Page 44 of Broken Hearts
Rhett
Adam knocks on my open bedroom door. “House meeting in five.”
I look up from my phone. “All right, but I’m not taking a shot every time I want to talk.”
House meetings around here tend to end with us solving very little and getting drunk instead.
He snorts. “I already warned Maverick the apartment is dry until after Friday’s game.” He lingers, leaning on the doorframe. “Carrie?”
“Nah.” Though she’s texted plenty, too. “I’m texting Sienna.”
“What’s she up to?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t sent anything yet.” Since we went out Tuesday night, I’ve been struggling to figure out what the next move is.
Adam clicks his tongue. “Maybe say ‘hi, how are you doing?’”
“What if she responds with ‘K’? Then what? It’s been a couple of days and I think I might have waited too long.”
“Bring your phone,” he says, pushing up to his full height. “We’ll tackle that after the meeting.”
We gather in the living room. Maverick always attends our house meetings even though he doesn’t live here. He’s here as much as the rest of us, so it makes sense even if it doesn’t make sense. He’s on the couch with Charli next to him and a metal water bottle in his lap.
“That better be water,” Adam says, sitting in the worn leather chair.
I grab a chair from the dining room table and pull it into the living room.
“What’s on the agenda, Cap?” Heath asks. He and Mav bump fists. They give Adam a lot of shit for these house meetings, but they’re usually—no, always—the cause of them.
“I want to make sure the guys are keeping straight until after tomorrow’s game. I know everyone wants to party and celebrate, but we can’t have anyone fucking around and getting hurt or showing up to practice hungover.”
“Pretty sure Ketch was still drunk this morning,” Heath says.
A few of the younger guys went out again last night and practice this morning was shit. You’d think it wouldn’t be such a struggle to stay sober for three freaking days. But it’s exciting and unlike us, the younger guys don’t appreciate just how fucking rare it is to get this far.
The vein in my buddy’s head is popping. A sure sign he’s stressed. “Exactly. That shit can’t fly.”
“He still managed to block most of what we threw at him,” Mav pipes up.
“Most,” Adam emphasizes.
“He lives in the dorms. How are we supposed to make sure he doesn’t drink?” I ask.
“Glad you asked,” Adam says. “I am inviting all the guys to stay here tonight.”
“Here?” Heath points with both hands to the floor.
“Mhmmm.”
“You wanna have a fucking sleepover?” Mav barks a laugh. “I apologize for my language. Please strike the f-word from the minutes.”
Heath pretends like he’s scratching it out from an imaginary pad of paper. “So noted.”
“You’re serious?” I ask, trying to bring us back to the topic. The thought of our place sleeping even half the team makes my brain hurt.
“Some of the guys aren’t going to like you fucking with their routines,” Heath says. “And we can’t exactly enforce it.”
“Like hell I can’t. Nothing is getting in the way of us going to the Frozen Four. Nothing.”
