BZRK (BZRK 1)

“Long flight,” his father acknowledged. “You could have spent the time with your grandmother in Maryland.”

Stone held up mock-surrender hands. “Did I sound like I was complaining?”

“Your grandmother loves you.”

“My grandmother loves painting ceramic figurines of First Ladies.”

“Historically accurate figurines,” Grey said, and gr

inned. “You could have helped her decorate Abigail Fillmore’s bonnet.”

Stone pretended to weigh the alternatives. “Abigail’s bonnet … Singapore girls in formfitting saris. Hmm. Tough one.”

Earbuds back in.

Here am I living in it

Here am I in everything.

His sister, Sadie, had gotten him started on punk, probably thinking he needed something less, well, insipid than what he came up with by following his usual pattern: downloading whatever his friends were listening to. Sadie was like that, one of those people untouched by trend or fashion, comfortable building her own world out of what she liked, from tunes and styles and reads that could be so ancient they were cobwebbed, up through to things so new they barely existed yet. Sometimes it was like she imagined something and conjured it into reality.

Sadie could be a prickly little witch, but at sixteen she was who she was in a way that Stone could not quite equal. Didn’t bother him, not really. Stone had a defined role to play. He was the heir, the scion, the eldest. There’d been lots of times he envied Sadie’s freedom—man, who wouldn’t?—but he was okay with his destiny. Someone had to do it. Might as well be him.

Spent so much of my time thinking

Feeling like I’m under attack.

Overlooking the reality in front of me

Wandering down so many paths.

And for his mother, whose ashes had settled into the Atlantic at the midpoint between her native London and her adopted New York.

He looked out of the window, veering his thoughts away from that last image. Not right now, not right now, not that memory.

Stone and his father had taken off from Teterboro and now were flying over the Meadowlands. Down below, a game. Football, American style.

Stone’s life had been split more or less evenly between New York and London, so he could appreciate both sets of sport obsession: football and baseball in the States, soccer and cricket in the U.K. Still couldn’t imagine what anyone saw in hockey, because …

Then he remembered.

Earbuds out.

“Hey, isn’t Sadie at that game?”

Grey looked up and smiled, a conspiratorial look. “And I’m sure she’s loving every minute of it.”

Stone laughed. “Yeah. Nothing Sadie likes better than being outside in the cold and part of some big, cheering crowd.” He shook his head. “I hope the dude is worth it. Is it that Tony guy I met?”

Grey nodded. “I think highly of his father. Tony himself … well, I suppose I could offer Sadie some fatherly advice on that kid.”

They both burst out laughing. The idea of Sadie listening to advice from anyone. On any topic. Let alone her love life.

“You’re not that brave,” Stone teased.

“I’m not that stupid,” Grey countered with a look of mock fear. Then, in a softer tone, turning his eyes away, looking out and down, “She’s got your mother in her.”

Which just veered Stone back to a place he didn’t want to go. He nodded and didn’t trust his voice to answer. Not even a “Yeah.” Even one syllable could break his voice.