Page 36 of His Big Bad Stick

That’s just some stupid fantasy crush thing flirting with me.

A million memories ago, that’s all.

“Colver, what do you want in return?” I ask.

“Let me know if you have anything to bring with you,” he says.

“Bring with me… where?”

“I’m taking you someplace safe for tonight, Abrielle.”

Those words sound like heaven to me.

My toes curl tight.

I feel a sense of relief.

I quickly remind myself of who I am in the company with.

It’s Colver.

Colver Caspian.

My life is so fucked up that Colver is my savior…?

Getting stitches in my arm is going to be least painful thing I’m going to experience at this time in my life.

10

Colver

I can’t really say that I have a functional plan right now.

What was it, a couple hours ago I’m playing a hockey game. A pro hockey game. In front of a sold out arena. I’m picking fights, throwing punches, scoring goals. I’m dealing with dozens of sports reporters and podcasters and social media experts looking for a quick soundbite.

Now?

I’m in my truck putting distance between myself and the city.

In the rear-view mirror I can faintly see the last few peaks of the skyscrapers. Those faint, red blinking lights at the top of the buildings. If you time it out perfectly it’s as though the lights are saying goodbye. Or good night.

Or… good luck.

Abrielle sits in the passenger seat. She’s got a bag on her lap. She’s clutching it as though it’s full of money.

Maybe it is.

What the hell do I know about her and her situation…?

I drive a little bit more, letting my thoughts run wild as they need to.

One person. One name. One look at her.

So many memories.

Funny enough, it’s not a lot of memories though.

It’s not like Abrielle and I were forced to be in the same house for years or anything like that. In a rare time when we talked, agreed, laughed, and got along, we’d call each other sort-of-stepbrother and sort-of-stepsister.

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