Page 74 of Punchline
“Okay. We’ll wait for them there.”
“Any idea how long it’ll take?” I wanted to be patient, but I was eager to see my boyfriend and make sure he was okay.
“Carson texted a couple of minutes ago and said he’sstill waiting.” Marek scowled, glaring out the windshield as he headed for the parking garage exit. “I don’t know what the holdup is, but he said he didn’t want to rattle any cages because it might slow things down.”
I grunted in agreement. I could imagine that demanding they move things along at the police station would have the opposite effect. At least if Marek had pissed off the nurses, that would’ve just meant more time on a hard but reasonably comfortable gurney. Carson was wisely toeing the line so Jake didn’t spend a minute longer than necessary in a jail cell.
And was he in, like, a holding cell? With other people? God, that must’ve been awful. It would’ve been awful in any jail, but my mind went wild with all the stories I’d heard about things people did in this city. There was a lot of violent crime here. My first thought was that they wouldn’t stick him in with the violent criminals, would they?
But then I remembered why he was there in the first place. Fuck. In their minds, he probablywasone of the violent criminals, so who knew who’d be sharing a cell with him? Whether it was a crowded holding cell or a two-man cell? Jesus, even a couple of hours in a place like that sounded like absolute hell, and despite being a huge fighter, Jake was a total teddy bear, so he’d be?—
“Berns.” Marek’s voice jarred me out of my mini freakout. “Whatever you’re thinking—breathe.”
I fidgeted in the passenger seat, absently picking at the edge of my cast. “What makes you think I’m thinking about anything?”
“Because you get twitchy when you start overthinking.”
I huffed, and I stilled, because… yeah, I’d been twitchy. “My boyfriend’s been in jail for the past few hours. Am I really overthinking what he’s probably going through?”
Marek pursed his lips. Then he glanced at me. “It’s not as bad as they make it out to be on TV. It’s not fun, but it’s not that bad.”
“Speaking from experience?”
He laughed and shook his head. “No. But I played with a guy who got himself into trouble a few times.”
“Yeah?”
He nodded, and he spent the rest of the drive regaling me with stories about the now-retired player. The man had apparently spent a few weekends in jail for bar fights and—during a particularly eventful road trip—a brawl outside a Waffle House. The guy had come back with tales about some interesting people he’d met in holding cells and drunk tanks, and how the team would’ve dropped his ass if he hadn’t been such a solid goalie.
“He wasn’t quite good enough for the NAPH,” Marek finished as he parked outside Jake’s apartment, “but he was damn good for the PHL.”
I laughed. “Did he ever get into a goalie fight?”
“Once. At practice.” Marek put the car in Park. “With his own backup goalie.”
“Okay, I want to hearthatstory.”
He chuckled, and we both got out of the car. Admittedly, I lost interest in the goalie fight story when I realized I didn’t see Carson’s carorJake’s. Jake’s was probably still at the venue—I’d Ubered to the ER because I’d been in too much pain to drive—and Carson’s…
His was still at the police station. Or somewhere between there and here.
Marek’s hand on my shoulder steered me toward the apartment. “They’ll be here soon. Let’s go inside and I’ll tell you about our goalies fighting at practice.”
We did, and he did, but the story didn’t reallyregister. I was too worried about Jake. Too afraid they’d decided to charge him after all. Too afraid that, I don’t know, he wouldn’t want to see me or something, to the point he wouldn’t come back to his own apartment. Or maybe he’d?—
“That’s them.” Marek got up from Jake’s couch, where we’d been sitting for the past hour and a half.
I was instantly on my feet. “They’re here?”
“I know the sound of Carson’s car.”
For some reason, that registered as kind of cute. And then I remembered that I also recognized Jake’s car whenever he came home. The days I’d been recovering here right after I’d broken my hand, the familiar sound of his engine had always brightened my mood.
Did mine have the same effect on him?
No time to think about that now—Marek opened the door, and footsteps outside sent my heart into my throat.
“—possibly be any less inefficient in that place,” Carson was grumbling. “Fucking hell.”
