“He said you were there with a girl Friday night?”

“A friend,” I muttered.

“I bet. Hey, you should be thanking me. Chicks dig hockey players. Listen you better not have used my name. I don’t need your one-nighters stalking me.”

Anybody.

He could have been talking about anybody. But the fact that this was about Harper—whether he’d known it or not—angered me. It would have angered her.

“I’ve got to get back to work. And you should too for that matter.”

As usual, my brother ignored me. “Did Mom tell you she ran into Harper the other day? She asked if I knew what brought her back to town,” he laughed as if there was something funny about that. “Hell, even if I was coherent last week, I wouldn’t have asked—I’m willing to bet she’s here for unfinished business, if you know what I mean.”

My stomach churned at the thought, then I remembered what Harper was really after that night. What she failed at getting from me.

Yeah, I bet she fucking is.

There was silence for a moment until he released a heavy breath. “Play tomorrow’s game for me?”

My voice was calm when I replied. “You’re out of your Goddamn mind, Troy.”

“August, please. I—I’m not ready.”

“Then go to minors.” I was barely listening at this point. I wasn’t getting back on the ice to win a prize in his name. All after getting the wind knocked out of me.

He laughed at my advice. But there was a bitterness in it to my unsolicited advice.

“You either show up tomorrow, or you can kiss that career I handed you goodbye.” I didn’t call attention to it often. But he needed the reminder.

“August.”

His plea when he called my name made me think of Harper. Of the pain in her eyes after I’d kissed her. The confusion. Like she’d wanted it more than she should have and it only made her hurt more.

I’m an idiot.

And it was about time I did something to make it right.

“Yeah. Okay. This one. That’s it.”

I hung up and looked up a number on the Brooklyn Lines magazine website. Then googled whether star sixty-seven still worked to make a call from a private number.

“Brooklyn Lines Café, how can I help you?” her voice was mellow and soft, tired a bit too or perhaps just bored.

“Harper, it's Troy.” The words were so fluid from my lips that I winced.

There was silence on the other end but at least she didn’t hang up.

“Listen I’m sorry. About last week, and well, a lot of things. I don’t know what’s going on, but I need to make it right.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Her tone was biting and I could tell she was done.