Page 47 of Rush the Edge
I grin at Reese, and she looks both excited and scared. I mouth to her, “Are you free later?”
A worry line works on her face, but she gives me a thumbs up.
“Let’s meet at the rink around 5?”
Cindy agrees, and I hang the phone up.
Reese and I lock eyes before bursting out into girly laughter.
Charleigh makes a noise, and when we look at her, she’s showing off her two teeth with a grin on her face.
Knowing I need to get to my appointment, I stand up to leave with Reese following after me but not before she downs the rest of her coffee.
“Don’t forget to bring the sketchbook,” I say, bending down to smile at Charleigh. “You’re getting all the credit for this.”
“That’s really not necessary.” Reese shakes her head. “I’m happy to help.”
I shoot her a look. “It is necessary. I have to go run an…errand, so I’ll see you at 5?”
She nods. “Do you want me to pick you up?”
“Sure.” I smile.
“Perfect! See you in a few.”
I wait until she heads toward her car with Charleigh and the stroller before going in the other direction toward my appointment. My stomach churns with dread the closer I get to the brick building in fear that my labs are going to show my levels rising from the added stress of moving.
Or maybe from the stress that Kane has inevitably brought me.
You don’t understand how fragile your health is until it turns to shit within the blink of an eye, and your future is dangling like a soggy French fry in front of your face.
Eighteen
KANE
It isn’t oftenthat an impulsive idea of mine works out, but the hockey gods must be on my side lately because I haven’t seen Daisy since I crossed various lines in that stuffy dressing room with her.
Unfortunately, my head is spinning, but it has nothing to do with her.
I grip my phone and reread the text.
Unknown
Kane, I’ve found myself in a less-than-ideal situation. Can you help me out?
How can one message make my chest tight with anxiety? I deleted Miles’s number a long time ago because it changed so often. I was sick of deleting and resaving another, but I know when it’s him, even if we go months without a conversation.
I place my phone on the bench beside me and start to lace my skates—the left one first, as always. The team is talking amongst themselves, Hart and Emory having an in-depth conversation about someone on the opposing team, but I can’t be bothered to chime in because I’m trying to figure out a response to another piece of the past creeping up to haunt me.
My phone vibrates again, and I crack my neck.
Don’t text him back until later.
Unknown
I know I’ve said it before, but this will be the last time. I swear.
If I had a fucking dime for every time he’s said that to me and I put it in an account for him, he’d never be in debt again.
