With another quick glance around, I grabbed her arm—strong as it was, and twisted her to face me. “Tisch, look at me.”
Her eyes were reluctant to meet mine. “I’m not high, okay,” she gritted.
I searched. Spot checking the way I used to. No—she wasn’t high. I dropped her arm. “Then what the hell is up with you?”
“What the hell is up with you?”
I stared at her.
“What’s with aisle seven?” she asked, giving in after I didn’t respond.
“I cleared it…for new inventory.”
“Yeah. I saw the order.” Her tone was flat.
I’d placed an order for an all-new line of youth hockey gear. An entire row full. Skates, helmets, gloves, pad sets, mouthguards, I had it all covered.
I took a breath. “Look I don’t know what your problem is, you’ve been saying yourself I need to put it behind me and not let it control me.”
“I know what I said. But I didn’t think you’d jump back into it so quickly—for a woman.”
“This isn’t about…a woman.”
She rolled her eyes and released a laugh. “You know usually I’d believe that. Logan Danes doesn’t date. Screws, sure, but doesn’t go out of his way to impress a chick. Fight them off with dimples and a sweet as hell excuse more like it.”
“Where are you going with this?”
“It's not just about her or the kid. You’ve been spending more time at the rink and less time here. Lo, you used to practically live here.”
I had no response to that. But I hadn’t noticed that I’d been spending so much time at the rink, even without Rayne and Jax.
“I don’t want you getting hurt.”
“I’m not playing. I’m training. And besides, Jax’s tryouts are next week, I’ll probably show up to support him, but other than that...”
“I didn’t meanphysically.”
Now she was getting annoying, and I wished I hadn’t opened it up.
“You don’t have to worry about me.” I added in a low voice, then pointed to the empty aisle. “This…this is me moving on from that, T.” I avoided adding that if anything, it was training the kid, and maybe running into Marty again that made me realize I’d been spiteful since opening this store after my recovery.
Her eyes were cold. Concealing emotions. She was good at that. She swallowed and looked away. “You belong on the ice, Logan. And it’s only a matter of time before it lures you back in.”
“That’s not going to happen,” I assured her. But my sister didn’t need to know why. I couldn’t go back. Not without risking getting hurt and not being able to take care of her. She wouldn’t survive another relapse.
The store bell chimed and Tisch looked over my shoulder to see who it was. “Looks like it already has.” With a final glare in my direction, she turned and rerouted herself, disappearing behind the far aisle of the store.
I turned to find a man I recognized instantly and apparently, Tisch had too.
The general manager of the Buffalo Gaters sat in my office, finishing up the small bottle of water I’d offered him moments ago when we walked in here. I lingered by my door, not bothering to sit. This conversation—whatever the hell it was about—wasn’t going to be long.
“I already said no, Mr. Stroyken.”
“Louis, please.”
I glared at him. It didn’t call for a repeated response.
He twisted the plastic cap back on the bottle. “I’m willing to bet people have it all wrong about you. That you’re in perfect health,” he glanced at my shoulder. “And that you’re considering playing again. And if that’s the case, I want you on the Gaters.”
