Page 66 of Playing the Pucking Game
Eight years ago…
“Everett, you jerk,” I wail a second after crashing to the ground outside our house.
For the last hour, Rett, Linc, and I have been playing basketball in the front yard. The summer sun is beating down on us and sweat drips down my spine. It’s been a really good day. Or at least it was until Rett’s shoulder-cheked into me in his attempt to get the ball. Granted, I tripped over my own feet, but I’m placing the blame for the whole situation purely at his.
“Don’t be a pussy, PK,” my big brother barks.
Like most little sisters, I have a love-hate relationship with my big brother. In many ways, he’s the world’s most irritating person. But in others, he’s sweet and thoughtful. He also doesn’t see me as an incapable girl.
He may be faster and stronger than me, but he’s never stopped me from playing sports with him. Whether it be on the ice or on a court, he lets me join and sometimes even chooses me for his team. It’s rare, but it does happen sometimes.
“I’m bleeding,” I point out after twisting around so I’m sitting on my ass in the middle of the driveway. Both of my knees arescraped, and from the pain in my right elbow, I’d say that took a beating, too.
“Nothing a wipe won’t fix,” he calls before sinking another basket.
“Asshole,” I mutter under my breath.
“Need a hand?” Linc asks, gazing down at me with a little more concern for my injuries than my brother.
He holds his hand out, and I hesitate.
Lincoln Storm is hot. All the girls at school want him. Well, either him or my brother, but I really can’t see the attraction with the latter.
I want to hold his hand more than I want my next breath, but not in this way.
“I’m fine,” I huff, placing my palms to the scorching-hot asphalt beneath me and pushing myself to my feet.
I don’t care how hot he is. I don’t need a man to look after me.
I’m a strong, independent woman; a grazed knee or two isn’t going to keep me down. I’ve suffered way worse hits on the ice and don’t take a second to think about it before getting back to it.
“I’m gonna go and clean up,” I mutter as I stalk toward the house.
“Linc,” Rett barks, annoyed that he’s now playing alone.
Linc’s brow creases as he looks between the two of us.
I don’t know what his problem is—it’s not like he’s ever going to choose to hang out with me over Rett. Those kinds of situations are reserved for my late-night fantasies.
“Do you need some help?” he asks, ignoring my big brother’s demands for attention.
A laugh tumbles free, making his frown deepen.
“Oh, it wasn’t a joke,” I say when genuine hurt flickers through his eyes.
“Parker, I?—”
“I’m fine. It’s just a graze. Nothing to cry about, right?” But despite my words, my nose itches and my eyes burn. It hurts, sure, but not enough to cause tears. It’s the embarrassment that’s making emotion rise within me.
I need to get away before I lose the battle with them because I refuse to cry over a graze in front of Lincoln Storm.
“Right,” he mutters as I flee toward the house.
I make a pitstop in the downstairs bathroom for the first-aid kit before running up to my room and swinging the door closed. It bounces back from the doorframe like it always does, since I demanded that Dad take the latch out because of my fear of being trapped.
Usually, when I want to hide, I’ll push my chair against it to stop anyone coming in, but I don’t bother right now because no one is going to be following me.
Mom isn’t due home for hours, and Dad is currently at a summer camp on the other side of the country.
