Page 47 of Kitty Season (Green Line Ice #2)

I wake on who knows what fucking day, with a headache as debilitating as a Taylor Swift burn track, and my mother’s sweet face hovering above me.

“Hello darling.”

“Jesus Christ!” Sheer terror sees me bolt upright, then immediately drop like a sack of shit when pain kicks in.

“Nope just me, he-he.” She laughs like she’s the first person to pull off that line and plonks beside me on the bed. “You shouldn’t jump like that, by the way Brady. It’s not good for your head.”

“No shit. Maybe you shouldn’t hover above me watching me sleep.” I’m kind of still asleep and wondering if this might actually be a vivid dream or nightmare. More likely to be a nightmare since a naked Troye or Quinn isn’t involved.

“Shit. Quinn!” Again, my body surges into an upright terror position and again gravity sets me on my ass with equal haste. “Is Quinn here? I was so horrible?—”

“Quinn and Troye have just gone to the shops to get some things for dinner. Quinn wanted to make you some quinoa. They’ll be back in a jiffy.”

I blink again. Quite a few times. “Dinner?” Last thing I remember, Noah was bringing me inside after taking me to the emergency room. I was so drugged up, he practically had to carry me inside and tuck me in. It hadn’t even been that late.

“You’ve been asleep almost twenty-four hours,” Mum says, answering the unasked question. “And it’s a good thing. Your body heals while you’re sleeping and that noggin of yours needs some healing.” I nod ‘cause, yeah, it does, then reach out and take Mum’s hands.

“You’re here,” I say like a twit. “Hello.”

“Hello, my son.” My eyes fall shut, and I sigh. I love how Mum says son. It’s one of the few words where I can still hear her accent. It feels like she’s hugging me each time I hear it. And though I’m sure I just asked her, I follow up with.

“Where’s Quinn and Troye again?”

“They went to get—” Mom pauses, leans back towards the open door, then smiles. “Sounds like they’re back now. Hang on a tick.” Grunting exorbitantly, she waddles her way outside, allowing all the time in the world for my stomach to twist in knots.

My memory of the last … however many hours it’s been since the game is patchy at best. One thing I can clearly remember though is the way I spoke to Quinn.

My bumbling cruelty made Mr. Darcy’s proposal seem like poetic prose.

“You proudly declared yourself a Bunny. What else am I supposed to think?”

“Brady?” A lock of Quinn’s hair is all I can see but I would notice that voice buried fifty feet under the sea.

“Hello.” Jesus. Is that all I can say now?

Quinn edges in, her left hand outstretched behind her tugs and then there’s Troye, holding on for grim death. Hello, Troye . I manage to keep to myself.

The second I see all of her, of them, I am colossally overwhelmed. “I’m so sorry, Quinny. I was so scared and my head—” Said head is cradled in her hands before I can finish and Troye’s are placed atop hers in an affectionate pile on. “I’m so sorry. I love you both so much.”

Each of them kiss me on the forehead, then gently sit on either side of me.

Quinn the first to speak. “We love you too, Brades, and it’s okay.

Brady, I can’t lie and say it didn’t hurt, but we know that wasn’t you.

We spoke to Doctor Carmichael, that sports neurologist Dad arranged to see you, and he explained how concussions can affect mood, and temper. ”

“And your memory,” Troye adds. “Noah took you to the hospital because you kept asking where Quinn was, and saying the same thing over and over. I think you freaked him out.”

“He would have been fine if I was talking about him.” I crack the tiniest of smiles and am rewarded with two beaming ones in return.

“See, Kitty.” Troye leans closer and kisses me so deep my head spins … in the best possible way. “He’s making jokes already. Our boy’s still there.”

I worry my lip between my teeth. “ He might be different though.”

Quinn places her hand on my chin, tilts my head and presses her lips to mine.

“ H e will always be enough.”

The happiness I felt at seeing my mum, that tingled all the way down to my pinky toes, and right back up again did not last long.

Within a few hours it fused with the lingering guilt over my behavior towards Quinn and the uncertainty of my future.

Sleep has been my only respite, which is a good thing because there has been plenty of it.

I drifted off before Quinn had finished cooking her quinoa and am only waking now, twelve hours later, Quinn curled up, her back against my chest. Troye behind me, my back to his.

Safely nestled in my cocoon, desiring to wake this way for the rest of my days, I’m hit with an unwelcome, unnerving dose of reality.

How many more mornings will there be? If I don’t have hockey, then I don’t have a scholarship, or a student visa.

And the game? I didn’t even ask about the game. How fucking selfish can I be?

“I can hear you thinking from here,” Troye grumbles, and shifts behind me. His morning wood stabbing me in the ass. “Ignore that.”

“I hope to God I’m never in such a state that I want to ignore that .”

“You have to, though,” Quinn says through a yawn. “Doctor Quinn’s orders.”

“Use it as motivation, Skip. And if you’re a good boy, the second the real doc gives you the all clear, me and Quinny will be happy to make it up to you.”

“Maybe I can wear the kitty ears?” Quinn says as she teasingly rubs her ass against me, just like every good health professional should. “And if it makes you feel any better Troye and I are on a sex ban.”

“A sex ban that I had no say in. Nothing wrong with staying match fit, I say.”

“Sorry mate, but I’m with Quinn on this one. Especially since Mum is—Wait. Kitty ears?”

Quinn’s next to me happily munching on toast. Troye’s in the shower. Mum’s doing the dishes and talking about her neighbor’s daughter, Jan, as though I hold the answers to why her cat is sick all the time.

Luckily, there’s enough bacon, Vegemite toast and Cornflakes to distract me, and to feed a small nation. “Why does everything smell and taste so good?” I say, leaning into her. “It feels like I haven’t eaten in days.”

“Maybe because you haven’t? Not much anyway. Water and one bowl of soup cannot satisfy a man of your size.”

Troye slips into the seat next to me, his eyes wide as he denies his need to make a satisfy a man of your size, joke. I’m more concerned with resisting his fresh shower scent and charcoal suit and tie I’ve never seen him in. Did he mention going out today? Shit, I can’t remember shit.

I devour the last piece of toast on my plate then lean back and rub my rounded belly, gaze only wandering from Troye to check that Mum’s out of earshot.

“You look hot. Are you dressing up for breakfast with us or do you have a hot date?” Eyes darting to Quinn, a slight grimace appears on Troye’s freshly shaven face.

“I need to talk to you about something Skip, and it’s something that might upset you.”

“Is it about the game? ‘Cause if it is, it’s okay. I know you won. I saw it on my phone before Quinny could snatch it away. I was stoked, then I think I forgot.”

I blush, embarrassed with my forgetfulness, but Troye smiles and winks like I said the cutest thing ever. “It’s related to the game, yeah. To hockey in general.”

A wave of nausea rolls over me that has nothing to do with the four person breakfast I just consumed.

Bracing myself I take Quinn’s hand in my right, and snag Troye’s hand with my left.

Even through the anxiety, I can’t help but feel calmed by the way he just accepts my touch.

So much has changed. “Troye, I don’t want you to dull your excitement for me.

I can’t exactly jump for joy right now, my head would implode, and if it didn’t Mum would kill me anyway.

But I promise I’m really happy for you and the boys.

I should have said something, but, yeah, I forgot and—” Troye turns our hands over so his is the dominant and squeezes back.

“I got signed, Skip. It’s not a big deal really, but I got signed with an agent and I got signed with Boston.”

The urge to do exactly what I said I wouldn’t, jump and scream and yell, is too strong. I yank my hands back, push off the table, and I’m up as quick as I can.

“Brady!” Quinn admonishes but she needn’t worry.

Troye’s faster on his feet, obviously. Grabbing my shoulders, he pushes me back down, pins my arms to the table then wedges himself between my spread thighs.

I’m trapped beneath him and it’s cruelly hot.

“You got signed.” I literally pant. “With Boston. You got signed with Boston. You got?—”

“Yes, Skip. I got signed with Boston. I did and I have to go and meet with them today. I’m not sure if I’ll get a game with the B’s straight away like Noah did, or if I’ll start with the home team, and to be honest. I don’t care.

All I care about is that you are okay with this.

I don’t want you to think I stole your dream. ”

Behind me I hear Mum whimper, then quietly slink off into my old room.

I wish I could slink off, but maybe to the pits of hell instead.

Troye is living the fantasy of every hockey player and he’s too scared to celebrate it because of me.

A memory of me warning Quinn about Troye’s selfishness rears its ugly head, seeing me drop mine into my hands.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever been more wrong about someone as I have been of you,” I mutter. “Quinn’s had this unwavering faith in you all this time, and I couldn’t see it because I was so jealous, and so in denial of how much I wanted you.” Troye ducks down, a faint smile curling his lips.

“Well, I did torture you with celly snaps and hold your troll for ransom for weeks. Either way, I think we both know Quinn is the beholder of a far greater intellect than you and me … Or should that be you or I, Kitty?”

Brows raised, Quinn flicks her hair over her shoulder. “Sorry I wasn’t listening to anything after the celly photos and trolls. What the hell, Troye?”