Page 2 of Two days, One Pucking Night

“I love her, but she sometimes gets on my nerves.”

I say nothing in response. I’ve learned over the years to keep my opinion of his relationship to myself unless he explicitly asks for it.

“I sent you the location before the call—”

“I know. I’m almost there now.”

“I thought you were still at the apartment.”

“I left after your message. The loud engine should have been a giveaway.”

Then again, when he’s consumed by Bree and everything that comes with her, his senses aren’t always sharp.

“So you were going to help this whole time?” Zayn chuckles under his breath.

Was I going to help? Of course, but I love keeping him on his feet. “I like making you sweat a bit.”

“Remind me to get back at you for this.”

“Save the big talk for when I kick your ass in training.”

“Big words for someone who threw up when Coach asked for a hundred push-ups not too long ago.”

I groan, recalling how I got shitfaced the evening before after a difficult talk with my parents. “That was an off day. You know damn well I was recovering from a hangover.”

“Whatever you say.”

“This isn’t about me, by the way.” I turn into Westminster Bridge, catching a glimpse of the London Eye to my left. The Ferris wheel is alight, illuminated by a rainbow of colors. “This is about your dramatic-ass family.”

“Don't start. My sister is usually the most …” his words trail off. “Sofia is a good kid. So, this is way out of character for her.” I don’t know much about Zayn’s younger sister. My interactions with her have been limited. I’ve seen her three times over the last decade, and each time she attended a game or team function, she looked like she was sucking a lemon.

It's been three years since I last saw her, and my memory is rather foggy. “What happened?” I ask since his initial text was somewhat cryptic.

“From what I was able to get from my dad, she and my mom got into a heated argument yesterday.”

“Isn’t she sixteen?” A notification pops up on my phone from Zayn, a picture of a wide-eyed, curly-haired girl with buck teeth in braces.

“Nineteen, I think.”

“You think?”

“I know, I should be awarded the worst brother of the year award.”

I don’t bother chastising him, especially when my own family dynamic is lackluster.

“So she left San Francisco for London, and no one knew?” I’m failing to see what the issue is here.

“She’s a little sheltered and has never traveled alone,” he replies. “And I may have also snuck her a credit card with an unlimited balance the last time I saw her.”

This is the most about his family dynamic Zayn has ever divulged voluntarily. He’s usually reserved and quiet when it comes to them. But I’ve gathered over the years the relationship between him and his sister was strained at one point, and they’ve been working on building it. So I’m sure this comes as a bit of a blow to his ego.

“Seriously?”

“My mom put two and two together and has been blowing up my phone nonstop since.”

“Zayn—”

I’ve had enough encounters with Mrs. Brookes; to say the least. She’s intense.

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