Page 21 of Falling Offsides

“You homesick already?”

Homesick.The word lands harder than I expect—I’ve only been back in LA three weeks after spending a whole month in Rimouski.

“A little,” I admit.

“Well, your mom and I will be spending a few day in LA for our anniversary, before we fly to Barbados next month. Spend a couple days with you, get a pre-tan glow so I don’t burn.”

“That’s never going to happen,” I chuckle.

“The tanning or the not burning?”

“Neither. You don’t tan and you always burn.”

“Count yourself lucky that you got Mom’s genes, then.” I can hear the grin in his voice, and it makes me actually smile.

“If you stay in the shade you’ll be fine.”

“Already promised granny I’d paint the porch. She had Mom’s cousin paint the farmhouse all white, and then decided the fencing needed color…”

I grin at that. “Sounds like granny.”

“She misses you.”

“I miss her too.”

He’s quiet for a moment, then says, “You’ll be okay, Auggie. Don’t let what happened yesterday get to you. These accidents happen in hockey. Do you remember that time one of the kids at the rink had his finger sliced off? It’s not a big deal, son. Coach’ daughter or no?—”

Before he finishes the sentence, the door ahead of me swings open.

Courtney steps out in a rush, phone to her ear. “No, Delilah, I’m not—Jesus!”

She runs straight into me. Big blue eyes bugging when she takes a step back to take me in like she can’t believe I’m actually standing here, waiting for her.

The same thought that occurred to me yesterday when she was on Doc’s bench, occurs to me right now.

Snow White.

She’s even wearing a princess top with the puffy shoulders and fitted long sleeves. Her hair is loose, sans bandage, just a peak of the monstrous bruise I left from under the voluminous curls she’s purposefully tossed to the side.

Man, everything about her is perfect. More than I recall. With the exception of the purple bump.

Fuck, what did I fucking do?

“Jesus,” she mutters again, hand flying to her heart. “You scared me.”

Her phone is pressed to her chest on loudspeaker as another female voice hollers, “Is it him? Tell me it’s the puckinator!”

Puckinator?I think at the same time as Courtney cringes aloud, “Ohmagod, stop!”

Before her friend says anything more, she hangs up and I tell Dad, “I got to go. Call you later, okay?”

I end the call.

We stare at each other.

“You ready?” I ask, cutting through the awkward silence.

Courtney blinks, head tilting to the side. “For what?”