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Her hands move as she explains a manuscript meeting, editorial notes, and an argument between two editors over whether a character’s motivation made sense.

I understand maybe sixty percent of it.

Doesn’t matter. I know that look.

She used to get it while talking about books when we were kids. She would be sitting at the kitchen table with one open in front of her while the rest of us watched game film, completely oblivious to everything around her.

Now she’s part of the conversation instead of sitting at the edge of it.

I don’t know when that happened, maybe while I wasn’t looking.

“Apparently she likes living with you too,” Mrs. B says.

That gets my attention.

Laney nearly chokes on her pop. “Mom.”

“What? You said it’s working out.”

“It is.”

Beckett’s eyes narrow at me, and he chimes in. “What the hell is this I hear about you charging my sister rent?”

“Language! You’re not in the rink.” Mrs. B scolds him, and I bite back a laugh.

Delaney drops her head into her hands. “Oh, my God.”

I look back and forth between the Beckett siblings. “That’s not remotely close to what happened. She⁠—”

“Mom said she’s paying you.” He pops another piece of steak in his mouth.

I point my fork at him. “Your sister informed me she’s contributing to the rent. Did you forget what it’s like trying to talk her out of something?”

“Hey! I’m sitting right here,” Laney says.

Beckett ignores her. “And since when do you do what she tells you?”

I lean back in my chair. “You know how she is.”

“Unfortunately,” he sighs.

Laney waves her hands in front of us. “Still here.”

I point toward her. “Exactly. I’m not getting into an argument with an independent woman determined to Venmo me against my will.”

Coach lifts his glass. “Smart man.”

Laney glares at all three of us. “I hate this family.”

“No, you don’t,” Mrs. B says.

“No, I don’t.” Laney stuffs a bite of steak in her mouth and smiles.

My phone buzzes beside my plate with an update to the team schedule. Recovery tomorrow. Then we’re right back at it before the regular-season road swing.

I put the phone facedown. “Schedule update.”

“When do you leave?” Mrs. B asks.