Page 92 of Rising Heat

The room breaks into laughter.

I glance over at Mack, expecting the same look I’ve been getting every time this conversation comes up.

This time he just looks back and gives me the smallest nod, neither of us saying a word beyond that. Just one look and somehow I know we’re done talking ourselves out of this.

I grin into my beer.

St. Paddy’s Day is next week. Half the department will be marching, the whole city’s always out afterward, and we’ll end up at the Brass Bell with everybody like we do every year.

My phone’s sitting in my locker and I’m not ashamed to admit that I’m already thinking about what to text her.

I like this plan a hell of a lot better.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

darcy

I always assumed that if I ever truly lost my mind, it would feel bigger.

A warning shot from the universe. A lightning strike. Some divine-intervention moment when a voice from the heavens descended specifically to say, Darcy, babe. Maybe don’t.

Instead, it’s St. Patrick’s Day in Boston and I’ve decided to go for a run at eight-thirty in the morning.

Tyler invited me a few days ago, and I made the executive decision that maybe a caloric deficit would offset the disgusting amount of carbs and green beer I’m about to consume today.

Boston doesn’t ease into St. Patrick’s Day…it wakes up consumed by it.

Green bunting hangs from every storefront. Shamrock decals cover bar windows. Somebody two blocks over has draped a massive Irish flag across the front of their brownstone with the kind of commitment usually reserved for social justice movements or championship runs.

Near the park, a man in a full leprechaun costume walks a corgi, both of them carrying it like a badge of honor. Outside a bar on Tremont, a group of college girls in matching Kiss Me I’m Irish shirts are already several drinks into the day despite the fact that it’s barely sunrise, which at this point feels less like poor decision-making and more like cultural immersion.

I’ve only been in Boston six weeks, but I’m starting to understand what people mean when they say this city does things differently.

My phone buzzes against my armband.

Bex

You better not be at the gym on St Patrick’s Day.

Darcy

Running. Outside. Like livestock.

Bex

That’s actually worse.

Bex

WHY?!

Darcy

The boys invited me to the parade. And the bar after.

Darcy

I’m preemptively managing my choices.