James does that while I crumble the bacon into the hash. Sebastian takes four plates down for me, and I put a big spoonful of the hash on each plate. When the eggs are perfect, I slide one atop each scoop of hash, finishing with salt and pepper and a dash of paprika. I don’t photograph food that often, but now I’m wishing I had my camera. It’s at the apartment, though, left there by accident when I had to rush back to campus for a last-minute study group. I’ll grab it when I get to the diner for the lunch shift.
“Holy crap,” Cooper says as he picks up two of the plates and brings them to the table. “Bex, you’ve been hiding some serious skills.”
I shrug, biting back the smile that threatens to engulf my face. “Wait until you taste it.”
James sits at the table next to me, leaning in so our arms brush. “I’m sorry I had to go this morning. Although less sorry now.”
“Did all three of you go to the gym?”
“Yeah,” he says as he breaks the yolk of his egg. “Probably sounds silly to you, but it’s a fun thing for us to do together. Hey, Coop, show her the bruise you got at that game.”
Cooper lifts his t-shirt, showing off a deep blue and purple mess on his ribcage. I gasp. “What happened?”
“Chirped at the wrong guy.”
I tilt my head to the side. “Like, smack talk?”
He grins as he takes a bite of hash. “Exactly. I’m sure he’s got a matching shiner; we went pretty rough against the boards.”
Sebastian rolls his eyes. “And then you went into the penalty box for slashing.”
Cooper shrugs at Sebastian’s chiding tone. “So did he.”
“And it’s going to catch up with you, racking up all those penalties.”
“Who are you, Dad?”
“He does have a point,” James says. “You don’t want to give your agent a reason to be pissed at you.”
My eyes widen. “You already have an agent?”
“It’s not official,” says Cooper. “She’s a friend of our father’s, I’ll actually sign with her after graduation.”
“Coop’s still salty that Dad didn’t let him go into the draft,” James teases.
“How?” I ask. “You haven’t been drafted yet.”
“Hockey is different. A lot of guys get drafted way before they end up signing with a team, but our parents would’ve killed him if he left college early.”
“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Cooper grumbles.
“But the NFL does things differently?”
“Yeah. Most guys don’t enter the draft until they’re seniors. I’ll get drafted in the spring and go straight into the NFL after graduation.”
I lean back in my chair, coffee mug in hand. “And then baseball?”
“Different again,” Sebastian says. “Even if you’re drafted out of high school, guys play in the minors for a while anyway.”
My phone buzzes in my back pocket. I almost don’t pick it up, but it’s my mom.
The first thing I hear is sirens.
My heart forces its way into my throat. I stand up, my chair scraping against the floor. James glances over at me.
I think he says my name, but I can’t hear him, not over the sirens, my heartbeat, and worst of all, my mother’s frantic sobs.
“Mom,” I say. “Slow down, I can’t understand you.”
“It happened so fast!” she says. “Bex, I don’t know what to do!”
I hurry around the table, making a beeline for the stairs. I burst into James’ room, grab my bag, and shove all my crap into it. I can barely understand her, but the word fire comes through.
As I turn, I run smack into James. He steadies me, looking down at me with concern in his expression. “Bex, what’s going on?”
“Who’s that?” I hear my mother say from the phone.
“No one,” I say. “I’m on my way right now.” I don’t have time for this. And I don’t have time for the hurt way James is looking at me. I brush past him, rummaging in my bag for my car keys.
“Bex!” I hear him call from the landing. He thunders down the stairs, reaching the front door half a beat behind me. I unlock my car with shaking fingers and slide into the driver’s seat.
James appears at the window and knocks on it. “Bex, stop. Tell me what’s going on.”
“I have to go.”
“Like hell you are.” He opens the car door, covering his hand with mine to prevent me from shoving the key into the ignition. “You’re panicking, you’ll get into an accident. Let me drive.”
“No. Just leave me—”
“Goddamnit, Bex, no! You’ll get hurt.”
I roughly wipe away the tears streaming down my face. From somewhere in the haze of panic, I recognize he’s right. I don’t want him to go to my hometown with me; I don’t want him to see the diner like this—if there’s a diner to see—and most of all, I don’t want him to see my mother. But I need to get there as quickly as possible, and he’s my best option.
“Fine,” I mumble.
He relaxes visibly. “Good. Get in the car, baby. Let me just grab the keys.”
Cooper and Sebastian approach, Cooper holding out a set of keys. He tosses them to James, who catches them with ease. “Got them. Let’s go.”
In this moment, I’m too strung out to argue, so I just climb into the passenger seat as James starts the car. His brothers get into the backseat. I type the diner’s address into the map app on my phone, and in the silent car, the slightly robotic voice of the directions starts to talk.
With each mile, the pit in my stomach tightens.
24
JAMES
After a tense drive, I finally slow the car. We’re in a downtown area; to our left is a post office, and to the right, a coffee shop. I’ve never been to this town before, but it reminds me of Moorbridge, minus McKee’s influence.
As I pull into an open spot, Bex gasps. The sound frays my already-tense nerves, and I hit the brake a little too hard. There’s a thud in the backseat, and Cooper mutters, “Ouch, asshole.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the red and blue flash of sirens.
Bex flings the door open before I can put the car in park. After we got on the road, I managed to wrangle exactly one piece of information from her: there was a fire at the diner. She’s lost in her own world of panic, refusing to let me in. I tried holding her hand on the drive, and she looked at me like I just dropped my pants in public. I tried to push her for more details, and she snapped at me. At this point, I’m just glad she let me drive her here.
But I’m not leaving her alone. Not now. She needs someone to support her, whether she likes it or not.
I run after her, vaguely aware of my brothers following close behind. She’s in the middle of the street. Jesus, she’s lucky she hasn’t gotten run over. I hustle her to the sidewalk, and she must be stunned, looking at the fire trucks, because she doesn’t protest. The air is hazy with smoke, but it doesn’t seem like anything is still on fire.
When we get to the end of the street—safely, on the sidewalk—Bex approaches a group of firefighters who are rolling up a hose. One of them lights up when he spots her; he’s about our age, maybe a couple years older, with a buzz-cut and sweat dripping down his face. “Bex, hey. Your mom said you were on your way.”