Page 26 of Burn Bright

I get tripped up on how he saysweas if I’m part of the team already. My old coach went out of his way to exclude me when I was actuallyonthe team. I was the shining celebrity star he was trying to ground every day.

I couldn’t even blame him. Cobalts are born in the sky. Feeling for the earth has always been a struggle, but it’s where I’ve loved to be, rolling around in the dirt and mud. Literally.My mom used to hose me off after a long day playing outside before she’d let me in the house.

I smile to myself at the memory as the elevator descends, and I listen to Coach Haddock make a final plea. “You’ll love the facilities. They redid the rink a couple years ago. If you haven’t seen it yet, I’ll give you a tour anytime. Or I can get some of the guys to show you around. Get you introduced to the team.”

The elevator suddenly jerks to a stop at the eighteenth floor. Not even close to the lobby yet. I keep the phone rooted to my ear while the doors slide open to reveal a long-limbed guy who slouches on the opposing wall, waiting forthiselevator.

Red bulky headphones cover his ears, and a black hood is drawn over his head, shadowing striking features that could cause double-takes and four-car pileups. Elevator doors are now fully open. It lets out ading.He straightens off the wall, then stops when he sees me.

He has sharp cheekbones and amber eyes like melted caramel, but they’re far from sweet when he looks at me.

“Hey, I need to call you back,” I tell Haddock fast, and I only hang up when Coach says, “I’ll be here.” Then I grab the side of the elevator as the doors try to shut.

I wait for him to come inside.

He settles back against the wall. “I’ll take the next one.”

I’m about to ask if he’s sure, but he’s already staring at everything but me. The line of his jaw could cut glass as he clenches down. I let go and the elevator doors shut on him. My muscles cramp.

Yeah.

I take it personally.

Because that’s my cousin.

Xander Hale.

Harriet is waiting for me on a congested corner, dodging the shoulders and elbows of power-walking New Yorkers. When she finally spots me, her chest collapses in a relieved exhale. It brightens something inside me, knowing my presence bringsrelief.

A smile crawls across my face. “Harriet Fisher,” I say as I reach her short height.

“Cobalt boy.” She adjusts her backpack strap. I’m only carrying a water bottle. The blue aluminum is decaled with different environmental and wildlife stickers.

“I don’t even get aBen?” I tease.

“Maybe later.” She looks me up and down. I’m just wearing a white ’70s-style ringer tee with the wordsGive a Hoot, Don’t Pollute!and an owl. She’s stuck on my biceps, the fabric tight around my carved muscles. “Nice suit and tie.”

“Same to you.” She has on low-rise, acid-wash jeans and a mesh camo top that barely covers her ribcage. Not changing her punk-rock style for this interview. I respect thecome as you areapproach. “I like the belly button ring.”

She prickles, shoulders raised as if preparing to combat the punchline.

I give her a softer look, then block her from being sideswiped by a leather bag as a man rushes past us. “I was serious,” I tell her. “I like it.” I point to the bejeweled piercing hooked through her tiny belly button.

Her shoulders lower. “Thanks.” She jerks her head toward the sidewalk ahead of us. “Let’s go bomb this interview.”

I tsk. “No faith, Fisher.”

“Well, my odds have now increased with you here. I have faith in that,” she says while we walk side by side, not too far from my brothers’ apartment in Hell’s Kitchen. “But I might be the one bringing us down.”

Yeah, I can’t see how that’d be true. Unless she breaks a martini glass trying to make a cosmo. But the bar manager might not even test our mixology skills.

We aren’t applying to work at a high-end restaurant with collar-and-tie uniforms, fifty-dollar cocktails, and linen tablecloths. The End of the World is a dive bar, as far as we’ve been told by her friend. It has no social media, no website, and a lone 5-star on Yelp. No pictures.

“It might not even exist,” Harriet tells me.

“It might be a crack den.”

She gives me a hard side-glance. “I love how you said that with so muchapprehension.”