Page 27

LUKAS

L ater that night, Lukas sat alone in his living room—neck arched over the back of his sofa, ice pack on his shoulder—staring up at the ceiling. What had he been thinking? Pull-ups? His shoulder was never going to heal the way he kept punishing it.

The throbbing pain should have been enough to push everything else from his head, but two other thoughts were unshakable. The first, and most pleasant: the taste of Elli’s lips.

The second: Rogue. What had Rogue, Tuttle, and Petey been arguing about in that hallway?

If it had really been about some woman, there would’ve been no need for secrecy. Those kinds of conversations were prime fodder for the locker room. So, what was it? Some kind of beef between them?

None of them had looked particularly happy—not in that hallway, and not for the rest of practice either.

Lukas pulled himself off the couch, grabbed his empty glass from the coffee table, and walked into the kitchen to get a refill on his whiskey.

As he crossed the living room, his gaze landed on a framed photo he’d placed on the vintage console that held his stereo system. The photo was an image of him, Rogue, and Elliette, sitting on the side of a dock with their legs hanging off the edge.

His own legs were long enough that his feet were underwater. Rogue’s almost touched. Elliette sat between them, her feet dangling more than a foot above the surface of the lake.

He and Rogue had just turned twenty-one that summer and were about to start their second season in the Savage League. Elliette had earned her driver’s license the day before, which was why Rogue had insisted she be the one to drive them to the beach.

It had been a terrifying ride. Elliette had bad depth perception. Still, the memory of that day was sweet, which was why the photo always held a prominent spot in his home.

He could still see the auburn threads of her chestnut hair glowing red from the sun. Her tanned skin shimmering with baby oil. The way she laughed at his jokes, which—honestly—weren’t that funny.

He tossed the ice pack onto the kitchen counter, picked up the photo, and wandered out onto the balcony—his need for a drink forgotten. The motion-detector lights turned on, illuminating his two Adirondack chairs and small round table.

The view of the Minneapolis skyline was beautiful at night, especially with the sound of the Mississippi rushing over the falls.

He settled into the first chair and glanced from the photo in his lap to the empty chair beside him, almost able to visualize Elliette sitting there because, for whatever reason, she seemed so close.

Then it occurred to him, their bedrooms shared a wall. That must mean her balcony was on the other side of the privacy divider.

“Elli?” he asked—tentatively, yet still so positive that she must be there because he could totally sense her, and that had to be based on more than a photograph. “Are you there?”

There was no response. Still, he called her name again because he could definitely smell her, even if?—

Lukas jumped to his feet, sending the photograph crashing to the balcony’s concrete floor.

The glass cracked, but he barely noticed.

He was already at the railing, hands wrapped around the top rail, staring down the twenty stories to the dark street below, because he wasn’t wrong. He could smell her.

She was somewhere down on the street. And the scent in the air was fear.