by Lynn Rush
“Yeah, sure. No problem.” He leaned to the side. “Nice one, Iron Willow!”
She huffed, and I let out a chuckle. She did kind of look like a boxer the way she threw down her mitts and was ready to take Matthew on.
“Um, no. My dad’s at work, and my grandpa is at home. But please don’t call him. I don’t want him to worry.” She grimaced, then hissed in a breath.
A wave of hot anger punched me in the chest. “Coach, they gonna suspend him for what he did to Willow?”
“Assessed a penalty, marked as not served.” He shook his head.
“That’s bull—”
“You know the drill. It was after the game, and it didn’t lead to a full-on fight.”
Yeah, yeah. I knew the drill all right. Still sucked.
“Let’s get you up. Take it slow.” I cupped her elbow and guided her away from the team bench. “Socks are going to have to do. I couldn’t find crap in your bag.”
She grinned, then flinched again. “Hey. No making me laugh. Or smile. Or talk.”
I wanted to laugh, but I couldn’t. I hated seeing her in pain. A blast of cold air stung my face as I pushed open the door for us. Snowflakes fell from the sky and landed on her lashes.
If she wasn’t covered in blood right now, this might have been a romantic scene. But instead of romance, tears started to stream down her cheeks.
“Please don’t cry.” I eased my arm against her upper back and bent down slightly then said, “Hold on.”
She draped her arm around my neck, and I hoisted her up, weaving my free arm beneath her knees. Clutching her to me, both from my need to take care of her and to keep her stocking feet dry from the snowy ground, I brushed my cheek against her forehead.
Warmth cascaded into me as she snuggled close. Damn, she fit in my arms perfectly.
Moving as gingerly as I could so I didn’t jar her too much, I trekked across the lot to the ambulance parked near the back.
Coach emerged from the rink a second later and caught up to us. “Willow, I called your dad. He’s going to meet you at the hospital.”
“Maybe I can skip the ambulance ride. Can Brodie just drive me? Or better yet, I can call my mom. She—”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” A woman wearing a navy shirt and khaki pants gave Willow a warm smile as she stepped out of the back of the ambulance. “I hear you have a pretty deep cut. Let me give it a look.”
I set Willow on the bumper of the ambulance but stayed close. The EMT gently nudged her chin with her gloved finger as I held Willow steady. Willow winced, and the gash started bleeding again.
“It appears to be pretty clean.” The EMT stepped away from Willow. “Did you hit your head at any point?”
“No, I had my helmet on the whole time, and when I fell, I kept my head up.”
After the woman conducted a few quick assessments, she gave Willow a nod. “I do not believe a transport to the emergency room is merited, but I can offer you one if you choose.”
“That’s way too expensive.” She looked up at me from the shelter of my arm around her shoulder. “Can you drive me, Brodie?”
“Of course,” I said, nodding to the EMT. “Thank you.”
I got Willow tucked into my Tahoe under the close scrutiny of Coach as I told him our plan.
“Drive safely.” Coach patted my shoulder. “Text me how things go.”
I snagged a blanket from my trunk, then hopped in and threw it over her. “You warm enough?”
She rested her head back, still holding the towel of ice to her ashen face. “Getting there.”
I fixed the vents toward her, then checked my surroundings before pulling out of the lot.
“I’m so pissed at Matthew, I could punch him. Again,” I said.
“Get in line, buddy,” she added.
Her eyes were closed, her head against the headrest. A tear escaped and tore a path down her smooth skin. I reached over and brushed it away. “It’ll be all right, Willow.”
She let out a breath, her nostrils flared. “Am I done playing for the weekend?”
“No. I mean, unless the doc says so, but you didn’t hit your head, which is good. And I’ve played with cuts like yours, even worse. Once they’re stitched up, you’re golden.” I glanced at her. “I mean, as long as you feel well enough. Josiah can fill in if you’re not—”
“No way. I’m playing.”
I grinned at her stubbornness, a warm feeling flooding through my chest. “You’re amazing, you know that?”
“Don’t,” she whispered.
“Don’t what? Are you okay? Feeling sick?”
“No. I’m fine. I—” She squeezed her eyes closed for a second. “Don’t say things like that. I’m not amazing.”
“Yes, you are.” I tucked the blanket closer to her neck, then brushed my knuckles along her skin. “And beautiful.” Even tears, matted hair, and a swollen face didn’t hinder her beauty. “And sexy—”
“Brodie. Stop,” she whispered. “It’s too…difficult. You’re just so sweet and nice and thoughtful.” Another tear escaped. “I hate that we can’t be together.”
It felt like someone kicked me in the stomach. I wanted to be with her, too. The two kisses we’d stolen haunted me. “Me, too, Willow. Me, too.”
…
“Brodie!” Jessa stormed through the ER doors and directly to where I was sitting in the waiting room.
I’d been wasting space on the hard, plastic chairs for nearly an hour, waiting for an update. “She’s still back there.” I stood up, stretching my arms toward the tiled ceiling.
I hated waiting rooms. Hospitals, too. The bleachy, clean smell brought me back to being here when Mom was brought in. And then the times I’d been here with Caleb since. Each instance felt like a swift kick to the gut, and tonight was no different.
“I saw what happened on YouTube.” Jessa stopped beside me, a whirl of grease and sugar smells plowing over me. My stomach roared with hunger.
That was when I noticed she was wearing a Sub Shop polo. “You didn’t happen to bring any subs, did you?”
She opened her big leather bag and pulled one out. “Thought you might be hungry.”
“Lifesaver.” I snagged the bag, then sat down in my seat and dug in. “I didn’t want to leave in case she came out or her dad got here.”
“He texted me; he’s on his way. He was a few towns over making a delivery.”
I nodded as I took a bite. I’d almost eaten half the sub with just a few bites.
“Freaking Matthew Halliday.” Jessa plopped down beside me and fastened her long blond hair up with two pencils. “I’m just glad she didn’t get injured so she can still skate. You know?”
My stomach dropped, and the bite I’d just taken tasted like dirt. I set the half-eaten sub on the bag that was on my lap.
“I got a pretty good video of her the other day, landing some doubles.” She eyed me. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I took a drink of the now cold coffee I’d gotten from the cart that’d come by a while ago. “I’m glad, too.”
“Yeah. I can tell.” She nudged me. “She’ll be fine. Willow’s tough.”
Jessa thought I was worried about Willow’s injury, and sure, I was, but even more, I was sad. I hated the thought of Willow leaving. Of not seeing her every day. Sure, it sucked we couldn’t be together, but at least I got to hear her laugh. Smell her coconut perfume.
“Jessie! Broda!” Willow wheeled through the ER automatic doors, a huge smile filling her face. “Wait.” She giggled. “That’s not right.”
She looked up as if she was trying to see the orderly who pushed her wheelchair and pointed. “This is…Jaaaason.”
Jessa put her hand over her mouth and chuckled. “She’s so loopy.”
I set my food on the chair beside me and stoo
d up, keeping Willow in my sights. She sagged against the wheelchair, smiling and laughing.
“She never could tolerate pain pills.”
White gauze covered her left cheek, the tape going right up to her bottom lid. Hair had fallen out of her braids and shot out all directions. She was wearing a blue hospital top now but still had her leggings on that were under her pads.
“Here you go.” The orderly handed Jessa a big plastic bag so full with the hockey gear inside, it was stretching the limits, nearly bursting through.
“Jessa. You’re the bestest friend in the whole world.” Willow laughed. “But you’re kind of wavy and tilted. How’d you do that?” She pushed on the arms of the chair as if to get up.
“Oh my gosh,” Jessa said, kneeling before Willow. “Stay put. I got all your stuff from your locker at the arena and what you came here in. Your phone’s in there, too, and your dad is waiting out front with the car.”
Her glazed-over gaze landed on me, and her smile widened. “You’re my knight in shining armor.”
Heat fused my cheeks as I stepped up beside her as the orderly pushed the wheelchair through the doors.
“Except I’m mad at you. You should have let me punch that turd Matthew right in the nose.”
I chuckled. “Enjoy those painkillers, slugger.”
Jessa pointed to a blue Honda. “There’s your dad.”
“That’s him,” Willow sang out, waving her hand.
Jessa hugged me. “Thank you for bringing her here! You’re an awesome teammate and friend.”
“Sure,” I said, watching Willow. I didn’t want to leave her. I couldn’t invite myself over, though. Her dad and Jessa would take care of her.
But I wanted to watch over her. My breath whooshed out of my chest as a swirl of arctic air slapped me across the face. It was enough to drag me back to reality. Willow wasn’t mine to take care of.
Like Jessa had just so starkly reminded me, I was her teammate. Maybe a friend, but nothing more.
“Jessa, are you coming to my house for a sleepover?”
She chuckled. “I’m going to come over and help you get situated.”
“Situated. Situated. That’s a funny word. Situuuuated.”
“Let’s get you out of this chair,” the orderly said.
With Jessa on one side and me on the other, we each took one of Willow’s hands as she stood up.
“Hey, honey.” Her dad opened the passenger side door. “Thanks, Brodie and Jessa, for taking care of her.”
“Daaaaad, how dooooo you know Brooooodie?” Willow said with a giggle.
He gave her a soft smile. “Sweetheart, it’s Woodhaven. Everyone knows everyone.”
“Feel better, Willow.” I pulled her into a quick hug, then stepped back. “I’m glad you’re okay. I’ll text Jessa later and check on you.”
“Thanks, buddy.” She slapped her hands on my cheeks and pulled me close. “Come here.”
Her lips crashed against mine. She tilted my head and dove into the kiss without restraint. As if on autopilot, I kissed her back.
I heard Jessa gasp, and I flinched back. Shit. “Um…she’s out of it. I—we—”
“Mmm…that was nice, but the park was better.” Willow swayed in the breeze, staring up at me with glazed eyes.
“The park?” Jessa asked, looking at me and then Willow.
“Probably just a doped-up loopy dream.” Lie. Of course we’d kissed in the park. And at the Hay Bale Maze. And I’d wanted to kiss her every day since. But I couldn’t let anyone know that. I had to try to cover.
Jessa arched an eyebrow. “Riiiight.”
I might not have been very convincing…then again, maybe it was time to stop dancing around things and go for it with Willow. Tonight, being here at the hospital, her injury and that kiss—even if it was prompted by pain meds—was a vivid reminder of how life could change so quickly.
I’d told her I didn’t want to take anything for granted that night on the swings when we’d first kissed. But I had been doing just that with Willow. I was wasting every second I had with her by hiding behind my fear. The fear of her leaving, the fear of our teammates finding out, not to mention the no-fraternizing rule.
Screw it. I liked Willow, and I wanted to be with her.
Rules be damned.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-ONE
Brodie
It took talent to park a Land Rover sideways in a driveway without hitting the water feature. But Dad had done it.
Thank God Caleb was staying at the Armstrongs’ this weekend because of the hockey tournament and didn’t see this. I wasn’t sure how I could explain it away like I had all the shit Dad had been pulling lately.
I eased the car around his and into the garage stall, then snatched the mail I’d gotten and hustled through the front door. “I’m home.”
“Kitchen,” Dad said.
I riffled through the mail as I made my way toward the kitchen. One item caught my attention because it had a huge red stamp on it that said FINAL NOTICE.
My stomach plunged.
I crept toward the kitchen, and I heard my dad say, “Hurry up, Brodie’s home. Just shut it down. Get ’em off our backs.”
Holding my breath, I slowed near the entryway to the kitchen to listen.
“Fix it, Miles—make this go away,” Dad said, and then another pause followed.
He must be on the phone.
“Whatever, I have to go.”
I heard what I thought was Dad’s cell clanking against the countertop, and I drew in a deep breath as I took the final step through the doorway.
“Hey, kid,” he said, then glanced behind me. “Where’s your brother?”
“Armstrongs’.” I leaned against the wall beside the center island.
There was a cup of coffee next to Dad and a small plate with some toast on it. Bags hung dark and heavy beneath his eyes, and his brown hair seemed grayer. More prominent streaks just above the ears.
He looked like a different man. A stranger.
Then again, I hadn’t seen him in over a week. He’d not made any of my games this Thanksgiving break, nor had he shown up on Thanksgiving Day. I’d lied to Caleb and said he was away on a business trip, but I’d had no clue where he was. He’d texted me a couple times to say he wouldn’t be home, but nothing other than that.
I plopped the envelopes in front of him. “Grabbed the mail.”
He shoved the bundle aside, then reached for his cup.
“Coming to the game tonight?” I asked.
“Can’t.”
“We’re in the championships.”
“Of a holiday tournament. It’s not a big deal.” He grunted, focusing on the newspaper he was scanning on his iPad. He used to be all about my playing hockey, even the holiday tournaments. Came to every game with Mom, asked me questions about it, about school, about girlfriends.
But now…nothing.
And it wasn’t just a holiday tournament. Sure, it might not have counted against full season stats, but scouts watched them. They knew the teams that did well in these. And they sometimes came out to see them since it was on the holiday.
Dad didn’t care about anything anymore.
I unfolded the envelope marked Final Notice, and when I held it up, it was shaking in my grip.
“Dad, what happened to Rita and everyone else?”
“Cut ’em loose.”
“Are we getting new people?” I’d already known the answer since Rita was let go several weeks ago and nobody else came in to take her place.
“Don’t need ’em.”
“Yes, we do, or you need to come home and take care of us. I don’t know how to cook anything other than mac-n-cheese and corn dogs. And Caleb needs—”
“Figure it out.” He finally looked up, his brown eyes
hard and cold.
Had I heard him right? Had he just told me to figure it out? Like I knew anything about cooking or taking care of Caleb.
“You gotta step up, kid. You need to help more around here.”
The breath whooshed out of my chest. “But I— What do you mean?”
He shoved the iPad to the side. “There’s more to life than playing hockey. Look after your brother while I try and keep things together here.”
“Keep things together? You mean cooking dinner for Caleb, making sure he takes a shower once in a while and is doing his homework? Or take him to school every day? Because I’m already doing all those things.” I held up the envelope. “Or are you talking about keeping the lights on? Is that my job now, too?”
“Shit.” He reached over the breakfast bar table and snatched the envelope from my hand. “That’s nothing. Oversight.”
“Then what’d you mean by keeping things together?”
“Nothing you need to worry about.” He stood so fast, the barstool behind him shuffled back. He grabbed it before it fell over, but the aggressiveness of how he did it had me stepping away.
There was a center island between us, but I could feel the anger palpating from him. It didn’t make sense, though.
“Dad. What’s going on?” My heart hammered away in my chest, and my fists formed tight balls.
“Nothing. It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not,” I said a little louder than I’d intended. “Things are not fine here.”
“Watch it.” He glared at me.
“Excuse me?” I could feel my pulse throbbing in my temples. “Did you even know I had to rush Caleb to the hospital last month for his asthma?”
“That kid is always—”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Dad.” I yelled it that time as I stepped toward the counter that separated us. “He’s sick.”
“He’s always sick.”
“He didn’t ask to have asthma. You think he likes being this way? Going to the hospital?”
“I have work.”
“I have school. It’s my senior year. And what the hell do I know about anything anyway?”
Dad stared at me, his nostrils flaring. “You’ve got it so rough.” He raised his arms and waved to his surroundings. “Such horrible living conditions, how have you survived?”