Page 22 of Dice & Dekes

“We were on the phone when the fire started,” I tell Cash.

“What?” asks my father, at the same time that Cash scoffs and says, “Of course you were. Any idea why she thinks you had anything to do with the National Anthem debacle, too?”

I straighten my spine like I’m back at a team press conference.Keep it together. Don’t react. Don’t make it worse.

I glance over at Knova. “What? That was Marco’s mistake, not mine.”

“That’s not a no.” Cash crosses his arms. “And I trust her instincts.”

“No, I wasn’t involved!” I hunch my shoulders toward my ears. “I didn’t set her up at the arena, and I certainly didn’t sabotage her microwave. We mess with each other, but I would never do anything to hurt her.”

Mom makes a soft noise of assent, but Cash doesn’t seem convinced. “So, why would she suspect you?”

“Because…” I sneak a glance over his shoulder. Knova has turned her back to me, though I can’t tell if it’s because she’s specifically avoiding me or because she’s taking in the smoke still rising from the backyard. I don’t see any damage to Cash’s house, but I can only imagine what’s happened to the backyard, and to the poolhouse where Knova’s been staying since Knight got his own place. “Because she hates me,” I mumble at last.

Cash lifts one eyebrow. “Sheisthe smartest twin.”

“Hey, now,” my dad protests, but his defense is halfhearted at best. I guess that’s fair, given all the trouble I’ve caused over the years. Even if this current disaster isn’t on me, I get why they’re giving me side-eye.

Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.

And that was possibly the worst idiom I’ve ever thought in the entire history of thoughts.

I hold up both hands, accidentally shrugging off my mom’s touch in the process. “I just want to talk to her. To make sure she’s okay. I’m not going to do anything to make this worse, I promise.”

Cash continues to size me up for a long moment before, at last, he steps aside. Mom gives me an encouraging nod, and I shuffle past Cash, maintaining vigilance just in case he changes his mind. This man has sprayed me with a hose more than once, always aiming for the crotch so I look like I pissed myself. He even bought a bean bag launcher to defend his precious lawn from the tread of my shoes.

But he makes no move to stop me, and a few seconds later, I’m at Knova’s side. It breaks my heart to see how small and shaken she looks. The Knova I know kicks ass twenty-four/seven. I don’t expect her to be strong and stoic all the time, but I feel a little guilty that one of my rare sightings of her vulnerable side is happening under these conditions.

Let me help you.Let me take care of you for once.

I’m smart enough to bite those words back. I used to think love meant swooping in and fixing everything. Now I know better. Sometimes it means showing up. Staying close. Letting her lead.

Nothing will upset Knova faster than acknowledging the parts of her I’m not supposed to see, even if I want nothing more than to know every part of her, the good and the bad.

Good God, I am in so deep.

But maybe deep isn’t bad. Maybe deep is where the good stuff lives—if I don’t drown first.

Chapter Five

Knova

I stare at the fire engines surrounding my parents’ house, one hand clutching the emergency blanket like a lifeline, the other wrapped around the dog tags pressing into my sternum like a second heartbeat. Thank God I was wearing them—somehow, losing them would be worse than losing every other thing I own, which may be the fate of the entire contents of the pool house. The last view I got of the building didn’t leave me feeling optimistic about its fate.

The loss hasn’t hit yet, not really. It’s hovering in the air, waiting for the adrenaline to wear off so it can drop like an anvil on my chest. Right now, I’m numb. But I know what’s coming. I’ve ridden this wave before—panic, then cold shock, then grief that makes everything feel too loud.

Mom’s arm, which has been a comforting weight around my shoulder since she joined me on the sidewalk, slips away. “I’ll let you two talk,” she murmurs.

“Talk to who—?” I begin, but the answer becomes immediately obvious when Viktor sidles up to me.

“Hey,” he says softly, almost like he’s worried about me. “What happened? Are you hurt? Smoke inhalation? Do you need me to get you an oxygen mask?”

The detached, unmoored feeling that’s weighed on me since the anthem finally eases. The shame of butchering it in front of a sold-out crowd—plus the fresh humiliation of explaining to my parents and a dozen emergency responders that I set our house on fire with abag of microwaved potatoes—had stacked into a towering pile of nope.

Now that Viktor’s here, I have someone I can direct all my shitty feelings at. I’d been floating, but seeing his face drags me right back into my body. He looks like concern in a hoodie, and that makes me furious—because it means I’m not alone. And if I’m not alone, I have to feel all of it. Instead of feeling lost and weak, I can give myself permission to be angry. Viktor’s more than earned my ire, compounded over years.

“Why are you here?” I hiss.

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