Page 36 of Enemies in Paradise

“You’re really making jokes about me nearly dying?” I sneeze, then scratch one forearm at a time, then all down my legs. “I itch everywhere, and I can’t quit sneezing. Because of Cassie.”

“If I told her you’re allergic, it would have been when I told her she shouldn’t get a cat,” Georgia says, her smile gone. “I honestly don’t remember what I said. But, Bear, Cassie wouldn’t fill the entire shop with cats to kill you. She might fill it with cats to kill the mice that are there because of you.”

Georgia is known for her big smile and her red lipstick, but her mouth now is one long, crimson line.

I shift in my chair, wanting to scratch, but the itch I’m feeling is under my skin.

“Did you call the exterminator?” Zach asks.

I chew my bottom lip before answering. “I’ll do it tomorrow.”

“No need. I already did,” Georgia says flatly. “He’ll be there Monday.”

“Did you see any mice while you were at the shop?” Zach asks, adding his own dig. “Or have the cats solved the problemyoucreated?”

I get it. I do. I shouldn’t have encouraged every mouse within a hundred-mile range to move into the shopandthe studio. I played dirty.

But I didn’t try to hurt anyone. I’m not the one who’s in the most wrong here, so I appeal to Zach and Georgia’s sympathies.

“I was too focused on trying to breathe to notice any mice, except the one a cat was eating in the Mustang.” When no sympathy comes my way, I go bigger. “Who’s going to clean that up? I can’t get near the shop until it’s cat free. I won’t be able to work on the Mustang either.”

Zach fakes a surprised look. “You have plans for it besides letting it sit in the shop for another three years?”

“I’ve been busy taking care of Mom for the last three years!”

The entire room falls into silence, resembling the aftermath of an explosion when witnesses are figuring out what’s happened. Georgia is the first to move. She pushes herself off Zach’s lap, comes around the desk to wrap her arm around me. Because she always knows when I need a hug.

“Look,” Zach says in the same soothing voice Dad uses when he wants to bring down the temperature between me and my brothers. “How about I get a pickup game together? We’ve been talking about since Christmas. I know it’s not much, but at least we’d get one more game on the ice. If by next year the pond’s gone, at least we’ll have created one last memory on it.”

“Fine,” I mumble, not ready to admit it’s a good idea.

“I’m sorry this is hard, Bear.” Georgia’s words are gentle, and I let myself relax into her hug.

Which is a mistake, because she has more to say, and she’s gripping me tight enough that I can’t get away without being rude and childish.

“But I know you can figure out a different rink for the girls.” She loosens her grip and sits on the arm of my chair.

“I don’t want a new rink. I want the same rink I learned to play on. There’s nothing wrong with that rink.” I scoot away from Georgia, but since I fill most of the chair, I only put a couple of centimeters between us.

“Dude! What are you talking about?” Zach throws up his arms. “We hated playing on that pond. The ice is bumpy and uneven.How many times did we have a blade catch and get thrown face first on the ice when we were about to score?”

“Yeah, and who cares? It made us tough.” I keep my eyes on my hands clasped between my knees.

“But we knew how to be safebeforewe got on the ice,” Zach says. “We knew how cold it had to be outside for the pond to be frozen, how to check the thickness of the ice, what to do if it cracked. People moving here don’t know any of those things. How are you going to make sure everyone who steps on that pond will be safe, Bear?”

“I have suggestions for all that in my proposal!” Not detailed suggestions, but I’ve got time to outline them through more carefully. I’m not unaware of the risks. I just believe the benefits are greater.

But Zach’s never been into pond hockey the way I am. He can’t hack it, so of course, he thinks the pond is crap.

“Bear, if you’d wanted the pond bad enough,” he says in a more measured tone that starts lecture warning bells ringing in my head. “You would have been pounding down the doors of every city council member in town trying to convince them to approve your proposal. I’ve seen you fight for what you really want. You’re being stubborn—and acting entitled, to be honest—because you’re losing. Suddenly you’re willing to fight for the pond when you should be fighting for the team and what’s best for them. If you want those girls to have a rink, find a way to get them the best one possible.”

I’m bigger than Zach, but he’s older, so he thinks it’s his job to give me a “good talking-to” every once in a while. I wish he’d wrestle with me instead, like Seb does when we have a disagreement. A good headlock is less painful than being called stubborn and entitled.

I meet his gaze, but I have no idea what to say to him. His buzzing phone doesn’t give me time to think of anything. He looks away from me to pick it up.

Conversation over.

I push myself up from my chair. There’s no point in staying, so I walk out of his office and down the hall toward the main exit.

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