Page 24 of Dice & Dekes

Staying with my twin will give me time to decompress. Otherwise, Mom will check in on me every two minutes to see if the fire has triggered my PTSD—which it hasn’t—and Dad will talk about it endlessly just to make it crystal clear that he’s not mad. I appreciate where they’re coming from, but I need space. Knight has let me crash in his guest bedroom before. I don’t think it’ll be a big deal. Tomorrow, once I’ve had time to process things, I’ll make a plan for what happens next. Even if I wanted to move back in with my family, it’ll take time for the pool house to be rebuilt. Couch surfing is not a viable long-term solution, but at least I know Knight has a place for me.

As for staying with Viktor?Hell no.

If I stay with him, things might soften. And soft leads to stupid. I’m not going to let a hot shower, a soft bed, and that earnest face lull me into forgetting that this whole thing is temporary. That I don’t forever.

Especially, not withhim.

“I can drive you to Knight’s,” Viktor offers.

“Viktor—” I spin toward him, ready to go off on him for constantly inserting himself into the conversation where he’s not wanted. But his dumb little face is so sincere and concerned that I second-guess my impulse to snap. It would be nice to get a ride.

“Your vehicle is blocked in,” Viktor adds, with a nod to the driveway.

“That would be okay,” I say. And then, because I was not raised in a barn despite my mother’s many assertions to the contrary, I add, “Thank you. I appreciate your concern.”

Viktor’s whole face lights up in a happy smile. He looks like one of those social media Golden Retrievers. It’s obnoxiously sincere. Like I just threw him a bone, and now he wants to roll over and lick my hand. It’s disarming, and I hate that it works. That it makes something warm twitch in my chest.

“It’ll take me a few minutes, though,” I warn. “I’m going to see if I can grab some things from the house before we go. And I’m going to have someone look at my hands first.”

If Viktor had just been told that the Venom won the Stanley Cup, I doubt his smile could get any brighter than it is right now.

* * *

Half an hour later, with freshly salved hands and a duffle bag full of the stuff I could salvage from my old room—thanks to the assistance of the fire marshal, my mother, and, embarrassingly, Viktor—I climb into Viktor’s car. Noah and Molly are talking to Viktor about something, so I take the opportunity to fire off a text to my brother just to confirm that he’ll let me stay at his place for a couple of days. He and Sofia both respond in the affirmative, with lots of exclamation points.

I look up when the driver door opens and Viktor slides in. “All set?” he asks.

“Mm.” I slip my phone into the pocket of my hoodie. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Viktor waves goodbye to our parents, still milling around in the street. They wave back. I slump lower in my seat so that I won’t have to acknowledge them. For all their well-meaning smiles and gentle shoulder squeezes, I still feel like I lit a match to every ounce of credibility I had left.

There’s nothing I hate more than feeling incompetent.

I watch his hands on the wheel—steady, confident, annoyingly attractive. I hate that even now, after everything, part of me finds comfort in the way he drives. Like nothing could possibly go wrong on his watch. Even though history says otherwise.

Viktor drives in silence for a few minutes until I can’t take it anymore. “So,” I cross my arms and stare out the window at the Vegas dusk, “today was not my day.”

I press my forehead against the cool glass. “It’s like the universe wanted to pile on. First, the anthem. Then the fire. If one more thing had gone wrong, I might’ve just laid down in the street and let nature take me.”

Viktor clears his throat. “I was going to send you one of those tragic-looking kittens—you know the kind, giant eyes, little frown, soul of a tax auditor—holding a sign that said, ‘This will be funny in ten years.’”

I swivel my head to stare at him. “Excuse me?”

He dips his head. “Never mind. Not important.”

“You think we’re going to laugh about the fact that Iburned my home to the ground?”

He licks his lips and shoots me a sidelong glance. “Actually, that was before the fire. Although, to be fair, you did set your house on fire with potatoes. There’s a punchline in there somewhere.”

I don’t know what my face is doing right now, but I’m experiencing unprecedented levels of disbelief. Surely that reflects on my features.

“Sorry. I’ll shut up now.” He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, and his mouth twists like he’s trying to hold in a thought I won’t like.

“No, come on, say what you’re thinking,” I urge. Given my outburst earlier, he’s earned the right to taunt me a little.

“I was just going to say…” Here comes that trademark smirk. “Tonight’s events make your epic fail at the stadium look like…small potatoes.” He pauses for dramatic effect.

“Jesus Christ.” I let out a bark of laughter. “Too soon.”

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