"How long has it been since anyone has mentioned him by name?" Iron Man was our lame code for Igor, the Russian hockey player.
"Months. So I want to know . . ."
My mind drifted as Annika kept chattering. Igor had been a teammate of Axl's with the Minnesota Wild. Right after the start of last year's season, a death in Igor's family sent him back to Russia for the funeral. But while he was there, an issue arose with his work visa. No one in the government could explain why his visa had been revoked. No one in the United States had heard from him, and no one could get in touch with his family; it was as if he'd disappeared. Not even the NHL legal department had the power to cut through the bureaucracy. The government agencies they'd reached out to didn't have answers or plain hadn't answered.
In the third month with no word about his whereabouts, our normally upbeat cousin had become inconsolable because she could no longer "feel" Igor's presence on this earthly realm. My aunt and uncle freaked out when Dallas went off the rails, ranting about gypsy curses, conspiracy theories and the power of the Russian mob. Then she crawled into bed and refused to eat, refused to shower, refused to leave her room. After two weeks of feeling helpless, her older brother Ash had run interference, tasking Annika to track down a specialized spiritual spa. Then she, Axl and Ash had convinced Dallas to check in to realign her chakras, reset her aura, or immerse herself in whatever woo-woo type of healing she needed to return to being our sweet, kooky, loving cousin.
It'd worked. It'd taken two months, but she'd returned to the Lund Collective back to normal-well, normal for Dallas. Although she'd graduated from college almost a year ago, she'd yet to choose a career path-even when a job waited for her at Lund Industries. But given the big mess with Igor's disappearance, no one had pushed her to make any decisions about her future.
"Jens," Annika said sharply.
My gaze snapped to hers. "Sorry. What did you say?"
"I asked why you're so interested in Rowan Michaels."
I looked over my shoulder. "Keep it down. You want Mom hauling ass over here?"
"Why? Do you have something to hide?" she shot back.
"No, but apparently Martin did. I had no idea that he even had a sister." My focus moved to Axl. "Did you?"
"Yah. But I didn't know she cheered for the Vikings."
"She's the hot redhead with the killer body and the huge"-Annika grinned-"smile."
I met her gaze. "Even you know who she is?"
"Only because you had zero playing time last year. Watching the cheerleaders was more entertaining than watching the game." She swigged her beer. "Is she giving you a hard time?"
"For not remembering that we'd met before under other circumstances? Yeah, you could say that."
Axl laughed. "Poor footballer. Pretty woman moves in right across from you and you cannot do anything but . . . drool all over that rule book you're so proud of."
"Piss off, puck-tard."
"Rowan is totally hot in that ‘I'm super limber and can crack your head like a walnut between my muscular thighs' kind of way that all dudes totally dig."
I leaned in closer to my sister. "Are you drunk?"
"Don't tell me you weren't secretly watching her perform the Rockette kick line at the home games last season and fantasizing about having her ankle by your head as you-"
Axl put his mouth on her ear, cutting off her stream-of-consciousness rambling.
I didn't even want to know what he'd whispered that'd made her blush that hard. I left the table but I doubted they noticed.
• • •
The afternoon had been low-key for a Lund gathering.
I spent time talking cars with my dad and we made plans to meet at our usual private racetrack. His vintage 1967 Corvette was no match for my ZR1, but that didn't keep him from trying to whip my ass several times over the summer.
By the time I returned to my apartment complex it was almost dinnertime.
Exhausted, I took the elevator to the second floor, rather than the stairs.
In the hallway, Calder's voice gave him away before he turned the corner. Out of instinct I twisted my pelvis to protect my balls.
Calder wasn't alone. He held the hand of a man with long silver hair pulled into a ponytail. The dark red flannel worn over a pair of overalls provided a better hint of his identity.
Just then Calder noticed me. "Hey!"
"Hey yourself. Whatcha been up to?"
"I was at Grammy and Pop-pop's farm."
I walked toward them. "I figured you were gone, it was far too quiet around here. No one running in the hallway playing ninja-samurai."