Unlocked his game, too. The Rebels were on a mini-streak of three straight wins and were third in the conference. Reid wanted to think his play was helping. Something was happening, that click-into-place that Coach has said needed to happen. Reid was becoming integral to the front line. It felt good to be needed.
“So, big game soon,” she said. “Bastian’s excited.”
The gruff sound in his throat let her know exactly how much he cared about Bast’s excitement. The two had become friendly with texting and sharing memes and all that nonsense.
“You know he’s trying to needle me through you.”
“Because I’m not worthy of being his friend independently of Reid Durand, Superstar?”
“That’s not what I meant. You two are pretty alike—cheerful little chipmunks with evil streaks. I can see exactly why you get along.”
“He actually wants you to be happy.”
Deep down, Reid knew that to be true. Bast was decent to the last drop, the kind of guy you would want in your corner or on your team. But the real issue wasn’t whether Bast wanted Reid to be happy—it was whether he should want that. After all, Reid had been a bullying dick to him for much of their childhood, all caught up in craving Henri’s approval. He couldn’t get it the natural way, with talent or blood, so he took it out on Bast.
Yet here was his baby brother being nice to him, thrilled to be in the same city, enjoying their crosstown rivalry. He might not mean to do it, but Bast’s friendship with Kennedy added another layer of self-doubt. Sure, Reid made her feel good physically but his brother filled a different need. A woman like Kennedy naturally gravitated to someone with a sunnier disposition. Like Bast. Like anyone else, probably.
Kennedy might not be looking for a soulmate, but if she was, it wouldn’t be a moody grouch like Reid.
“Your dad’s coming to visit. How do you feel about that?”
“Well, Dr. Clark, I’m not sure. How am I supposed to feel?”
She kissed him mid-laugh, and he let himself steal a smidge of her joy. “I’m just interested. He sounds … difficult.”
“That’s one word to describe him. It’s part of what made him such a great player. When I was little, I used to watch his old games, trying to figure out how I could play like him. He was an enforcer—”
“What’s that?”
“The guy who checks aggressively, starts fights, responds to dirty plays. That kind of player isn’t used as much anymore. Dad saw the writing on the wall so when Bast and I were growing up, he focused our training on speed and goal-scoring. Enforcers are considered one-dimensional and don’t always get a lot of respect. Henri Durand is all about respect.”
She took his hand and placed her pruned fingers against his. “He must be so proud to have both of you playing at this level.”
“He is. He wants us to fulfill our potential so when we don’t play as well as we should, it hurts him.”
She was quiet for a moment. “But it’s not like you purposely play bad to disappoint him, is it? No one plans to be a disappointment, so he should really cut you some slack.”
“He just expects us to try our best. But our best is a product of many things: talent, training, effort, will. Bast’s success has always been easier for him to root for.”
She turned in the water, her eyes flashing with … huh, anger. He could have told her she needn’t be angry for him but his heart had already skipped several beats in anticipation of her defense of him. Was this what it was like to have someone in your corner?
“What does your mother think of all this?”
“Mom isn’t a huge hockey fan. She doesn’t like to see her sons in competition, especially the kind of competition encouraged by Henri. They divorced as soon as Bast went to college and she’s much happier without him.”
“Sounds like your mom has Ornery’s number.”
“Ornery. Cute.” He kissed her, trying to smooth away that righteous anger—but not too much. He liked the lingering taste of it. “Don’t worry, I won’t be too hard on your favorite Durand when we meet in the hexagon.”
“So one of you could get hurt?”
He shrugged. “One of us could, oui.”
“Reid!”
“Reid!” He mimicked her, then kissed her gaping mouth. “Don’t worry, a few stitches. Maximum.”
She withdrew, her brow lined. Shit. That was insensitive of him given how much she had lost.
“Kennedy, it’s part of the game. We’re both tough, and people rarely get hurt. I promise.” He was touched that she cared, though more likely she was worried about Bastian’s pretty face.
And then because he was sick of thinking about his brother, he moved his hand below the water and worked what skills he had—the giving of pleasure.
“Stairway to Heaven. Sixty-seven!”
All eyes down for the game of the century: bingo at Larkvale, played twice weekly by the residents. Reid and Bucky had stopped by with tickets as a bribe for Janice, so his dog could sit at his feet while Reid was shafted by elderly grifters.
“Life begins at forty!”
“Oh, I have that one.” Edie blobbed a circle over the number with her special pink marker. “You have that one, too.”
Reid crossed off the number, 40, on his card. He’d been worried that the bingo caller—a woman with a very loud voice, necessary because half the residents were hard of hearing—might bother Bucky, but the pup was taking it in his stride. He lay at Reid’s feet, perfectly content.
“It could be a ghost,” Edie said.
Reid thought about that for a second. “I don’t believe in ghosts.”
Edie gave him some serious side eye. “That’s a very limited viewpoint.”
“I’m a very limited person.”
For the fifteen minutes prior to bingo, Reid had listened to Edie’s theories on who was stealing her chocolate bars. He wouldn’t put it past the staff to get light-fingered but it seemed more likely to be another resident. Instead Edie was offering the ghost option.
“What would a ghost want with a Milky Way?”
“To be mischievous. That’s what they are, or some of them are. Like leprechauns.”
“You believe in leprechauns as well?”
“Who knows their Abba? It’s dancing queen. Only seventeen!”
“Leprechauns are not mythical creatures,” Edie muttered, her eyes never leaving her card. “They’re documented.”
“But there are none here. Unless it’s a ghost of one.” Ghost leprechaun? Now that gave him chills.
“I know there are spirits. I see them.”
“Who do you see?”
Maybe it was her husband, Kennedy’s grandfather, or perhaps residents of this place long gone. Edie assessed him for worthiness, decided he didn’t pass, and returned to her card.
“Man alive. Number five!”
He marked that one off. “Let’s assume for a moment that the thief is part of this earthly plane and hasn’t yet passed to the other side …”
“That’s why they’re ghosts. Because they’re stuck in the in-between.”