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I look toward the window, knowing the solution is obvious, which is probably why it irritates me that neither of them has gotten there yet. My apartment in Chicago has three bedrooms. A doorman, security, and underground parking. And it’s currently empty until Monday.

She needs somewhere for a couple of days while she finds something permanent. It’s an easy enough solution, but hard as fuck to say, because deep down I know it’s not just a bad idea. It’s a terrible one.

“She can stay at my place.” I throw out before downing the rest of my whiskey.

Beckett stops talking and looks at me. “Your place?”

I shrug. “Yep.”

Laney’s voice comes faintly through the phone. “What did he say?”

Beckett puts her on speaker.

I lean forward to repeat the offer. “I said you can stay at my place.”

Silence. Followed by a very suspicious, “Why?”

I lean back. “Try not to sound so grateful, Baby Becks.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” I rest my forearms on the table. “You’re my family; why wouldn’t I let you stay? It’s no different from if Beckett lived in Chicago and was offering his guestroom.”

I wince, realizing what I’ve said about Beckett being in Chicago, knowing what a sore subject it is, but his face remains passive.

“You won’t be there?” The relief in her voice shouldn’t annoy me, but it does.

“Nope.” My jaw tightens before I force it loose. “We leave for Minnesota tomorrow. Won’t be back until Monday.”

“Oh.” Definitely relief.

“You need somewhere to crash for a couple of days while you find an apartment. I’ve got a spare room collecting dust. Problem solved.”

“I don’t need you guys to rescue me.”

“Good, because I’m not rescuing you.”

“Really? Because this feels suspiciously rescue-ish.”

“Hmm…” I glance at Beckett, and the idea hits me. “I mean, you could always wait until morning to see if one of the guests in your haunted hotel has… vacated their room,” I say in my best spooky voice. “There’s always room for one more. Bahahaha.”

Beckett gets the reference and rolls his eyes. Vacations with the Becketts were amazing. So was scaring the shit out of Baby Becks on all the rides.

“Not funny, Ken.”

There she is.

I wondered when she would bring out my old nickname. The one she thinks I hate, but who wouldn’t want to be compared to plastic perfection?

“So, what do you say, Baby Becks? Wanna come hang in my dream house for the weekend?”

“I can’t with you two.” Beckett shakes his head.

“Fine.”

“What was that? Was that a thank-you?” I cup a hand around my ear. I just can’t help myself.

“No.”