Page 46 of Center Ice
“Have you been asleep since you left practice earlier?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Good.” She reaches into her bag and pulls out two bottles of electrolyte water and hands them to me. “Drink these, and then go back to bed. Your body needs as much sleep as possible.”
“God, you’re bossy.” I don’t like being told what to do, and I’m too sick to consider that it’s probably out of line for me to say this to the team doctor.
She lets out a laugh that’s practically a snort. “You’ve heard of the phrasedoctor’s orders, right? It’s almost like I spent seven years in med school and training to make sure I know what I’m talking about?—”
“I wasn’t questioning your knowledge. Sorry, I just feel shitty…”
“Go back to sleep, Jenkins. If you feel well enough in the morning, you can fly home with the team. Just wear one of the masks I gave you so you don’t get anyone else sick.”
“If I don’t feel well enough?” I ask.
“Just catch a flight home as soon as you do.”
The thought of having to coordinate my own travel is more than my mind can handle right now. So before I crash back into my bed, I set an alarm for five in the morning, determined to make that flight.
Chapter Twenty-One
AUDREY
I’m washing dishes at the kitchen sink when I see Jameson pull up to the back door. He’s out of his car and up the back steps so fast that I’m certain something is wrong, and when we lock eyes through the window, my stomach drops. He looks pissed.
Then the back door flies open, and he takes up the whole frame, blocking out what little light is left now that the sun sets by dinner time. The faint orange tinge to the sky is an ominous backdrop to his imposing size.
“What the hell’s wrong?” I ask my brother.
“I’m going to ask you a question, and I need you to answer me honestly.”
I try to swallow down the lump that rises in my throat and the result is an audible gulp. “Okay.”
He shuts the door behind him and takes a step closer. He towers over me, but I don’t shrink in his presence. It’s not that he would ever use his size to intimidate me or anyone else, it’s just that sometimes I think he forgets how big he is.
“Is something going on with you and Drew?”
I don’t look away, but I don’t give him what he wants, either. “What would make you ask that?”
“Because it’s obvious he’s interested in you, and he’s out for tonight’s game…with strep. How did he get strep, Audrey?”
Fuck. Drew didn’t tell me he’s sick, so I wasn’t prepared for this. So much for not being able to get strep because he doesn’t have tonsils!
“Yes, something’s going on, but it’s not what you think.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
I obviously wasn’t planning on saying anything to him until I’d talked to Drew about this once he’s back. But now that Jameson is standing in my kitchen, demanding answers, I don’t feel like I can keep lying to him.
“Hold on,” I say, grabbing my phone off the counter and swiping to the photo I took of Drew and Graham together the night we got cookies—the photo I’d taken because of how much they looked alike at that moment. I hold the phone out and he takes it, his eyes narrowing as he studies the photo.
“Shit.” The word is low, almost a whisper on a long exhale. Then he looks back to me, our eyes meeting, and neither of us says anything. Finally, he asks, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
I explain about Drew not returning any of my calls or messages. “I was afraid that if I told you, you’d try to ruin his career. It wouldn’t be the first time,” I remind him, and our eyes lock over the situation our family never talks about.
Handing me my phone, he crosses his arms, then leans back against the kitchen counter. He bites the corner of his lip as he thinks—a classic Flynn trait that all three of us do when we’re thinking. “You were probably right.”
“Drew swears that if he’d known, he’d have been there for us.”
