The New York Halifax League

“Shhh,” someone hissed. Gabe stirred in his mostly still asleep state. Why did his neck hurt so badly? And why did it feel like there was a weight against his right thigh?

“I need a picture of this,” someone else muttered.

“If you don’t delete that picture this instant, I will skin you alive,” that was definitely Bianca’s voice.

“Touchy.”

Gabe groaned, pulling his neck up from the position he’d slept in with it hanging over the back of the couch. There was pain number one. Bleary-eyed, he saw Bianca sitting next to him, still in the striped shirt and jeans from the night before, with a serious case of bedhead. Her feet were propped against his thigh. Pain number two.

“What’s going on?” he asked sleepily. Although, it came out sounding something like, ‘Waz gonion?’.

“Just collecting blackmail on you two love birds,” Marchy rubbed his hands together.

“As if the day you need blackmail on me will ever come,” Bianca rolled her eyes as she stood up. “Captain awake yet?”

“I think he, Jon, and DZ went up to the gym before breakfast,” Patrick batted his eyelashes at her. “Will you be cooking again or - ?”

“No, I won’t be. Be a big boy, Patrick,” she stretched her arms above her head. “Has there been a formal announcement about the lockout yet?”

“Check your email,” Taylor instructed. “I forwarded it to you.”

It still boggled Bianca’s mind that as a secret international government agency, they still relied on email. As she changed into workout clothes, Bianca read through the email. It was the same BS that she had expected. Phrases like, ‘deeply sorry’, ‘working to come to an agreement’, and ‘hoping to come to terms with a deal that will benefit both parties equally’ riddled the paragraphs.

On her way out of Michael’s walk-in, her purse caught her eye. “Shit,” she muttered. The crushed ear piece and pin-mic were inside it. Taking them out gingerly, she enclosed them in her palm. “Sorry, Taylor.”

“Jesus,” Patrick shielded his eyes as she reemerged. “Those pants are hard to look at,” he gestured to her geometric printed, black and white athletic leggings.

“Not the only thing it’s making hard,” Marchy coughed.

“Screw off,” Bianca rolled her eyes, although a smile did crack its way across her face. “I’ve, uh, got something for you, Taylor.”

“You do?” he knit his eyebrows together.

She extended her palm and dumped the broken parts into his waiting hands. “Sorry?”

Taylor’s big lips turned down. “Both of them?”

“I didn’t know what to do,” Bianca gulped, hating to lie. Taylor was, next to Gabe, by far the most tolerable.

He rubbed his forehead. “No, it’s okay. I can-I’ll see what I can do.”

“Let me know if I could help or pay for anything okay?” she was backing away. “Really.”

Bianca hightailed it out of the penthouse and up towards the gym, three stories above. She ducked through the doorway and waited around the corner, curious about what conversation was going on.

“All I’m saying, Sid,” Michael’s voice huffed, out of breath. “Is that I can’t believe that you went to a private school, without parents breathing down your necks, and didn’t tap that.”

“Lay off, Del Zotto,” Jon’s voice was exasperated and spoke in defense of Sidney.

“I’m just saying.”

“Her parents died,” Sidney said plainly and Bianca got a familiar feeling in the pit of her stomach. “When she was twelve.”

She felt warm, flushed. A knot tensed in the pit of her stomach and images flashed through Bianca’s mind. Images of that bleak, cold winter night and the police officer that had come to the door flashed across her close lids.

She would not cry.

She would not cry.

She would not cry.

She didn’t cry.

Bianca stood up straight, pushed herself from the wall, and rounded the corner. She breathed deeply, one, twice, and a third time. She was in control.

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Michael jibed.

“Morning,” she nodded. “What’s the story?”

“The story?” Sidney asked as he began punching the padded mitts Jon held up in front of his face.

“What’s the plan?” Bianca reiterated. “Your next step?”

“You’ll find out with the rest of the team,” Sidney continued sparring.

“Really?” but Sidney continued to ignore her. “Oh my God. You know what? Fine! Jon, give Sidney the mitts.” Jon stared at her as Sidney stepped back. “Give them to him.”

Bianca took the gloves from Sidney while he pulled on the mitts. The two were no strangers in being in opposite corners of the ring – literally and figuratively. It had been a long time, but Bianca was sure Sidney had changed nothing about his strategy.

“You remember how this goes?” Sidney asked putting the mitts up to block his face in preparation of Bianca jabbing them.

“’Course. I warm up, you put real gloves on, and I kick your sorry ass,” she crouched into her stance. “Same old, same old, Kid.”

Sidney let her have her fun for a few minutes as Jon and Michael watched. They weren’t sure if they were surprised, they all knew Bianca had it in her, but it was unexpected.

In their corner, Michael whispered to Jon.

“What’s their deal?” he asked. “Like, for real.”

“It’s like he said,” Jon shrugged. “They knew each other at Shattuck’s. That’s the deal.”

“You went to Shattuck’s too,” Michael pointed out. “What about you? You tap that?”

Jon rolled his eyes and scoffed. “I was a year behind them and we floated in different crowds.”

“No drunken nights capped off with a romp between the sheets? No keg stands? ‘Protein shakes’?”

“Are you two old ladies done gossiping?” Sidney’s voice interrupted them.

“I’m way too good looking to ever be confused with an old lady,” DZ pouted.

“Come on, Grandma,” Bianca held out her elbow. “Let’s get you your oatmeal.”