Page 12 of Pucked-Up Roommate Deal

And me…? I had the gig with two of my friends as Nerd Patrol. We were growing by leaps, and it was lucrative for all of us, but what would they think if they knew my background?

My eyes closed and I shook my head before I climbed from the bed. Unsure what to do, I just stood there for a moment, looking around Porter’s space, taking in the bits of his life all around. Hockey. Everything hockey. Itwashis life, everything he’d been focused on. He’d once told me he started playing when he was four. Eighteen years he’d worked toward his future. I couldn’t screw it up.

The phone rang in my hand as I stalked toward my room, still unsure what to do.

“Hello,” I barked into it, not even looking to see who was calling.

“Nash?”

I froze at the sound of my little brother’s voice. We didn’t talk often, both of us trying to make our way in life, but he was my only family. And if he was calling me this early on a Sundaymorning, when it was barely five a.m. where he was, something was wrong.

“Knox. What’s wrong?” I asked, suddenly on high alert.

“They kicked me out. Said…I was eighteen and…They kicked me out.”

Mother fuckers. The kid had just turned eighteen this past week and had a couple more weeks of high school before I brought him to live with me, or near me, depending on Porter. Something I had yet to discuss with my new boyfriend. Well…would-be boyfriend.

“Where are you?”

“One of my friends has been let me squat on his couch, but his mom and dad said I had to go before Monday.”

Shit.

“You should have called me sooner. I’m going to come get you. Do you have your stuff? Can you meet me at the airport?” I asked. I already had my laptop open and to the airline site to buy tickets.

I supposed that I could just buy him a ticket and have him come here, but to my eyes, Knox was a vulnerable teenager. I’d never forgive myself—or his mercenary foster parentsorthe system—if something happened to him.

“Yeah.”

“Okay. I’m getting tickets, and I’m going to send you some cash. Once you get to the airport, go to one of the restaurants orlounges and wait for me. I’ll be there in… Looks like in about six hours.”

“Thanks, Nash.”

“Don’t worry. We’re gonna get this all worked out.”

After hanging up with Knox, I rushed around my room to pack up a few things and my laptop. I’d work on the plane and while I was in California, taking care of my brother. Then I’d come back here and take care of Porter.

I didn’t call back Fletcher George, however. That would have to wait for another day. Knox was the priority right now, and I was rushing to him. It wasn’t until I was almost to the airport that I realized, in my rush, I’d forgotten my phone somewhere between talking to my brother and flying out of my apartment. But as I climbed out of my car at the airport’s long-term parking, it was too late to deal with that problem, too.

Nine

Porter

Sweat coated my body as I skated back and forth, stick in my hand, blades scraping on the ice. It had been a bad session, so our pissed off coach had us skating suicide drills back and forth across the rink.

“This is bullshit,” Parrish, our team captain, muttered in heavy pant beside me.

To the other side of him, Cohen, the right winger of our line grunted. “Shut up before coach catches us chatting.”

Yeah, we didn’t want him to add more time to this punishment. I’d been exhausted this morning and it had shown. Not sure what Parrish and Cohen’s excuses were, but the whole line had put on a shitshow performance today. And fuck me, all I hoped was that we’d get out of here soon and I wouldn’t be too tired to tackle Nash back onto the nearest mattress. Maybe, talk him into moving into my room—or at very least, my bed. We could come up with a new roommate deal. One that involved us together as a couple.

“George,” Coach bellowed. “Keep up!”

Shit. My thinking had caused me to lag behind Parrish and Cohen. I scrambled to keep up with them, keeping my mind where it should be for the next fifteen minutes.

My whole body ached by the time we were sent to the showers, and for the first time in my life, I knew I’d be happy not to see my hockey gear for a week. That wouldn’t happen. I’d be back on the ice tomorrow, without a real break until Saturday.

“Midnight Java?” Parrish asked over the wall between us. Often, we headed over to the coffee place after Sunday practices, but I shook my head.

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