“A scuffle at most.”
“So you had a scuffle—at most—with Sparkles, then some idiot posted the clip on some app and now Gen Z’s is all over it, so what? Everyone wants to be liked by zoomers. It’s where the money is. You’re probably their favorite millennial.”
“I’m technically on the boundary. So in any case, I’m a zillennial, not a millennial.” I checked my phone again, wondering why the road was meandering and the greenery thickening on both sides. I hadn’t expected to climb so high, either. “Regardless, the video had close to eight million views earlier today. And when I checked with my assistant, she told me that paps were at the Flames’ facilities today. Paps. Like I’m some… I don’t know, some celebrity whose sex tape leaked in the mid-2000s.”
“And look at how that turned out for Kim Kardashian. Now she has a fortune, a brand, a questionable trail of exes, and soon a law degree.”
“Matthew,” I warned with an exhale. “I’m not going to discuss why you think the Kardashians are the best thing to happen to the twenty-first century—again. Not only have I no interest in becoming one of them, but you only are obsessed because they have…” I trailed off. “You know, big booties.”
“I also value their entrepreneurial abilities,” he countered with a theatrical gasp. “And being an ass man is not a crime. Anyway, listen. The paps were probably just trying to catch Williams or Perez walking into practice. I’m pretty sure your assistant was blowing it out of proportion because David told her to. He’s been your father’s minion ever since he was hired for a job you’d be a million times better at. But that’s Andrew for you. A little b—”
“You’ve been in Chicago for too long,” I interjected. And ironically, it turned out David had never been my father’s minion. Instead—I stopped myself. “I can’t remember the last time a Flames player got that kind of attention.” I heard the squeak of leather and glanced down. My fingers were white, gripping the steering wheel a little too tight. I released a breath. “My father is doing me a favor by giving me a chance to fix this. A way to redeem myself.”
We were in silence for a long moment, and when Matthew spoke, his voice was serious. Careful. I didn’t like it. “I know you have no problem standing your ground, but… this whole thing with Sparkles is not you.” My stomach dropped. “Did something happen? Something that pushed you to… this?”
This. That overwhelming pressure that had been on and off ever since those horrible moments before I launched myself at Sparkles returned to my chest. But once again, I didn’t feel ready to talk about what had preceded my outburst. All kinds of emotions clogged my vocal cords.
Seconds ticked by slowly until I cleared my throat. “If I had known you were going to start checking on my feelings, I would have dedicated this time to something else. Like a podcast. You know how much I love to drive to a deep voice recounting a complex and gruesome murder.”
“I’m being serious,” he said softly. Too softly. So much that it made that weight in my chest shift.
“Honestly, Matthew,” I told him, my tone coming out a little harsh out of pure survival. “I expected you to have shirts with #sparklesgate or #LadyBirdinator printed and in the mail by now. This touchy-feely display is disappointing.”
It wasn’t, but I couldn’t sift through everything currently rioting inside me.
The sound of him letting out a long and deep exhale came through the speaker. “Fuck, Addy.” He laughed, and this time I let that Addy slip. “Now, you’ve ruined my surprise.”
I felt myself relax. Only slightly.
Because just in time, I noticed the road ahead starting to twist, jutting in and out of a copse of trees. Where the heck was I?
“Can we get back to the reason why I called you?” I asked. “I should be close enough to my destination now, and I’d like to know what’s waiting for me when I get there.”
“All right,” he agreed, the sound of the keys on his laptop coming through the line again. “So we’re looking for the Green Warriors.”
“Correct. In North Carolina.”
A few seconds went by, then he said, “Nothing. Not a single thing. Are you sure that’s the right name?”
Old Adalyn would say that I was. But I wasn’t. The last twenty-four hours had been proof of how much I no longer was old Adalyn. “Try Green Oak. Try…” This was supposed to be a philanthropic venture, so perhaps I shouldn’t expect the team to be making headlines. “Try recreational.”
My last word seemed to hang in the reduced space inside the car, quiet except for the sound of the tires against the uneven pavement underneath.
When had I entered a dirt road? And why was Matthew not speaking? Was I out of reception?
I eyed the screen of my phone. The bars were there. “Matthew?”
A groan.
Oh no. “What did you find?”
“You’re not going to be happy about this.”
“Can you be more specific?”
“Have you packed sensible footwear?”
“Sensible? You mean house slippers?” I frowned. “I will be here for weeks, so yes.”
“Not slippers. More like boots.”
“Boots?” I repeated.
“The outdoorsy kind. You know, comfortable and sturdy and not attached to a five-inch heel.”
“I know what boots are.” I rolled my eyes, even though I hadn’t been thinking of that kind. “I’m going to work, though. I’m not here for a day trip to…” I eyed the maps app again. “A very large ridge of mountains.” Where in the world was this town? God. I should have really done my research before jumping on that plane. “I plan to dedicate as much time to the Green Warriors as I did to my job for the Flames. Plus, on the off chance that I have some free time, which I won’t, you know that I don’t engage in activities that include the use of Gore-Tex and the risk of falling off a cliff.”
“Oh, but you will.”
I frowned, taking a right on yet another dirt road. “What does that mean?”
The click of keys. Another groan.
My ears popped. God, how high was I? “Matthew, I’m about three seconds away from hanging up on you.”
“All right. What do you want first? The bad news? Or the worse news?”
“There’s no good news?” I asked, squinting my eyes and spotting the intersection I was headed for. I took the turn, the road changing to a mountain trail of sorts. Pebbles started jumping under the tires, hitting the bottom of the rental. I held on to the steering wheel. Tight. This couldn’t be right. I was pretty sure I shouldn’t be driving on a road like this one. The whole car was shaking—vibrating—with the bumps on the road that wasn’t really a road. “I think I’ve made a mistake.”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Matthew said. And if I had really been listening, I would have heard the urgency in his voice. But I was too busy wondering why this wasn’t a town. I was entering a property tucked into the thick of the woods. The woods.
Matthew continued talking, his words getting lost in my head as I rounded a cabin. A cabin. An honest-to-God cabin with wooden beams and windows looking out at the mass of trees I’d left behind.