Page 3 of Twisted Shot
By the time she hits the highway heading north toward Port Perry, the city lights are shrinking behind her in the rearview mirror, and she’s left alone with the hum of the tires and the low simmer of her thoughts.
The adrenaline is wearing off fast, leaving her hollowed out and pissed off all over again. And underneath the emptiness comes the creeping, fizzy edge of panic.
“What the hell did you do, you absolute idiot?” she mutters at the windshield.
Her brain is off to the races, frantically trying to build a legal defense for her actions while simultaneously pelting her with insults for being such an impulsive hot mess. Did her sabotage feel incredible in the moment? Oh, absolutely. Like popping bubble wrap made of pure vengeance. Was it a dumb career move to sleep with a coworker and then sewer him? Yeah, that too.
Mila tries to comfort herself with the fact that the deck wasn’t client-facing, though she knows her logic is flimsy at best.
She drums her fingers against the steering wheel. Without really planning it, she thumbs her phone off its holder and taps the first name in her favorites.
It rings twice before Natalie picks up.
“Mil?” Her warm, familiar voice fills the car over the speaker.
“I know it’s past your grandma bedtime, but I was hoping you could talk,” Mila says, trying to keep the hopefulness out of her voice.
“Rude,” Natalie mutters. “But yes, I am still awake. You okay?” Her voice dips into that serious, almost sisterly register.
She knows me too well.
Twenty years of friendship will do that.
“I’m fine,” Mila says breezily. “Just your average night. Caught Richard cheating with a coworker, sabotaged his big presentation while possibly ruining my career, and now I’m on my way home to drown myself in Pinot. Really thriving over here.”
Natalie emits a strangled sound that’s part gasp, part hiss. “I never liked him.”
“You never like anyone I date,” Mila reminds her.
“Yeah, because you have trash taste. It’s my cross to bear.” There’s a pause, then Natalie’s voice softens. “Are you okay?”
“I mean, not great. But I’ll survive,” Mila says. “Nothing a trip to a rage room and a baseball bat won’t fix.”
Her voice shrinks a little, smaller than she’d like it to be. “But I’m worried I might have monumentally screwed up by getting involved with him. Richard’s senior to me. He’s got friends in high places. And I can’t afford any enemies if I want that promotion.”
“Babe, it sounds like Richard’s made his bed,” Natalie says, clucking her tongue. “He can lie in it.”
Mila considers this, then shakes her head. Natalie doesn’t grasp the way corporate politics can chew women up and spit them out with a smile, not the way she does.
“You know what you need?” Natalie asks brightly, her tone flipping back to cheerful like a coin.
“A hitman?”
“A vacation.”
Mila snorts. “Where am I supposed to go? My living room?”
“No, dummy. Here. Hartford. Come visit me for the weekend.”
“I can’t just—” she starts, but Natalie cuts her off.
“Yes, you can. Jesse and Jake have their opening game Saturday night. It’s gonna be a whole thing. Tailgates, parties, questionable hot dogs. You love that crap.”
“I do love hot dogs,” Mila agrees thoughtfully. “And parties.”
Jesse, Natalie’s younger brother, is heading into his second season with the Hartford Whalers—a scrappy pro hockey team affiliated with the Brooklyn Mavericks of the NHL. Last year, amid awhirlwind of locker room drama, road games, and fisticuffs, Natalie ended up falling for one of Jesse’s teammates, Jake MacDonald. It wasn’t planned, and it definitely wasn’t convenient, but it happened anyway. Jake retired at the end of the season and promptly took a job as the team’s assistant coach. Now the two of them are building a life together in Hartford, complete with a fixer-upper and a rescue dog.
They’re so disgustingly happy Mila feels like she’s watching a rom-com on fast-forward.
