Page 45 of Forecheck
“Brent, oh my God, it’s so good to hear your voice,” Berkley said in a rush. “I’ve been so worried. Lexie told me she saw you, but she wouldn’t give me anything more than to tell me you were alive.”
I chuckled at her rambling.
“Hi, Blondie,” I said.
“What’s going on? How are you?”
“I feel like a Mack truck ran my head over, and I’m going to have a nice little scar on my chin, but otherwise I feel okay.”
“Ugh,” she groaned. “I’m so sorry. I wish I was there to take care of you.”
“Take care of me in what way?” I said suggestively.
“Brent! Now is not the time to be making sex jokes.”
“That was hardly a sex joke,” I laughed. “I was merely asking a question.”
A moment later, my phone beeped, alerting me that Berkley wanted to FaceTime. Desperate to see her face, I quickly accepted.
“Hiiiiiiii,” she breathed. “Gosh, you look terrible.”
“You’re so sweet to me.”
Berkley giggled. “I’m sorry,” she said. “But your chin is all swollen and bruised, and you look exhausted.”
“I am exhausted! The nurses won’t leave me alone.”
“Well, you do have a concussion. There’s like protocol for that, right?”
“Yeah, yeah,” I grumbled.
“God, it’s good to see your face, though,” she said, practically sagging with relief. “That scar is going to be impressive.”
“But it’ll make me more handsome, right?” I flashed her a grin.
“I’m not sure such a thing is possible, but yes.”
“How are you doing?” I asked.
Berkley waved a hand, the camera shaking as she flopped backward onto a bed laden with throw pillows. “Don’t worry about me. I’m not the one who got their bell rung.”
“Yeah, not exactly how I planned my night going,” I told her, shifting a bit to make myself more comfortable. Hospital beds were notoriously disagreeable, and I was stuck overnight for observation. I couldn’t wait to get out tomorrow. “I wish you’d been here, though, but I’m glad you weren’t. Lexie told me you don’t handle injuries well.”
“That bitch,” she whispered. “Okay, in my defense, my brother rarely gets hurt. I was always the one breaking something or getting scraped up when we were kids. I had little regard for personal safety, and I thought I could do everything Logan could and not suffer any consequences. More often than not, I was wrong.”
I laughed, picturing Berkley as a tiny blonde hellion, scaring her parents half to death every time she returned home with a new cut or bruise. My brother Nate had been like that as a kid, too. Berkley, however, had grown out of that recklessness in adulthood. I couldn’t say the same for my younger brother. “Mischievous” might as well be Nate’s middle name.
“My brother was the same way growing up,” I said at last.
“Sounds like you’re the same way now.”
“I didn’t exactly give myself a concussion, Berk,” I said. “You can blame that Quakers asshole.”
“I will, gladly.”
“Speaking of which…who won the game?”
“Your boys pulled it off,” she said, and told me about Mitch’s game-winner, a wicked slapshot from the point that apparently “had eyes for the back of the net.”
