Fated Shot

Chapter 22

Jack

My eyes fly open as I wake up in a cold sweat. “Shit.”

Thankfully, my sudden jolting does nothing to wake Mia, who is still out cold. It’d be a beautiful sight if I weren’t so damn panicked. I stretch out my arm, trying to reach for my phone without moving her around too much.

1:28 am Penn: You home?

1:35 am Penn: Brody, you home?

1:41 am Penn: In an uber

1:43 am Penn: I have no food at my apartment, gotta raid your fridge. Gonna let myself in, this is your official warning.

It’s 1:45 am. Shitttt. I carefully unravel myself from Mia, stumbling around to pick up my suit pants and button-up. I throw them on as fast as I can, sliding my shoes on, sockless, before I run out the door.

He has to be at least ten minutes away, which means I have time. I can make it. Still, it doesn’t stop my dead sprint to the elevators.

What are the chances he checked my location? Low, Jack. Why would he even be checking? I’ve been so good about turning it off. He definitely hasn’t even noticed, but it only takes one stupid mistake.

The doors slide open. Stepping in, I pound on the close button before pulling out my phone to type a quick message to Mia.

Me: Wanted to let you sleep, I let myself out. I’ll text you tomorrow.

I make it in record time, slamming the keycard over my door twice before the green light flashes, and I tug on the handle, letting myself in.

OK. Boxers—pretend you were asleep. I run up the stairs two at a time, tossing my pants, shirt, and jacket in a pile before jumping into bed.

What do I do if he saw? My brain races, trying to come up with some sort of alibi.

It’s the city, so… Bad reception? Location bouncing? Inaccurate signal? Something. Shit, I’m a terrible liar.

He didn’t see; he couldn’t have seen. And even if he did? Deny, deny, deny. As if this whole situation didn’t feel wrong before, it sure as hell does now.

Less than two minutes later, I hear the click of my door as Penn stumbles in. Familiar thumps enter, hitting my recently cleaned marble flooring.

“Shoes. Off. Penn.”

I can hear a huff, frantic shuffling, and then his voice calls up exasperated, “They WERE off!” A small laugh slips out of me, and I’m grateful for the diffusion of tension—such a punk.

I head downstairs, playing up a just-woken-up expression, to see Penn with a full sandwich hanging out of his mouth, guilty, boyish grin and all.

“Go ahead, help yourself to my sub,” I say sarcastically.

“Thank you so much, I think I will.” He finishes the rest in two bites. It’s honestly a miracle how Nancy kept all three of us fed. Somehow, Penn, despite being the smallest between us, always had the biggest appetite.

“Your location kept showing you in the building over; think you need to reset your phone or something.” My mouth is instantly stripped of every ounce of moisture. I’m replaying his words in my head for any hint of suspicion, but I struggle to find any. I may just be in the clear.

“That’s weird,” I reply. The less words, the better. I'm terrible at this.

“Yeah, look,” he says, pulling out his phone, a puzzled look on his face. “Oh, I guess it’s fixed.” He shows me the flashing arrow icon within the Maplewood building. Why the fuck did I have to download such an effective app?

“Guess so,” I mutter, desperately hoping he drops it. I don’t like this one bit. Thankfully, he wanders over to my pantry for round two of food thieving.

“You staying here or going?” I call to him from outside the door. Praying the answer is him getting the fuck out of here before I crack.

There’s crinkling, and he emerges holding two granola bars, my ketchup chips, a Gatorade and a box of wheat thins.

“Leaving,” he says with a wide smile as he passes right by me and exits my apartment without another word.

Fucking, Penn .

***

Mia

Waking up in bed alone is a welcome reprieve. My brain still can’t process the tornado that is Jack Brody .

I’m much more likely to function or even think logically when I’m free from his vortex. He has all the power to sweep me in, and I’m starting to think I’d go willingly.

I don’t know what comes over me when I’m with him. It’s like I’m constantly craving more; if he so much as touches me, I lose my freaking mind. One thing I do know, though, is that I’m in over my head. I need time to process and get a freaking grip before it’s too late.

That’s the thing about tornadoes—they’re powerful, inevitable, and downright dangerous. They may suck you in, but that also means eventually, they’ll spit you back out.

The first notification of the day comes in at 6:15 am. Camille Sheppard, two boxes of a dozen assorted cookies. Smiling, I go into Shopify and issue a twenty-five percent refund on the order. Refund Reason: Friends and Family Discount.

Less than two minutes later, there’s a ping from my phone.

Cami Sheppard: No freebies!!

I laugh because even though I've known her for such a short time, I can practically hear her upbeat, energetic, and playful tone through the text.

Me: What are you doing awake this early??

All I get in response is a picture of a wide-awake, smiling Kaia. Gahh, she’s too cute.

Cami Sheppard: Little Miss decided the nightlife is for her, she refuses to sleep until the sun rises.

Me: Bummer! Does that mean you’re not going to be at tonight’s game?

Cami Sheppard: Probs not. Are you going? ?

Me: I think so! Let me know if you change your mind :))

Cami Sheppard: Will do!! Keep an eye out for number 23 ;)

Googling 23 Toronto Tundra , a picture of Penn Brooks appears. He’s cute for sure, like a well-mannered boy bander, but I’m more partial to the rugged vibe. I laugh to myself, adding a HAHA to the message before pulling up Google again. Not able to resist, I type in Jack Brody Toronto Tundra .

The picture that appears is one of a much younger Jack. Longer hair and a less defined face, probably from when he was a rookie. Scrolling down further, I scan the top articles. ‘ Top 10 Brody Fights ’, ‘ Jack Brody signed to the Toronto Tundra: 3 years, 3.5 mil ’, ‘ Why the Tundra needed an enforcer like Brody ’.

This feels an awful lot like stalking. With a sigh, I force myself to close it out. Instead, I check my notebook for my daily tasks.

Bulk Restock Customer Emails Cookie & Co Label Reorder Finalize Next Week’s Recipes Ad Campaign Planning Figure out how to increase capacity!!!

If I’m going to take this seriously, I need more space. Too bad even shared kitchen prices in Toronto are astronomical. Every available surface area in my apartment is taken over on baking days. I can’t keep going like this, especially if I want to grow. The first step is trusting that I can actually do this and taking the risk to invest in myself.

Cordelia would have wanted me to do this. I feel the same peace Cordelia always did while she was baking. I love the creativity of discovering new recipes and creating tangible items that bring comfort and joy. Even if honoring Cordelia and everything she taught me urges me forward every day, turning a passion into your profession is easier said than done.

I spend the rest of my morning blasting Taylor Swift and frilling about the apartment crossing tasks off. I’m halfway through my to-do list by the time the notification comes in that I’m fully sold out.

I can do this.