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I take a drink of pop. A very long drink to keep my mouth from spilling a truth neither of us is ready to hear.

A green Phoenixes logo flashes across the bottom of the screen as the broadcast shifts to Friday night’s preseason games.

“You coming?” Bishop asks.

“To your game?”

“No, Baby Becks. My water aerobics class.”

Now that’s an exercise class I would sign up for.

I roll my eyes. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Maybe?” There’s just enough offense in his voice to make me smile.

“I’ll be there Saturday,” I tell him.

“That’s the St. Louis game.”

“Exactly. Family obligation.”

“Ouch.” He slaps a hand over his heart.

“My brother is playing.” I shrug.

“So am I.”

“I’ve known him longer.”

“Technically.”

I grin. “I think Mom and Dad are coming down too.”

“They are.”

I turn toward him. “How do you know?”

“I got their tickets already. I can add you to the list.”

Of course he did because Bishop is woven into my family. Birthdays. Holidays. Hockey games—random Sunday dinners when Mom made too much food on purpose.

Sometimes I forget there was ever a version of our family without him in it.

Which is probably another reason living with him is a bad idea.

He jumps up and walks to the kitchen in a few long strides, calling over his shoulder, “I’m gonna grab another beer. Do you need another pop?”

“I’m good, thanks.” But that reminds me… I need to pick up a few things from the store. “Just so you know, I will be buying groceries. It’s the least I can do. And we need to discuss rent.”

“No, absolutely not. Laney.”

“That wasn’t a question.”

His mouth twitches. “Bossy.”

“I prefer independent.”

“Pain in my ass.” He falls back down on the couch with a sigh, and I swear he’s closer than he was before.