Page 38

Alex

W hen I was fourteen, I got hurt during a high school hockey game. I’d wound up in the hospital with a minor concussion that took me off the ice for two weeks. Mom had been so worried she nearly fought one of the paramedics when they tried stopping her from getting into the ambulance with me.

The few days after the incident, she’d doted on me more than she ever had before. I always woke up to my favorite meals on the table or my favorite snacks and drinks being delivered to me like I was on my death bed.

What I didn’t know was that she hadn’t slept in days during that period.

She seemed fine, minus the bags under her eyes.

She was happy; laughing, smiling, and cracking jokes.

Until the day we got a grocery delivery she’d ordered online that contained three hundred dollars’ worth of my favorite fruit snacks, and two hundred dollars’ worth of my go-to soda.

“This can’t be for us, can it?” I ask, staring at the boxes stacked at our front door. “Maybe it was delivered to the wrong address.”

“You don’t like it? I got your favorite.”

I stare between my mother and the boxes. The one on top is opened so we could see it. It’s packed full of Welch’s fruit snacks. Not just the original variety packs, but the assorted strawberry ones too. “You got this for me?”

I count the boxes in disbelief.

She holds my cheek and smiles at me, but there’s a void in her eyes that makes me wonder if she’s even here. “Of course. You’re hurt. I need to take care of you when you’re hurt. That’s what mothers do.”

“Mom…” I shake my head, turning toward the hundreds of fruit snacks here. “This is a lot of food. Maybe we should return some to get money back. I know the electric bill has gone up.”

Her hand drops to her side. “You’re not happy?”

I rub my sweaty palm against my jean clad thigh. “I am. These are my favorite, and I appreciate you thinking of me. But it’s too much. We don’t have the room.”

She blinks slowly three times. “You don’t love me.”

What ? “Of course I—”

“Nothing I do is ever good enough for you, Alexander. I did this for you, and you’re yelling at me!”

“I’m not yell—”

“How dare you treat me this way, after everything I’ve done for you this week!” she bellows, backing into the house.

“Mom, come on. I’m just trying to be reasonable. There’s no way I can eat all of these.”

She grabs ahold of the door. “You’re so ungrateful sometimes. I’ve only ever thought of you, and you throw it in my face.”

She slams the door, and when the lock slides into place, I squeeze my eyes shut. The spare key is only good for the lock on the doorknob, not the deadbolt she just twisted.

Rubbing my jaw, I sit down on the front step and stare at the boxes encasing me like one of those old box forts I used to build as a child.

Blowing out a breath, I remember to be grateful for the window I keep unlocked in my bedroom to sneak back inside when she’s calmed down.

Whenever that may be.

“I’ll let her know,” Pam tells me softly, reminding me I’m on the phone. “I’m sure she’ll want you focusing on getting better. We all do.”

“Thank you,” I tell her, feeling the headache radiate in my skull.

The crinkling fruit snacks wrapper in my hand lets the old memory fade as I hang up the phone. I’m not fourteen anymore trying to figure out how to return hundreds of dollars of food I’ll never be able to eat. I’m pretty sure it took me a week to get somebody to come pick them up to bring back.

I look from the empty wrapper to my phone screen again to make sure I’m not seeing things when the memory fades.

The doctor told me to limit screentime to help with the concussion recovery, which isn’t that hard to do since I don’t watch that much television. But my phone has always been my lifeline, and one of the reasons is staring me in the face.

Olive: Saw the news. Hope you’re okay

Kyle said they were broadcasting the incident on the news, but I didn’t think it would have reached her. And I definitely didn’t think she’d reach out about it.

“What’s the face for? Is your head hurting? Do you need more ibuprofen or ice?” Belle asks with worry thick in her voice.

She’s been coddling me since Clarkson found me in the alleyway outside Belle’s Place.

He called his stepsister, and they rushed me to the hospital.

I barely remember them picking me up and getting me into Belle’s tiny ass Prius.

What I do recall is the bits and pieces of my captain trying to get cameras out of our faces as we rushed into the emergency room and the horrible headache that echoed in my skull.

I’m pretty sure I puked as Belle was filling out what information she could at the front desk.

Yet, here she is.

“I told you it’s not your fault,” I grumble, knowing she feels guilty over this. “It could have happened to anyone, anywhere.”

The officers I talked to told me that they found the guy who attacked me tweaked out of his mind using my credit card.

All the cash in my wallet was gone, but they recovered both of my cards and everything else important that was stashed away in there.

Not before the douchebag managed to rack up almost a thousand dollars’ worth of charges on my shit.

I’m still trying to fight the company on getting that money back.

“But it happened at my establishment,” she reminds me with a deep frown weighing on her lips.

She takes the garbage from me and tosses it into the kitchen trash before returning.

“I feel awful. I mean, I know there’s a drug problem in the area, but we’ve never had that happen before. You could have died, Alex.”

“I didn’t,” I point out. “It’s not a big deal.”

Except, it sort of is. I’m out for the remaining preseason games.

Doctors’ orders. It pisses me off that I’ve worked my ass off only to be benched, but there’s nothing I can do about it besides try working out to stay in shape since I’m off the ice temporarily.

It’s not Belle’s fault, so I don’t want to show her the anger boiling under my skin or else she’ll be an even bigger pain in my ass trying to make it up to me.

“You don’t have to keep coming over and checking on me,” I say next, leaning back on the couch and wincing when the back of my head hits the pillow Belle propped up for me. “Clarkson is going to assume something is up.”

Belle’s face turns red. “He knows I’m here. He even said it was a good idea in case you needed something.”

He was at practice with the rest of the guys.

Where I should be.

That anger settles a little deeper in my chest.

Sighing, I look back down at my phone. “A couple pain pills wouldn’t be a bad idea,” I tell her, needing some space where she’s not suffocating me.

She immediately jumps up. “I’ll get you some water too.”

Once she disappears into the kitchen, I thumb out a message.

Me: I’ll survive

I send it and try to think of something else to say. Since when do I question what the fuck to text somebody? I’m like a middle school girl trying to figure out how to talk to her crush. It’s pathetic.

Me: I’m out of practice for a few weeks. Doubt I’ll start on game day

The thought makes me scowl, but I force it away when Belle shows up with two red pills in the palm of her hand and a glass of water. “Here. You need to ice your head too. And we should check to make sure—”

“Belle.” I cut her off. “I’m good. Seriously. Don’t you have a business to run? I’m sure they could use your help. If I need anything, I have your number now. But I’ll be fine on my own.”

She doesn’t look like she believes me, but she relents. “Okay. If you’re sure. But I mean it, Alex. If there’s anything you need, use my number.”

I won’t, but I tell her I will to appease her.

“Ohh, who’s Olive?” she asks, making my eyes snap back to my phone. She texted back already, and my eagerness clearly just gave me away. “I get it. You want time to talk to your friend. Fine. But try to get some rest today. The doctor said sleep is important, so don’t sext for too long.”

Christ. “I’m not—”

“It’s none of my business,” she says loudly, already collecting her things and heading to the door. I can hear her giggle, and I can only imagine what she’s thinking. And I have a feeling she’ll share with Clarkson now that they seem to be on speaking terms again.

When the door closes behind her, I settle into my spot.

Olive: I’m sorry. How are you feeling?

Me: Suffocated by a makeshift nurse

I realize after I send it that I probably shouldn’t have, but it’s too late.

Me: She’s a teammate’s sister

Me: It was her place where I got attacked

I groan to myself when I see that I’m digging myself into a hole.

Me: It was at her club I mean

Me: More like a restaurant actually. A bar

I pinch my eyes closed when I see the word vomit happening.

When my phone starts vibrating, I peel one eye open to see Olive’s name flashing there.

The first thing she asks is, “Are you having a stroke? You’re never that talkative through text. Or…ever.”

I huff out a laugh. “I might be. It was a head injury.”

“You’re okay, though?”

“I’m as okay as I can be.”

She blows out a long-winded breath. “That’s…good. Yeah, good. I’m glad to hear that.”

We fall silent.

I stare at the stain on my jeans as I conjure up something to say.

She beats me to it. “So you have a teammate’s sister as a nurse, huh? You seem to be forming a pattern. I didn’t think you had such a specific type.”

I flinch. “It isn’t like that with Belle. She’s the captain’s stepsister and she feels bad about what happened. That’s it.”

Olive doesn’t say anything.

“Her and Clarkson have a thing that everybody seems to know but never really addresses.”

Olive makes a noise. “Wait. So they’re stepsiblings who…?” She grows quiet. “Wow. It’s like the porn I used to watch.”

I choke on the water I take a sip of, spraying it all over myself. “Christ. Warn a guy before you start talking about porn.”