Page 251 of Playing With Fire

He's never liked being the center of attention when it comes to his birthday, which is funny considering he spends most of his life surrounded by people who want something from him.

But I also know he's spent nearly every Thanksgiving since college with our family whenever the hockey schedule allowed.

And this year, he isn't here.

Because he had a game in Denver on Sunday and another stretch of obligations that made traveling home impractical.

Mom nudges a container toward me. “Take this one, too.”

I look down.

Pumpkin cheesecake.

Not just a slice. The entire thing.

“Mom.”

“What?”

“I'm one person.”

“It's not for you.”

I glance up.

She's watching me with an expression I recognize immediately.

The one she used to wear when Declan and I were children, and she already knew exactly what we'd done before either of us confessed.

“It's for Bishop,” she says.

I blink. “Oh.”

“It's his favorite.”

“I know.”

She smiles faintly. “I figured you could take it back to him.”

I turn off the faucet.

“Why would I⁠—”

“Laney.”

I close my mouth.

Mom folds her arms.

“You've been checking your phone all afternoon, and you've mentioned needing to get back to Chicago at least four times since breakfast.”

“I have plans tomorrow.”

“With Avery?”

“Yes.”

“What plans?”