Page 56 of The Perfect Snipe

“Score!” Leo shouts, his voice triumphant as he finally manages to get one past me.

She waves, each finger curling individually, her mouth still full of cake. “Can’t let Dad get beat too badly.”

I shake my head. That was no ruse because Stella has a cake addiction. I even found an empty plate under her bed last week. She can’t be trusted.

What am I going to do with her for Nora’s wedding?

The game finally comes to an end and I win by one point. Nora cozies up to me as we head over to grab some drinks, her arm looping through mine. “You two seem cozy.”

“We haven’t talked yet. Outside of him telling me your fiancé punched him in the face.”

She shrugs. “You know you’re like a sister to him. Get used to it.”

Warmth fills my chest. When they got engaged, I was worried I’d be losing my best friend again. But instead, I’ve apparently gained an immature, annoying brother. And I couldn’t be happier, even if I want to wring his neck every so often.

As the day winds down and people start leaving, I sit and look out over the room. Nora’s and Wyatt’s race was a hit no one could’ve expected, and I think my best friend may be sleeping on the couch tonight. What’s even funnier, it turns out Leo’s not the only Minotaur everyone bet against, most people picked Nora as the favorite to win.

Roan and Mykyta help my grandmother over to the main room before they take off, and the sight of her so happy brings tears to my eyes.

“You okay?” Leo's voice is soft as he comes to stand beside me.

I nod, wiping my eyes. “Yeah, just overwhelmed, I guess. In a good way.”

Chapter 23

Leo

While I hoped to talk to Rosa at Supercharged, I never got the opportunity. And I didn’t want to ruin the day for the elder Alonso. She seemed so happy, smiling and laughing and regaling stories to my teammates.

It would’ve put a damper on the mood if I brought up the whole assisted living issue then. Which is why I’m here today. At her place. In her living room.

I rub the back of my neck, feeling the tension coiled there like a spring ready to snap. Rosa’s living room is cozy, filled with the scent of lavender and the soft hum of a clock ticking somewhere in the background.

I rub the back of my neck as Rosa looks at me expectantly. She’s seated in her favorite armchair, a floral-patterned relic from another era, with her fingers wrapped around the teacup like it’s an extension of herself. Perfectly comfortable.

Unlike me.

“So, to what do I owe this pleasure? Surely you didn't come all this way just for my tea and company.”

I shift on the floral couch, the fabric rough against my palms. My hands are sweaty, for fuck’s sake. Ridiculous. I’ve faced down enforcers twice my size without flinching, but here I am, in this quaint living room, feeling like a rookie about to take his first shift on the ice. I take a deep breath. No point in beating around the bush. “We need to talk about your living situation.”

The playful glint in her eyes vanishes, replaced by a steely resolve that makes my stomach tighten. “And what about it needs discussing?”

“The medication incident. The issues with health aides. It's not safe for you to live alone yet everything Cat tries you fight against.” I reach into my jacket pocket, pulling out a few brochures, then spread them on the coffee table, the glossy paper a stark contrast to the worn wood. “I've looked into some assisted living facilities besides the ones the hospital recommended. They're not what you think. You'd have independence but help when you need it.”

Rosa’s gaze flicks down to the brochures, her lips pressing into a thin line. “The answer is no, so save your breath. I’m not leaving my home just because I took the wrong amount of my medicine.”

“The incident could have been really serious, Rosa.”

“But it wasn’t.”

I drum my fingers against my thigh as I try to find the right words. Then I lean forward, my elbows digging into my knees. “Look, I’m not here trying to force you to make a decision. But Cat is worried about you. I’m worried about you. Your granddaughter is trying to find a balance between what you want and what you need—what medical professionals are even saying you need—without causing a rift in our relationship with you.”

“Sounds like you speak from experience.”

I run a hand through my hair, tugging slightly at the roots. Shit. I don't do this. Don't open up. But if it'll help . . . “I have a brother. Winston. Haven't seen him in years.”

Her expression softens, the hard line of her mouth easing just a fraction. “What happened?”

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