Page 11

The cheeky bastard nibbles a hole in the knotted sandwich bag only to spit out the piece of kibble he steals and curl himself back into a ball with a huff.

“There won’t be any of this huffing and puffing buddy. You got to turn on the charm.” Scratching his head, I add, “And I know you got plenty of it.”

Bright brown eyes peer up at me with a nudge of his wet nose, asking for more ear scratches when I move my hand to open my MacBook beside him.

The apartment feels odd, missing something—the buzz from Courtney’s presence.

It becomes more pronounced when I switch the feed to her apartment on and… nothing. The lights are off. There’s not a flicker of movement. Just the faint hum of the AC.

Panic punches me in the chest.

Court should be home by now. Even if she stopped off for groceries, she should be back.

Did something happen at the facility?

Is she okay?

I pick up my phone and debate asking Jayden and Eli how the rest of the day went.

Sylkes always goes late and Morrow stays with him.

I guess all the work they put in together is the reason they’re one of the strongest defense pairs in the league.

The instant I type out the message, I delete it—I never ask what happened when I wasn’t there.

Unless Coach comes to me about it, it’s not my business… except…

Jayden’s voice echoes in my head—that other guy took a puck to the face, walked around fine for hours, then dropped into a coma.

Fuck.

I grip the edge of the counter, my knuckles whitening. My breath shortens. My mind spirals.

I should text him.

Even if just to put my mind at ease.

Pulling up Jayden’s contact, I tap the volume button up on my laptop. Just one notch .

Then—just as I’m about to send Morrow the text—there’s a rustle of keys and the click of a door shutting.

The pup lifts his head, sniffing the air in the direction of the front door right as the feed flickers and Courtney walks in, phone to her ear, towel slung over her shoulder.

She drops her keys on the kitchen counter and starts peeling the straps of her swimsuit down her arms.

I exhale. Tension bleeding out of my spine like a slow release valve.

She’s okay.

The camera’s angled toward the couch, but I can still hear her talking to her friend again.

From the conversations I’ve overheard, I’m piecing together that they’re not just BFFs, the two of them are codependent.

A support system for each other. I like that.

I like that Delilah makes Courtney snort laugh and let down her walls.

And there’s a pang of something knotting in my chest at the thought that I want to be that person for her too.

I change the feed to the camera in the kitchen where Courtney is staring into her fridge intently.

“—no, I didn’t go out,” Courtney says, pulling a bottle of water from the refrigerator and taking a sip while she places the phone on the counter on speaker. “I went swimming at the rooftop pool for a bit. The view from up there is gorgeous, and the evening is warm… and I needed to clear my head.”

Delilah’s voice is tinny through the speakers. “Did something else happen today?”

Courtney exhales sharply, kicking her flip-flops off while she wriggles out of her shorts.

“No. I avoided him after this morning. I can’t work him out, Dee.

The way he was waiting outside my apartment this morning, like he wasn’t an asshat yesterday…

Does he really think buying me a muffin and bringing me a coffee is supposed to make his shitty attitude okay? ”

I clench my jaw, fists tight at my sides as I glance down at the pup staring me out. Even the fucker is judging me. I can tell he’s already on her side from the way his head is tilted and his eyes are all big and round.

Basically, calling me an asshole.

“First, can we acknowledge that you brought The Puckinator into the conversation?” Delilah announces.

“Deli— ”

“ And secondly, what happened to the 'not today, Satan' energy you hit him with this morning?”

“Why are you twisting things like?—”

“Like?” A beat passes, then Delilah’s voice softens—still teasing, but quieter now. “Are you sure you kept your distance just to prove a point?”

Courtney groans and my pulse skitters in my chest. “We are not doing this.”

Delilah laughs. “All I’m saying is, you didn’t hate it when he called you a brat. You didn’t hate the muffin. And you definitely don’t hate talking about him.”

Courtney walks toward the utility room. “This is why I shouldn’t document my life to you.”

Delilah cackles. “Girl, this is why you need to admit that maybe you want him to keep showing up.”

“Don’t you have anything better to do with your vacation than meddle in my love life?”

“Ooooh, we’re calling it your love life now? So?—”

“No. Go back to vacationing.”

“Dude, it’s literally six a.m.,” Delilah says through a yawn, her voice crackling through Courtney’s speaker.

“Maybe you should focus on finding yourself romance in paradise,” Courtney pivots. “Isn’t Greece crawling with brooding mythological types?”

“There’s a shocking lack of tortured Adonises,” Delilah sighs. “I’ve seen more linen pants than leather cuffs.”

“Maybe you’re looking in the wrong ruins.”

“Oh please. I may not have found a tortured hero, but I did find the goddess of carbs.”

Courtney snorts. “You’re not allowed to call croissants Greek.”

“The hell I can’t when they’re stuffed with local fig jam and goat cheese… drizzled with honey and roasted walnuts. Besides it’s too early for baklava.”

“Sounds like the best thing you’ve ever put in your mouth.”

“Babe, I might propose to my plate.” After a beat, Delilah asks the question I murmur at my screen, “Have you had dinner yet?”

“Not yet. I was gonna head out for groceries but—” A pause. “I don’t feel like going back out.”

“What are you having, then?”

“Maybe a protein bar. I think I still have one from the flight.”

“The fuck? No,” I snap down at my MacBook, glancing at the clock at the same time as Delilah asserts, “You are not having a protein bar for dinner. Eww, do not make me disown you. College is over.”

“Too fucking right,” I grumble over Court’s laughter, stroking the pup’s head so he doesn’t freak out at my harsh tone while she ends the call with her friend. He flops back down into a heap on my hoodie as I murmur, “It’s okay, bud. I’m going to fix this.”

Pulling up UberEats on my phone, I scroll until I find the same restaurant from last night. They’ve got a ramen bowl with miso broth and grilled chicken. Warm. Protein-rich. Easy on the stomach. Perfect after swimming.

Before I order, I call the restaurant, double-check about dairy.

They’re good.

I’m good.

The order goes in.

Ramen. Extra protein. Seaweed salad. Coconut water. Extra napkins. Delivered to the front desk with no name.

Back on the screen, Courtney’s disappearing in the direction of the bedroom like a blur. A very pale, naked blur.

My mouth dries, even though I saw nothing. Not really. My chest is pounding as I switch to the camera in her room when the bathroom door clicks shut.

Then, faint through the speakers—her voice, crooning. Soft and off-key and perfect—murmurs above the muffled sound of running water.

The edges of the screen blur as I dim it down in case she comes back out of the bathroom. Just enough to black out the video. Leaving me only with the audio.

I’m not a creep. Or a fucking pervert.

Just a man spiraling—too far in to crawl back out.

I close my eyes, dragging in a breath to the sound of her sugary voice crooning a sad tune. Meanwhile, my heart pounds to it. As off-kilter as her key.

Courtney’s behind that wall. Not even twenty feet from where I’m standing—phone in one hand, watching the progress of her dinner update with a buzz while my other hand scratches at the pups short coat.

Another buzz brings my attention away from the pup and back to my phone.

Maman.

With my throat tight, I croak, “Hey, Mom.”

Her voice is comfort wrapped in concern. “Auggie, how’s the first week going? ”

“Busy,” I say. “Trying to keep my head down.”

“Your father said you’re missing home already. Everything okay?”

I glance at the dark screen, thinking back to the conversation with étienne earlier. “Yeah, all is good. You know how it is… hard hustle...”

“Baby boy…” she sing-songs. “You have to take it easy, child. Training is supposed to prepare you for the season ahead, not wear you out.”

The laugh that escapes me is hoarse. “I know, Mom?—”

“Do you?” she asks, always gentle even when she’s teasing. “Because divine wisdom tells me you’re still my cocky fifteen-year-old trying to be the whole team himself?”

I rub my hand over the back of my neck. “I’m not. I know better now.”

There’s a pause, like she hears it—the edge in my voice.

“Hmm… there’s something else,” she says again, softer this time. Musing.

I sigh, knowing full well I’m about to get dissected by her, and the best way to stop it happening is to give her a distraction. “I got a dog.”

“A dog?”

“Yeah, a boxer puppy. Just picked him up this afternoon.”

“Lord,” she breathes. “You finally caved. I told you forever ago to get yourself a reason to call LA home. You finally listened to your maman.”

My hand rubs over my prickly jaw. “It finally felt like the right time. He was the only one left. The runt.” I glance down at pup giving me his belly. “It was fate.”

“Uh-huh.” That knowing lilt in her voice deepens. “You’re telling me you—Auguste Broussard, of emotionally constipated fame—spontaneously adopted a puppy… just because?”

She’s not buying it.

Of course not, I sigh.

“You’re not gonna drop this, are you?”

“Nope.”

I exhale, eyes flicking to the darkened feed again.

“I met someone.”

Mom goes quiet for a beat. “Oh?”

I shake my head like she can see me. “It’s not like that. Not yet.”

“Not yet… but you got a puppy for her?” Mom’s choice of words hit low in my gut .

“Maybe… yes,” I admit. “But the puppy is mine. Just… maybe it’s a way to get close without pushing too hard.”

“I see,” she hums, and I can hear the smile in her voice. “So, tell me more about your mystery girl?”

“She’s—” I pause. How the hell do I explain myself? “She’s nothing like I expected—bright and sharp and so fucking alive. And she looks at me like I’m carved from stone, like she wants to figure out if I’ll crack.”

“So what you’re saying is she’s got you figured out and wrapped around her finger…”

“Mom, it’s—I don’t know?—”

“Sounds to me like your heart knows plenty.”

“My heart…?” I don’t think my heart knows shit, if it did, it would pick someone else.

Courtney is trouble. She’s off-limits and…

“I know she’s too good for me. Perfect .

She doesn’t fawn. Doesn’t take shit. You know—” I laugh at my memory of Courtney sashaying away from me yesterday morning.

“—she’ll glare first and ask questions later. ”

Mom laughs gently. “And you like that.”

“I shouldn’t.”

“But you do. Auguste, you like a good fight. Always have.”

I nod even though she can’t see it. “I overheard her talking to someone today. One of the PT guys. He was flirting, and she talked about how much she loves boxer dogs… her stepdad never let her have one.”

“So you got her the runt of the litter.”

I glance at the puppy nipping at my fingertips playfully. “Yeah, because she’s not the kind of girl that likes perfect.”

“Oh boy, you’re already gone for her.”

“Don’t say that,” I groan even though I know it’s the truth.

It’s been the truth since I rushed to her after I knocked her out with my puck. It’s been the truth since I drove her home. It’s not even worth arguing it anymore.

“I’m your mother. It’s my job to see what you don’t want to admit.”

I’m quiet for a second. Then say softly, “You can’t tell étienne.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Or Marley.”

“Are you mad? She’d be planning the wedding before I finished.”

“Or Paps.”

“I swear on granny’s rum punch.”

A beat passes. My head is swimming with an avalanche of questions, mostly about my sanity. I know Mom is the secret keeper of the family, but I also know that when she gets excited about something…

“Will I ever get to meet her?” Yup, here is the proof that even if she keeps it a secret, she’s going to be nagging me for more information every day.

“If anything comes of it,” I murmur. “If I don’t screw it up.”

There’s a softness in her next breath. “Then don’t. I like this girl already.”

“That’s the thing—I don’t know how not to.”

“Then learn,” she says firmly. “You find a way. You show her who you are. Not the hockey player. Not the guy Coach Nilsson sees on the ice. You. ”

My throat tightens at her remark. I have to go through everything I told her in a nanosecond to make sure I didn’t mention who Courtney is and that her mentioning Coach is coincidence.

I’m losing it with myself when Mom adds, “When I was trying to win over your father, I used to make him your granny’s Bajan pound cake.”

I snort. “You bribed him with dessert?”

“Absolutely, and look where it got me. Husband. Three beautiful children. A life I don’t regret for one second.”

A ding comes through my phone.

When I check it, I shake my head down at the photo of the recipe she drops in our chat.

“I don’t bake, Mom.”

“Then start. It’s a cake, not a spaceship. Besides, love makes you do stupid things.”

“I just got a puppy.”

“Exactly.”

“My girl can’t have dairy.”

“I’ll send you the dairy-free substitutions.” She pauses, doing as she said before we hang up.

The ingredients ping through one at a time. Even though I have no idea how to bake, I start checking my larder and make a mental list of what I need to make the pound cake.

Thinking about making it for Courtney has a smile tugging on my lips, a thrill vibrating in my chest for the moment she opens her door tomorrow morning to me, the pup, and my granny’s pound cake.