Page 96 of Drop Shot
I reach out with one hand and brush my fingers gently along Whimsy’s arm, wanting to offer her as much comfort as I can.
Against my chest, Ebba says, “I don’t want to stay in this place anymore. I just can’t.”
Looking over her head, I read the expression on Whimsy’s face and know she feels the same.
“Pack your stuff. I’ll call Jackson and he’ll make sure to secure a room at the hotel most of the players are at.”
“Thank you,” Ebba mutters, pulling away. She uses the back of her hands to wipe her eyes. If she thinks I don’t notice her wince at the soreness in her wrist she’s wrong.
While the girls go to pack up, I put in the call to Jackson. This isn’t exactly part of his job description, but he doesn’t protest when I explain the situation.
Hanging up from him, I head into the bedroom I share with Whimsy.
She moves calmly and methodically around the space, her things somehow already packed despite the short phone call and she’s moved on to gathering my stuff up.
“Let me do that. You don’t need to pack my shit.”
She shakes her head and won’t look at me. “No, please let me do this. I need the distraction.”
“If you’re sure.” She nods in response. “Jackson’s taking care of the room.”
“Thank you.” I hate how small and fragile her voice sounds—like she’s two seconds from falling apart and desperately trying to keep herself together.
“Of course.”
I swallow past the lump in my throat, trying not to think about what might’ve happened to my girl and my sister if I had gotten back even a minute later. I don’t want to even contemplate what lows Keaton might’ve gone to.
When everything is packed up, I go to call for a car but find a text from Jackson that he’s already sent one and it’s waiting downstairs for us.
The guy might be a giant pain in my ass most days, but he has his moments.
We’re silent on the drive to the hotel. Still silent as we enter the hotel. Jackson waits in the lobby and hands me a key. “I could only get the penthouse since everything else is booked up. I didn’t think you’d care.”
“Not one bit,” I reply, taking the keys from him. “Thank you.”
He nods, sliding his hands in his pockets. “No problem. I hope you guys are okay.”
“We’re better now,” I reply.
“Well, have a goodnight.” He gives a wave and heads toward the hotel bar.
We turn toward the elevator bay and I spot Fisher at the same moment he notices us.
His eyes narrow on my sister. “What’s wrong?” It’s clear he’s asking her, not us. Ebba’s eyes drop to the floor. “What’s wrong?” he asks her again with a hint of desperation.
“I’ll text you,” I interrupt him, before he scares my already traumatized sister further.
I’m not oblivious—I knowsomethingwent on with Fisher and Ebba. Whether they dated in secret, or just hooked up, I don’t know—but he cares about her, that much is clear.
He nods and steps back.
“Let me know if you need anything.”
I can tell it pains him to stay in the lobby as we head up, but he does.
I let out a breath as the elevator makes its way up, but for some reason it still feels like I’m holding my breath instead. Like I can’t breathe properly since I walked into the apartment earlier.
The penthouse isn’t huge—only one bedroom and a pullout couch, but I don’t care and neither do the girls.
