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I stalk into the locker room. I shouldn’t have looked. Whatever. I let her mess with my head to the point where I let my entire team and my family down, and that’s never going to happen again.
2
RUBY
Mason, my sister, and I have finally left the locker room area and now we’re in the parking lot. The noise of the crowd leaving rises up and swirls around me as I stand there, stunned.
What just happened?
I thought Pax and I were friends, but when we were standing outside of the lockers, he just gave me the weirdest look and then stormed off, for no reason. I also saw how he was with that reporter who got up in his face.
I mean, he actually made a fist. I was seriously afraid that Paxton was going to deck the guy.
It’s so weird because he’s not like that. He doesn’t have a bad temper. I’ve seen him lose games before, and he wasn’t thrilled, but he wasn’t all snarly and angry at everyone around him.
Or maybe I misinterpreted his reaction? Maybe it was just his losing-the-game cranky face?
I turn to my sister, who’s standing hand in hand with Mason. Mason’s expression is glum and his shoulders slumped.
“Hey, Rowan?”
She turns away from Mason and focuses her attention on me. “Yes, priceless Ruby?”
She smiles wryly at me and reaches over and tries to ruffle my hair. Big sisters—I swear. Can’t live with them, can’t find anywhere in Manhattan to bury the body because there’s too much concrete everywhere.
“Don’t mess with my lustrous locks. Why was Pax just being so weird to me?” I’m kind of pouting.
“Was he?” She frowns at me in puzzlement. “I didn’t notice, but he did just lose a really, really important game and his family flew in from Texas to see him play, which is pretty rare for them. He’s had a lousy night. In what way did you think he was being weird?”
I chew my bottom lip. Maybe I’m imagining things. “Well, I tried to talk to him and he definitely heard me—I mean, I think he heard me, I guess he might not have... it was pretty loud—but then he walked right past me, which he’s never done before. He turned back and looked at me and glared and then stomped into the locker room and slammed the door behind him. I didn’t imagine that.” Or did I?
She gives me a sympathetic smile. “Again. He has had a really bad night. Epically bad.”
“I’ve seen him after he lost other games, though,” I protest.
Rowan shakes her head at me, her strawberry-blond locks sliding in front of her face. She pushes her hair back behind her ears. “You haven’t seen him after he lost the Stanley Cup.”
“Ouch,” Mason comments. “Paxton wasn’t the only one who lost. It’s on all of us. We had our chance and we blew it.” His whole body radiates misery and frustration.
“Sorry, babe.” Rowan grabs his hand again, tipping her head back to look up at him. “You guys will win next year. You kicked ass on the ice, the refs made some terrible calls, and you’re still the best ever. And I promise when we get home, I’ll find a way to cheer you up. You and I will... Ruby, cover your ears.”
“Eww.” I screw up my face in dismay. I do not want to hear my sister sexy-talk her boyfriend. It’s gross, it shouldn’t even be legal, and I personally think she should have to wear a chastity belt.
Of course, she thinks the same thing about me. Ruby is seven years older than me, and she’s more like a mom than a sister. She had to raise me after our parents died when I was a young teenager. She doesn’t want to acknowledge that her little sister has even done the nasty. Well, I have, thank you very much. I just don’t discuss it with her because I don’t want her to freak out or, even worse, start lecturing me about safe sex. I already know, thank you.
Mason leans down and kisses her, cupping her face in his hand, and I deliberately turn away so I can resist the temptation to smack him and tell him to get his lips off my sister.
“We’re done now,” Rowan calls out to me, and I turn back around.
“I almost feel a little bit better,” Mason grumbles.
“You will be feeling much better tonight, babe, I promise you,” she says in a throaty purr.
“I have ears,” I inform her. “And I will now be billing you for my next five therapy sessions.”
“She’s shameless, isn’t she?” Mason gives me a wry smile. “By the way, I got that call from the mentoring center,” he adds. “I gave you a great reference. I told them that most of your personalities aren’t homicidal, you’re getting the ankle monitor removed next week, and they can’t even enforce that warrant outside of California.”
I kick him lightly in the ankle.
