Page 122 of Offside Angel

“We knew this was coming, I guess.” There are dark circles under her eyes, and I wish I could whisk her away from all of this.

Maybe a honeymoon wasn’t such a bad idea, after all. At least we’d be out of the city.

“As soon as Carson made that threat, I should’ve told Hollis to release the announcement,” I admit. “I naively hoped Carson would keep his fucking mouth shut. Or that he would finally piss someone off enough to get himself killed.”

She turns and reaches for my face. Her hand is cold when she cups my cheek. “Hope isn’t naive, Zane. It’s all we have.”

That’s not quite true. When I’m holding her, I have everything.

Those words are on the tip of my tongue when the doorbell rings.

Mira stiffens, but I press a kiss to the center of her palm. “It’s probably Evan.”

“Evan is here?”

“He was worried about you. It’s just a precaution.”

I can see through the glass around the door that it’s Evan on the porch, but his face is obscured by a massive bouquet of red and white flowers.

“What in the hell are these?” I open the door wide and usher him inside.

Mira gasps. “Pretty.”

“Heavy,” Evan corrects. He places the vase awkwardly on the entryway table.

“Are they for the wedding?” Mira asks. “Who are they from?”

Evan wipes his damp hands on his jeans. “I didn’t ask. A delivery driver dropped them at the end of the driveway. I don’t know if there’s an envelope or not.”

“It’s probably from a news outlet,” I grumble. “They’re always pulling shit like this, trying to sweeten me up for an interview.”

“Next time, ask for donuts. Preferably cream-fi—” Mira’s voice drops off at the same time a small card falls to the floor.

Her face is pale, her mouth open in a wordless cry for help.

“Mira?”

She doesn’t answer. She’s shaking, tears gathering on her eyelashes.

I snatch the card off the floor and read the scratchy handwriting inside.

Congrats on the wedding, little sister. Sorry I missed it. I’ll be there for the next big thing, I promise. —Dante

46

MIRA

I run my finger along the bottom edge of the passenger window. I wonder how much force it would take to shatter it.

More strength than I have, I think. Especially with how many weeks it’s been since I’ve so much as looked at my kickboxing gloves, let alone put them on.

“Nice day out,” Evan says next to me, scrambling for anything to talk about other than the obvious. “Sunny.”

“Is this glass bulletproof?” I ask.

He sighs. “So much for my attempt at distraction.”

I arch a brow. “Talking about the weather was your go-to distraction technique?”

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