Page 279 of Playing the Pucking Game
It doesn’t escape my attention that I probably should have said just that.
Fuck the consequences. We should have been honest.
“The fuck?” Rett snaps back. “She’s my fucking sister.”
“And she’s my…” Girlfriend. “Roommate. Just give her some time to calm down.”
“Since when did you become her keeper?”
“I’m not. I just know she needs a moment.” His eyes narrow as he studies me, hopefully thinking about the times when we were younger, when she lost her shit and needed to vanish. If I got the chance, I’d go after her. But it wasn’t always possible. If I could go now, I’d be there in a heartbeat.
You only promised not to hurt her a few hours ago, and now look…
I shake that thought from my head.
We agreed to keep this between us for now. When we’re ready, we’ll tell the world…Rett…but that time isn’t now. Especially the night before a game. The team needs me not to be lying in a hospital bed because Everett Donnelly put me there before we even stepped foot on the ice.
Rett’s shoulders bunch around his ears as he looks back toward my guest bedroom with concern etched into his expression.
He cares a lot about Parker. He never intends to hurt her, and he also doesn’t mean to make it worse once he has, but he has this way of riling her up. He always says the wrong thing, and the whole situation spirals. He’s better out here.
“So, what the fuck are you doing here already?” I ask, pulling two bottles of water from the fridge and passing him one as I make my way to the couch.
It fucking kills me to do it, but what other choice do I have?
“I took an early flight.”
“Your coach approved that?”
“Well, obviously, or I wouldn’t be here,” he snarks.
I shake my head, muttering, “Asshole.”
“Honestly,” he says, his voice taking on a more serious edge, “they were glad to be rid of me for the night.”
I frown, not liking a single word that just fell from his lips.
“I think Coach is hoping that a night with my family might help.”
“Help how?” I ask, concern for my best friend growing.
Sure, we’ve slipped further and further apart in the time he’s been up in Seattle, but we still talk regularly.
“You haven’t been online much then?”
“Uh…” Honestly, between work and Parker, there hasn’t been much time for anything else. Plus, I know that the media is full of bullshit fake news, and the less I read it the better. “No. Why? What have you done?”
He shrugs. “Just…you know, being me.”
I groan because I do know him.
When things aren’t going his way, or life is a bit dull for whatever reason, he always goes out and finds the excitement—much to the delight of the media, and the dismay of the PR Director over in the Bandits’ front office.
“The season is going to shit. We don’t stand a chance of making the playoffs and…I’m fucking over it, you know. Losing is not the same buzz as winning.”
“Rett,” I groan, dragging my hand down my face and rubbing my jaw. “You gotta learn to take the rough with the smooth, man.”
“Don’t. You sound like my therapist.”
