Nightingale: An Anthology for Ukraine

Book Preface

“HEADS UP, STEVIE’S FRIENDS ARE COMING TO THE GAME TONIGHT, SO YOU need to be on your best behavior.” Shippy, my older brother, who also happens to be an NHL player, is standing in the doorway to my bedroom, his hands on his hips. His expression is pinched and disparaging, which is typical. The only time Bishop doesn’t look angry is when his girlfriend, Stevie, is around.
Regardless, I take the opportunity to needle him. “I haven’t even done anything yet, and you’re already giving me your disapproving-dad look.”
His eyes narrow further. “That’s because I know you. And I also know that you’ll flirt with anything with boobs and a pulse. You cannot hook up with Stevie’s friends.” Stevie currently lives in the apartment next door, but Shippy, whose actual name is Bishop, spends pretty much every single night at her place. Which means I get this apartment all to myself more often than not.
I give him a thumbs-up. “Got it. I can’t hook up with Stevie’s friends.” But that doesn’t mean I can’t flirt with them.
“I mean it, Nolan, do not ask for anyone’s number. Treat Jules and Pattie like they’re family, not like they’re potential notches on your bedpost.”
“Can I treat them like distant relatives of a step-aunt or something? You know, so only related by marriage?” I’m just pulling his chain.
He purses his lips. “Do not make me regret this, Nolan.”
“Dude, it’s been months since I’ve picked anyone up at a game, why would I start with Stevie’s friends?” I tug a long-sleeved shirt from a hanger and add, “I’ll be on my best behavior.”
“That’s what I’m worried about,” Shippy grumbles. “I gotta roll out, Stevie says she’s heading to the arena in an hour and she’ll stop by and pick you up on the way.”
“Cool, cool. Thanks, bro. See you at the arena. Have a good game, eh.” He nods, drums on the doorjamb like he’s thinking about saying something else, but then turns and heads down the hall, leaving me to finish getting ready without him nagging me. In Shippy’s defense, I used to use the fact that my brother is an NHL player as a way to pick up women. The worst part is that it actually works. Although, none of them was bound for relationship status. It was mostly just one night of fun and done. It was a pretty hollow existence, so I stopped.
Fifty minutes later Stevie texts to let me know she’s ready to roll, so I grab my coat and meet her in the foyer. Her hair is a pale shade of green and she’s sporting a green jersey with Shippy’s name and number on the back.
“Ready to watch Seattle win some hockey?” Stevie asks.
“Sure am.” I grab the apartment keys from the table and make a move to step into the hall, but Stevie stops me.

“You got your insulin with you?”
I pat my breast pocket. “Right here. We’re all set.”
“Cool, cool.” Stevie steps back, giving me room to step into the foyer

and close the door behind me.
I’m a type one diabetic and Stevie has had the misfortune of driving me to urgent care in the past when I wasn’t taking care of myself the way I should. For a while I was living like every day was my last, until I realized it was putting stress on my brother and our relationship. He’s my best friend, and we’re tight. After a come-to-Jesus talk with Stevie, I realized if I kept it up, I was heading down a bad path. The kind that could put me in an early grave. So I started taking better care of myself.
“Thanks for driving tonight. I’m sorry I can’t be the DD, but in a couple of months I’ll have my license back and then you can rely on me for transportation, rather than the other way around.” Again, my lack of license has to do with my previous mismanagement of my condition. Now I’m extra careful about everything.
Stevie pushes the button for the elevator. “Eh, I don’t mind. I have early clients tomorrow morning, so getting stupid drunk at a hockey game isn’t a great idea. Besides, we’re stopping to pick up my friends Pattie and Jules on the way.” I’ve heard about Pattie and Jules, but I’ve never met them before. They’re Stevie’s co-workers at the off-campus physical therapy clinic she works at.
The doors slide open and I hold out a hand, motioning for Stevie to go ahead of me before I follow her inside. “Yeah, Shippy gave me a warning and told me to treat them like family and not a potential hookup.”
Stevie laughs. “Sounds like Shippy.”
I shrug. “I have a pretty long track record that would indicate his worries are valid. I told him I’d be on my best behavior.”

She smirks knowingly. “I’m sure he found that reassuring.”
“Not really.”
Stevie flips her long hair over her shoulder. “Pattie and Jules are big

girls. They can make up their own mind about you.”
“Is that you giving me permission to turn on my Winslow charm?” That gets me another laugh. “I think that’s always turned on full blast for you, isn’t it?”
“Someone has to balance out Shippy’s surly.” My brother has a huge heart, but he doesn’t present as the friendliest guy in the world. The first time he met Stevie he called her face a boner killer and accused her of being his teammate’s mistress. They got off to a bad start, until Shippy realized his error—that she was not a mistress, she was his teammate’s younger sister, and then he went and fell in love with her. And by some miracle, she fell in love with him, too.
We reach the parking garage and I hold open Stevie’s door before I take my spot in the passenger seat. Twenty minutes later we pull up in front of a two-story house a few blocks away from the local college.
As soon as the SUV rolls to a stop, the front door opens and two women step out onto the front porch. I unbuckle my seat belt, and hop out of the vehicle so I can open the door for them.
The one in front is tall and lean, her long hair is pulled up in a ponytail. Her head is down and she’s busy checking the contents of her purse. The second woman is hidden behind her, and she’s a good head shorter. It isn’t until the first woman is about ten feet from the SUV that she looks up from her phone and notices me. She hesitates a step, causing the woman behind her to stumble into her with an oof.