making music. Instead, they pushed me harder and made me practice more. When I wasn’t in class, at the library, or at the diner, I was practicing with the guys. They even got me a vocal coach. “Vocal coach” being the fancy title Josh had given to a girl in his music program whom he’d bribed into helping me prepare. My vocals were coming along well, but my stage presence was a different story.

“Tap your foot. Shake your hair around.” Aaron’s face turned a deeper shade of red every time he yelled at me. It would have been comical if I hadn’t been the one he was angry with. When he stomped up the stairs, I thought I’d finally broken him, but he returned a minute later with a full-length mirror.

“Start again,” he ordered, leaning the mirror against the wall in front of me.

Greg and Josh started the song from the beginning, and Aaron joined the song. I stared at the microphone as I swayed from foot to foot. Anything to avoid looking in the mirror.

“Do something. Move!” Aaron yelled, waving his hands in front of his chest, abruptly halting his guitar riff. I rolled my eyes, holding them up as I took a few deep breaths. “Look in the fucking mirror.” Aaron’s voice was a glacier, slow and icy.

“Jesus,” Josh muttered. I couldn’t tell if he’d directed his exasperation at me or at Aaron. Probably me. I wasn’t used to having to practice something to be good at it. Not to sound cocky, because I worked my ass off, but soccer came easy for me. The skills needed to stand in front of a crowd of people waiting for me to sing out of key did not come as easily.

“Stop being a dick,” Greg told Aaron.

“Fuck off.”

“Chill out!” I yelled back. Kicking me while I was down was not the way to boost my confidence.

“No, I won’t chill out,” Aaron snapped, but the bitterness from before was gone. “You can do this, Auden. You’re good.”

I stole a glance at the other guys. Greg and Josh were both nodding, giving me hopeful half smiles.

Accepting compliments had always been difficult. In a generation of everyone-gets-a-trophy sports teams and parents who make sure their kids know how wonderful they are, I grew up with grandparents who didn’t believe in any of that “generation of spoiled, entitled bullshit.”

Compliments and praise were just words in the dictionary to my grandparents, who raised me to be humble and modest to the extreme, since pride is one of the deadly sins. Don’t get me wrong, they didn’t make me feel bad about myself on purpose, but accomplishments weren’t talked about. Asking if I looked nice in an outfit or if I played well was met with a, “Don’t be so vain,” or “You’re good at soccer, don’t rub it in other people’s faces.” It was just how I grew up, and how my grandparents grew up, and so on. A mirror was for making sure I looked presentable. Hair combed? Makeup out of place? Was everything buttoned, tucked, and zipped?

“I’m sorry, okay. Can we start again?” I asked. I cranked my neck side to side and rolled my shoulders back. Time to approach singing the same way I approached soccer. Be confident. Own it. But don’t make a big deal of being confident and owning it. Just do it and shut the hell up.

After taking a deep, cleansing breath, I lifted my eyes to my reflection. As I stared at the athletic girl standing tall in a long black tank top, dark blue skinny jeans, and her favorite beat-up Doc Martens, something clicked. I wasn’t the quiet ghost floating through the halls of my high school, just hoping to get by without disturbing the peace. I wasn’t the average girl on the soccer team, hidden among better players. I wasn’t Kristen’s wing woman. I wasn’t a professional hockey player’s girlfriend.

In that mirror, I saw myself as Auden for the first time, and plain old Auden was beautiful. I wasn’t simple, or fake, or hiding behind someone else’s confidence or talent. I was a fun-yet-snarky Russian translator. The key being the Russian-translator part, because my client was the reason for my newfound confidence and ability to blow the past away like the white seeds of a dead dandelion. The man who helped me recognize my confidence, strength, and worth. The man who still helped me believe it, even though we weren’t in the same state. The man I should’ve never fallen in love with, but did.

No matter who’d been the original organizer, I was the front woman of Strange Attraction now. And it was time to take ownership and responsibility for our band, like I’d done with soccer and the Central Club. Picturing myself in a position of power was liberating and energizing. Greg and Aaron may have arranged the music and turned the words into songs, but those songs were my words. I was the one jotting all of the raw emotions swirling in my head onto whatever empty writing space I found, whether on receipts from the grocery store, or on the inside of a Pop-Tart box before it went into the recycling bin.

The guys fiddled behind me, strumming chords and waiting for me to turn some kind of corner on this whole rock-band-lead-singer thing. I couldn’t keep the smile from my lips. I waved my hand toward the guys, and Josh’s drumbeats pounded in response.

I’m ready. Bring it.

Chapter 19

As I waited in the diner’s parking lot for my car to heat up, I tossed my head back and forth, properly rocking out to “Sex” by The 1975. A thunderous pounding against my window startled me out of rock-out mode.

When I lifted my eyes, Jason Taylor stood on the other side of my door in full police uniform. Because of my traumatic childhood, the nervous buzz of hypervigilance always simmered under my skin. I didn’t like being snuck up on, didn’t like being touched, and I certainly didn’t like being surprised by cops banging on my window when I clearly hadn’t been breaking any laws.

As I rolled down the window, my heart slammed against my rib cage like kamikaze ninjas attempting to kick their way out. “Is everything all right, Officer Taylor?” I leaned over to lower the stereo volume.

“Do you have a few minutes to talk?” he asked.

Well, that didn’t answer my question.

“Is this an emergency?” I asked, tightening my grip on the steering wheel. Get to the point, Taylor.

“No! Geez, I’m sorry Auden. No, it’s not an emergency.”

I closed my eyes and released my death grip on the steering wheel, letting out a deep breath.

“Can it wait until later?” I glanced at the clock on the dashboard. “I’m already late for class.”

I wasn’t a big road rager, but I was already running late for my three-thirty class, due to a last-minute table I’d taken. I’d felt guilty because Johnny was swamped, and she had grabbed three tables at once to allow me to get going.

“Oh, sorry. Yeah. Yeah, I guess it can wait.” Jason rubbed his neck with a leather-gloved hand. “What time is your class over?”

This was a really weird situation. Jason was obviously nervous. My curiosity of what he needed to talk about that could make him so uncomfortable got the best of me.

“You know what?” I killed the engine and unfastened my seat belt. “I’m already half an hour late. Class will be over by the time I get there.”

“You sure?” Jason took a step back, allowing me to open my door.

“Depends. Am I in trouble?” I needed to know what the hell I’d done before I surrendered myself without a fight.

“No, Auden, not at all.” He kicked a mound of packed snow, sending brown ice balls flying. “I’m really sorry you’re missing class. I just wanted to talk about your mom.”

“Excuse me?”

“Let’s go inside.” He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his leather cop coat and nodded toward the diner.

Jason had gotten my attention, so I followed him back in to Johnny’s. Now I was the nervous one. Why would a police officer I barely know want to talk about my mom? Had something new come to light about her death? Maybe her killer had been found with DNA that couldn’t be identified fourteen years ago?

And maybe I watched a few too many Dateline marathons.

We took a seat in the back of the restaurant, at Jason’s favorite table. Johnny walked over with a pot of coffee. She glanced up. “What can I get—” Her head snapped up again, eyes wide. “What are you doing back?” She flipped over two mugs and started filling the first.

I put my hand over Jason’s mug. “Coke for him.”

Johnny nodded. “You would know.” She had a teasing lilt to her voice. Which was annoying.

Hell, yeah, I’m a good server, I wanted to say, but with Jason sitting across from me and fumbling nervously with the silverware rolled in a napkin, I wasn’t in my normal joking mood.

“Why would you want to talk about my mom?” I asked Jason after Johnny was out of earshot.

He continued flipping the silverware end over end. “After we met at the hockey game, I was talking to Aleksandr about you and he mentioned your last name. It sounded familiar, but I couldn’t remember where I’d heard it before. Then I finally figured out where I knew the name Berezin from.”

A loud, scratchy robotic voice filled the air, and I jumped, almost knocking over the cup of coffee Johnny had poured for me that I wasn’t going to drink.

Jason dropped the silverware and reached down to twist a knob on his radio, lowering the volume. It was still on, but faint. “Sorry about that.”

Johnny came back with a Coke for Jason and set it in front of him. “Are you two eating?”

I shook my head. Johnny rushed off to get drinks for another table. The diner was still hopping, and Johnny was by herself. I should get up and help her, I thought.

“Do you think we look alike, Auden?” Jason interrupted my thoughts.

It was such an odd question; I couldn’t help but jerk my eyes up and search his face. He was handsome, with light blue eyes and dirty blond hair, like me. But his face was longer, whereas mine was round; his skin, olive toned; mine, alabaster.

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess our eyes and hair are similar.”

“I definitely look like that older man you were talking to when I was in here last week.”

“That was my grandfather. Why are you trying to find similarities between you and my family?”

“Because I’m your brother.”

“What?” I gagged on my spit.

“Biologically.”

“Dude, what are you talking about?”

“I told you I came from a big family, right? The Taylors adopted me. They’ve fostered a lot of kids and adopted three. They’ve always done an open adoption, in case any of us wanted to find our biological families someday. Open means they list the biological mother’s name on the paperwork.” He paused, but I didn’t speak, so he continued. “I called my mom and asked her if she could look up my real mom’s name in my adoption papers. She did, and then I remembered why your name clicked. My biological mom’s name is Valerie Berezin. That’s your mom, right?”

“Yeah, except my mom never had any other kids.” This guy was crazy. I was relieved he made us come inside to a public area to have this conversation. Don’t cops have to pass some kind of test to prove they aren’t insane before they’re provided a gun?

“How would you know? I’m four years older than you are.”

“Wouldn’t my family tell me?”

“I, well,” he stammered, but I wasn’t listening because as soon as the question left my mouth, I knew he was telling the truth.

The answer was no. My repressed, secretive, we-don’t-talk-about-bad-things family probably wouldn’t have told me.

I leaned forward to inspect Jason’s face again, from his eyebrows, across to his ears, and down the slope of his nose to his mouth and chin. He was right about the familial similarities. He looked exactly like pictures of Grandpa when he was young. Viktor Berezin and Jason Taylor had the same nose, which was also my mother’s nose. Combine that with the blue eyes and blond hair we shared, and he was a Berezin for sure.

“Holy shit.” I fell back against the chair and covered my mouth with my hands in a prayer-like formation. “So are we, like, half brother and sister? Same mom, different dad?”

Jason shrugged. “That I don’t know. The only name on my paperwork is Valerie Berezin.” He picked up the silverware and began flipping it again. Must be a nervous habit.

“This is fucking crazy.”

“I know.” Jason shook his head. “I’m sorry I threw all this at you. I just”—he sighed—“I didn’t know what to do. I still don’t. I hope you don’t hate me for telling you this way.”

“Well, I don’t think Hallmark makes a card for it, do they?” I asked, letting out a small laugh.

I wasn’t mad at Jason. I was mad at my grandparents. How the hell could they keep my having a brother from me? Hey, just so you know, your mom gave a baby boy up for adoption before you were born. Thought we’d throw it out there, in case he looks you up someday since, you know, some adopted kids search for their biological families.

“You’re taking this better than I thought you would.” Jason cocked his head and leaned back, as if I was going to make like a lion and bite his head off.

“Well, I’m shocked. And confused. And angry. But not at you. I don’t understand my family.” I shook my head. “Whatever. I guess they figured me having a brother I could find out about someday wasn’t my business.”

“Should I, um—” Jason hesitated. “Should I stop eating here?”

“What? No.” I put my hand on his, halting the annoying silverware gymnastics he had going. “I have to figure things out, but I don’t hate you or anything.”

“Thanks.” He let out a deep breath, sitting back in his chair.

“Plus, you make me look like a better server than I am. Did you see how impressed Johnny was that I knew exactly what you drink?” I joked. I didn’t want to take out any anger on him. He was just the messenger. And my brother, evidently.

“She thinks you have a crush on me.”

“Ewwww. A big huge ewwww to that. You’re my brother.” I grinned. “I don’t know where we go from here. I mean, you have a family that you obviously love. Do you even want a relationship with me?”

“I do. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have told you.”

“Are your parents okay with it?” I’d probably be pissed if a kid I’d adopted and raised since birth wanted to find his biological family, wondering why I wasn’t good enough.

“Yeah. I think Mom was upset at first, but she understands. She knew it might happen. It’s one of the things you have to accept when you adopt a kid. Plus, I told her you and Aleksandr were dating. He’s her favorite player.”

“He is? Even when her son plays for the Pilots?” I asked.

He chuckled. “Other than Landon. Her own kid doesn’t count.”

I laughed.

“Was Landon adopted?” I asked. It wasn’t my business, but I was curious.

“No. He’s a real Taylor. Weird scenario. Mom didn’t think she could have kids, so they adopted me, and then she got pregnant with Landon. We have two younger brothers who are adopted, but I’ve seen more than twenty-five foster kids go in and out of our house. My parents are amazing people.”

“Sounds like it,” I said a bit too wistfully. I should feel bad for Jason because he was given up by our mom and raised outside of our family. Instead, shameful jealousy warmed my cheeks. He’d been adopted by wonderful, open, loving people, while I was stuck with a repressed family who rarely broached the subject of the dead. Or the living, for that matter.

Just having those thoughts solidified what a horrible person I was. When would I grow up and let go?

Jason scanned the restaurant, his eyes darting from Angus, a local farmer with a weathered face hidden by his fuzzy white beard, to Johnny, who was refilling Angus’s brown porcelain coffee mug.

“Sorry to drop all of this on you, Auden.” Jason shoved his seat back. “I better, um—I’ve got paperwork to do before my shift ends anyway.”

“This was all on the taxpayers’ dime?” I asked, glad for a subject change.

“I have my radio on. I heard the calls coming in.”

“I’m teasing,” I explained. “You’re gonna have to get used to my humor, bro.”

“Look forward to it.” He stood up, getting a few bills out of his pocket.

“Oh, come on,” I said, getting to my feet as well. “I think I can handle buying you a Coke.”

“It’s free, right?”

“Yep.” I laughed. “See, you get me already.”

“See you around, Auden.” He started walking to the door.

“Hey, Jay!” I called. He spun to face me.

Jason took a step toward me. “Yeah, well, you’re a rock star, dating a pro-hockey player, and you put together an after-school program for at-risk youth. I think I got lucky in the sister department, too.”

“Rock star. Ha!” I laughed. The rest made me sound pretty damn awesome. And it was all true.

“Landon is impressed with the program. He and a few guys on the team go every week.” He put his hand on the door. “If you start one here, let me know. I’d love to help.”

“Cool.” I nodded. A program was already in the works for Bridgeland; I was waiting on approvals from my academic advisor and grant money I needed to rent a space.

I lifted my hand in an awkward semi-wave before Jason disappeared. My brother. The queasy feeling building in my stomach for the last ten minutes was threatening its way to my throat. I grabbed the Cola on the table and took a gulp, before catching myself and slamming the glass back onto the table. Brown liquid and bubbles sloshed out the sides. I didn’t know anything about this guy, he could have herpes or something.