Page 61 of Offside

He put his shoes in a bin. "I still hate airports."

Declan texted at four-sixteen. Dinner? No Denver conversation.

I went to his apartment with a frozen pizza and a bag of groceries he hadn't asked for.

"What's all that?" he asked when he opened the door.

"Pizza, milk, coffee, and eggs," I said.

"I can see that, but why did you bring them?"

"Your refrigerator had mustard and noodles. That's not food."

"It's makeup groceries." He took the bag from me.

"It's food," I said. "That's all."

"That you brought after a fight," he said. "The timing is suspicious." The corner of his mouth curved up.

"I would've brought it before," I countered. "Do you want me to leave?"

"We're eating the pizza. Put the groceries away," he said.

We ate on the couch with the television on. A holiday movie had started twenty minutes earlier. Neither of us knew who the man in the red scarf was or why everybody in his hometown hated the real-estate developer.

"He's going to save the tree farm," Declan said.

"He owns a hotel. He doesn't know anything about trees."

"But he has resources," Declan said.

"The woman in the bakery hates him."

"That'll change," Declan said.

At eight, Marchetti sent a message confirming the release had gone to Reyes and Zoe. The offer hadn't changed, and the club had done nothing besides acknowledge the performance counter.

I showed Declan. "The release is with them," I said.

"Good," he said. "Leave it with them."

I put the phone facedown and left it there.

Denver remained open on his laptop across the room, but we didn't discuss it. The fight hadn't disappeared. Trust hadn't been restored just because I'd fixed one bad decision. I couldn't ask him to turn an ordinary evening into proof that we were safe.

When the movie ended, Declan collected our plates and carried them to the kitchen.

"Do you want to stay?" he asked from the kitchen.

I looked at him over the back of the couch. "Yeah, if you want me here."

22

Declan

My sister called on Christmas Eve while I was standing in a grocery-store line with six people. Every single one of them looked like they'd forgotten butter.

"You sound distracted," she said. "Where are you?"