Brooklynaire by Sarina Bowen

Author:Sarina Bowen [Bowen, Sarina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-942444-53-4
Publisher: Rennie Road Books
Published: 2018-02-12T05:00:00+00:00

* * *

A few hours later I’m lying on The Beast—our hideous sofa—while Missy paces the floor with a cranky Matthew. He’s teething.

We don’t have TV, and our internet connection is spotty tonight, so the live stream keeps glitching out. Of course it does. So Missy is monitoring a Twitter feed on my phone for scoring updates, because I’ve demanded it. The stadium is two miles from my apartment. And tonight those two miles feel long.

“What are people saying now?” I ask for the tenth time.

“Nothing.”

“It’s Twitter. There must be something.”

“Someone tweeted that the line for the women’s bathroom is too long.”

“Waaaaaaah!” Matthew wails on her shoulder, and my head gives a sympathetic throb.

“Give me the phone,” I say. Then I get up and snatch it from her. I run into my room and shut the door. I tap Georgia’s name off my contacts list and wait while it rings in my ear.

“Hello!” she yells. “Becca?”

“What’s the score?” I demand.

“I’m so tense!” she yells over the background noise. I don’t know if she even heard the question.

“Gigi—which radio station is covering the game? I need to hear the play-by-play.”

“Hockey on the radio? Is that a thing?”

“Isn’t it? Old men listen to baseball. You’re the publicist! Don’t you know?”

“Rebecca, are you okay? Why aren’t you here watching, anyway?”

Hmm. Keeping a secret from my best friend hasn’t been fun. But this isn’t a great time to get into it. She might be standing beside Nate right now. “I’m all right. It’s complicated. Just tell me what’s happening on the ice.”

“The first line is on shift. Leo, Bayer, Castro.”

“Wow! Young lineup tonight. Who’s on D?”

“Douley and… O’Doul passes to Leo! And it’s…OMIGOD. OH! COME ON! Yes! Not quite. Fuck! Arrrgh!”

“What happened? We didn’t score? Please tell me the other guy didn’t score.”

I hear clunk, and then the call is cut off.

“Georgia?” I say into the silence.

Nothing.

This is torture. I need answers.

I tap on the Bingley app. It opens, and a familiar voice says, “Hello, my dear Rebecca. How may I be of assistance?”

“Hi!” I feel like I’m reconnecting with a long-lost friend, although that’s patently ridiculous. “I need to know what’s happening with the hockey game.”

“The hockey game is currently in session.”

“The score, Bingley. What’s the score?”

“Tie game at 0-0.”

“Okay. What else? Who has the puck?”

“The puck is a six ounce black rubber disc.”

“I know that, Bingley. But which player is controlling the puck right now?”

“One moment, miss,” Bingley says primly. “I’m seeking assistance.”

Well, crap. I’ve obviously overestimated Bingley’s ability to process the hockey game. Some poor programmer at KTech’s phone is probably ringing right now with this programming bug.

But Bingley comes back about ninety seconds later. “Nate reminds you that you need your rest to heal. But he adds that you should come to the stadium if you want to see who’s playing.”

“Wait, what? You asked Nate?”

“Naturally. He’s my admin. Standby for another communication. Ah. Nate has asked me to send you a car. ETA three minutes. Black Mercedes C class. The driver’s name is Parker.

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