“Sorry to disappoint, my friend. But no new fuckery going on in my head. Just the same old.” I hear Kasey’s exhale of relief. I know I’m lucky to have a friend like him. “But you know, if you happened to accidentally body check him into the boards at the next practice, that could be fun to hear about.”
Kasey lets out a loud laugh, and I actually feel my own lips turn up in response. It’s not a smile, I think I’ve forgotten how to do that. But I can’t deny the sick satisfaction I feel, thinking about Pike eating ice at the hands of my best friend.
After I hang up with Kasey, I let my head fall back against the arm of the couch. I wish I could say I was surprised by what he showed me, but I’m not. It’s not the first time I’ve watched some woman try to go from one player to the next until she finds one who’s dumb enough to get sucked in. Puck bunnies, WAGs, most of them — not all, but most — are the same. Only in it for the fame and fortune that comes with being involved with a professional athlete.
I wish I wasn’t so cynical, but I’ve seen it too many times, and now, thanks to Shelley, I’ve experienced it firsthand.
So, where does that leave me?
The sound of a key turning the lock of my front door makes me lift my head with a frown. No one should have a key to this place except me.
And Sawyer.
I forgot I gave him one, begrudgingly, after he pointed out that for my own safety someone should be able to get in, given my mobility issue at present.
I didn’t exactly plan on him using it whenever he damn well wanted to. I push myself up to stand, testing my leg with more of my body weight than I’ve put on it so far. I know I shouldn’t; I know Lily will yell at me that I’m not ready — the way she did earlier today when I tried to take a step without my crutches. But right now, I find it hard to care.
Except that she cares. Andthatis what makes me reach down and grab the goddamn crutches.
I shake my head free of the questions that arise at that realization and make my way to the door as it opens. Not only Sawyer but all three of my brothers and Hunter walk in. They’re each holding something, from a six pack of Coke, to a couple of pizza boxes, to a bag with what looks like a tray of poker chips sticking out of it.
I raise my eyebrows at Max who’s the last one in. He’s carrying a grocery bag that I’m hoping holds a drink stronger than soda. “What the hell is all this?”
He shrugs, giving me a somewhat sheepish smile. “Donnelly style intervention, it seems. They did it to me and Leo. Apparently, it’s your turn.”
“I don’t need an intervention,” I grumble under my breath, following them into the kitchen area where the others are sorting food onto plates and pouring drinks. “Is there at least some rye to go in that?” I say to Beckett.
He shakes his head. “No. We kind of thought a night off from the booze might be a good idea.” There’s more than a hint of reproach in his words, and I don’t like what he’s implying.
Even if it is the truth.
Sawyer’s hand comes down to slap me on the back before he drapes his arm over my shoulder. “Since you don’t seem willing to leave this damn apartment, we’re forcing a social life on you. You can be a grumpy fucker while you play poker with your bros.”
“We’ve let you wallow here alone for a week, bro. But we can’t sit by and watch you suffer all by yourself any longer.”
I turn at Beckett’s calm voice. “I’m not wallowing.”
His direct stare is probing, peeling back the layers of the lie. “Yeah. Sure.”
I look away and crutch my way back to the couch. Dropping down, I lift my leg back up to rest it on the table and go to reapply the ice pack, but it’s not that cold anymore. A hand reaches over my shoulder and snatches it away.
“I’ll get you a fresh one.”
I grunt at Max, a half-hearted attempt at a thank you, I realize. When he brings a new one, fresh from the freezer, I take it. This time, I look at my older brother. “Thanks.”
He inclines his head before sinking down into the chair next to me and opening the box of poker chips, methodically splitting them between the five of us. “No problem. We just want to help. Any way that you’ll let us.”
Somehow, his gentle chiding hits me even more squarely than Beckett calling me out on trying to deny the fact that I’ve been avoiding everyone.
“I’m not in a good place. I don’t want to dump that on you,” I say quietly so only Max can hear. Out of everyone, he’s the one I’m the closest to. He alone knows about my past injuries, the ones we kept out of the press and most certainly away from my family.
“You were here for me when I was at my worst. Let me do the same for you.”
All I can do is nod and force back the moisture that threatens to build in my eyes. I’m not a crier but fuck if my brothers aren’t making me feel all the damn feelings I don’t want right now. Max doesn’t even know how those words hit me. He’s living a charmed life now, with a career that doesn’t have an expiry date looming, and a woman who loves him for who he is — not for what he does. He’s happy. And his being here for me won’t do shit to give me what he’s got. My problems can’t be fixed like his were — with some advice and open communication.
My problems need a miracle, according to the experts.
Thankfully, the other guys bring over food and drinks at that moment, sinking into seats around the coffee table, talking about something to do with the winter festival that’s coming up in a few months. Max is dealing cards and soon the conversation shifts to poker.
