“Oh, I don’t?” He shoots me a look that is both disgusted with me and satisfied with himself. “Then why’d I already call the Stingers’ training facility to see if Caleb’s scheduled to work out today?”

I grin and pull on my seat belt. “This is why I keep you around.”

“And because I chauffeur your ass everywhere.” He pulls away from the curb and glances at my leg. “At least temporarily. How’s the leg?”

“Good.” It’s actually hurting like a motherfucker today, but I don’t want any lip from Jared about me overdoing it. I need my brother right now, not an agent.

“I’m taking you because I knew you wouldn’t rest until you got some answers,” Jared says, looking away from the interstate only long enough to catch my eyes. “But don’t get into shit with him, Gus.”

“I’m not,” I say defensively. “I’m just gonna make sure Iris is okay.”

“Oh, yeah. That won’t infuriate him at all.”

“Ask me how many fucks I got for that,” I snap. “Sylvia made Iris seem like some gold-digger who should just be happy she has a roof over her head.”

“Well . . .” Jared shrugs. “I mean, he did take care of her.”

I boil in scorching silence. Is Caleb some kind of warlock? Does he cast a spell so everyone misses what a complete asshole he is? He just skates through life without consequences. I saw it while we were growing up over and over. Son of a bitch breaks my fucking leg in front of the whole world, and he doesn’t even get fined.

And I’m not just saying that because he has Iris and Sarai.

Had Iris and Sarai. Maybe.

“In and out,” Jared says, breaking into my hostile thoughts.

“Huh?” I look over at him questioningly. “What’d you say?”

“We’re here.” He points through the window to the building where the Stingers train. “Find him, ask your questions, and get out. No fights. No scenes, bro.”

“I really hate it when you call me ‘bro,’” I say, matter-of-factly.

“I know. Why do you think I do it?” He studies me closely, the little bit of humor on his face fading. “You need me to come with you?”

“No, I needed a chauffeur, not a chaperone,” I say, climbing carefully out of the car. “Be right back.”

It doesn’t take me long to find Caleb. He’s pressing weights, spotted by a tall, lean man wearing a Stingers T-shirt. The guy looks up, his eyes widening when his eyes lock on me. Everyone in the league knows how bad the blood is between Caleb and me.

“Hey, you can’t be in here bec—”

I wedge myself between the trainer and the bench where Caleb is lying down. I grab the bar from Caleb’s hands and place it on his neck enough to cause discomfort but keeping the full weight from pressing down.

I bend over so he sees me upside down.

“I’m only asking you once, Caleb,” I say calmly, while his eyes bug and he starts to turn red. “Where is she?”

“He can’t breathe!” the trainer guy says, sputtering and pointing.

“That’s kind of the point.” I nod to the exit. “Get out. We got shit to settle. I promise he’ll still be in one piece as long as he cooperates.”

Caleb manages to shake his head, his eyes latched onto the trainer dude’s as he puffs air and claws at the bar I hold over his throat.

“I said, get out!” I yell at the indecisive trainer. He’s still looking back over his shoulder until he disappears through the exit.

I lift the bar just enough for Caleb to breathe and talk, but not enough that I can’t drop the full weight on his throat if he doesn’t give me what I want: answers.

“Fuck you,” he hisses, the blood vessels sprouting around his eyes.

“Wrong answer.” I drop the bar a little more, and he immediately starts gasping again. “I will break your fucking windpipe, Caleb, so I suggest you answer the question I already told you I would not ask twice.”

I lift the bar an inch, and his arms fly up, trying to dislodge me. I can hear Jared now if I actually fight this dude with my leg in its current state. Not to mention the insurance the San Diego Waves have on my body. I’m pretty sure there’s not a brawl clause in the multi-million-dollar policy. I step away and let him breathe while I compose himself.

“Answer the question,” I snap.

“What business is it of yours?” he rasps, sitting up and grabbing his water bottle to guzzle.

“I’m making it my business. Iris didn’t show up at the center, but Sylvia says she called to say she wouldn’t be coming back.”

He pauses mid-sip, narrowing his eyes at me. “Really concerned about finding another man’s girl, huh?”

“Not here for games, dude. Tell me what’s going on.”

He stands, mopping the sweat from his face with a nearby towel. “What is ‘going on’ is that she’s gone.” Bitterness corrupts the line of his mouth. “Iris left. Didn’t take her phone, so good luck calling it.”

I’ve seen Caleb with Iris—the way his eyes track her every move like he might miss something if he looks away. He would not just let her go. He’s as obsessed with her as I am.

Almost.

“Left and went where?” I persist, irritation pinching the muscles in my face.

“No idea,” he mutters, watching me down the length of his water bottle while he gulps. “She wouldn’t tell me.”

“And Sarai? You don’t know where your own daughter is? How to reach her? Them?”

Caleb turns away from me, shrugging while he sorts through the items in his duffle bag. He’s avoiding looking at me. This is some shit, but I can’t get to the truth. It’s like a puzzle with all the pieces on the table, but I can’t see how they fit together. I know I’m missing something. There’s a question I should ask or something I don’t know, and somehow, he’s hiding from me. Caleb is covering his ass, I’m sure, but why would she go along with him all this time? And he’s fine with her just leaving him?

Leaving him.

“You two broke up?” I ask, keeping my voice steady.

The way to Iris is actually clear for the first time since we met. He throws a piercing look over his shoulder at me, his smirk a forced lift of his lips when his eyes don’t smile at all.

“We’re not together anymore,” he replies. “But she doesn’t want to be found by anyone.” He turns to face me now and crosses his arm over his chest. “And that includes you, West. Did you think because she gave you a few minutes in the closet you meant something to her? You didn’t.”

A practiced smirk lifts one corner of his mouth.

“She has my money and my kid, so I guess she doesn’t need me anymore.” He shakes his head. “Who would’ve thought I’d let some swamp whore from Louisiana trap me? I suspect that Creole bitch even gave it up to my bodyguard while I was gone.”

I lunge for him, ignoring the twitch in my knee and slam him to the wall, then pin him by the throat.

“You’re a liar,” I grit out, tightening my fingers around his neck. “Say it again and I’ll break more than a leg, you entitled son of a bitch. You’re not good enough to touch her.”

“But I did touch her.” A demon’s smile teases the corners of his mouth. “Oh, I’ve touched her everywhere you’ve never gotten to. Fucked her in all the ways you’ve only dreamt about, and to top it all off? She had my baby.”

He cocks a brow, regaining his arrogance by the second. I hate his handsome face, his blond hair and blue eyes and tan skin. I hate everything outwardly appealing about him because inside he’s crawling with worms.

“Write her off, West,” he says. “She’s gone. She got what she needed, and now she’s gone.”

Iris is not like that. I know she’s not, but why didn’t she try to get in touch with me? If she’s gone . . . after what happened in the closet? Would she just leave without even saying goodbye? Without telling me how to find her? Was I that wrong about what we had? Maybe I’ve been misreading this woman since the night we met. I just knew that what I felt, she was feeling, too.

You’re not fooling yourself.

She told me that. Her whispered words spark again in my memory, and all the feelings, the sensations, the perfection of those moments in the closet with her flood my mind. I wasn’t fooling myself. I don’t know everything that’s going on, but there’s one thing I hold onto even as I exit the training facility and Jared and I pull out of the parking lot.

I’ll see her again.

That thread that connects us, glowing neon, it’s still there. I may not be able to see it, but I feel it. It’s still wrapped around me.

Wherever Iris is, I hope it’s wrapped around her, too.

HALFTIME

“She remembered who she was

and the game changed.”

--Lalah Delia

34

Iris

One Year Later

MiMi says she was tutored by the bayou, by the Mississippi itself. She says that river is the blood meandering through Louisiana’s veins, and it casts a spell on all who love it.

I don’t know that I ever loved Louisiana. I never knew this Louisiana. I lived in the Ninth. On the bayou, a thick carpet of green grass squishes between my bare toes; in the city there was concrete under my feet, cracked and unforgiving.

An arch of cypress trees shelters the path from MiMi’s small house down to the river, but in my neighborhood growing up, power lines crisscrossed the sky like electric spaghetti. No, I didn’t love the Lower Ninth, but I think I’m falling for the bayou.

There are so many differences between the city and St. Martine. Being here the last year, I understand why Lo saw living with our great-grandmother as a blessing.

How she must have laughed when I claimed to know MiMi as well as she does. What a ridiculous notion. When we showed up on her modest doorstep, I barely recognized her. I don’t know exactly how old she is, but traces of great beauty still remain on her face, even past ninety years old. She has fewer wrinkles than she should, her skin carrying the patina of age, shined to a high polish.