Page 104 of Traded

And in the meantime, Rosie’s at home alone.

Pushing to my feet, I look down the rows of heads, searching for Coach.

“Tell me you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking.” Liam’s brow knots. “Give her some space.”

“If I give her any more space, I’ll be moving out,” I say shortly. “I can make it home and still get to Montreal in plenty of time for the match. I’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

“And miss morning skate?” He scoffs. “Sure, Cart. Good luck. Like Coach’ll let that happen.”

Coach doesn’t have a fucking choice.

But Liam sees the answer in my set expression. “Jesus. Fine. I’ll come with you.”

“No.” When he looks set to argue, I lift my hand. “It’s going to cause enough grief if I go. Stay with the team. Besides, it’s like you said, right? You’re always with her.”

And maybe I want to see how she acts when he’s not.

His mouth snaps shut, but he doesn’t look happy. Leaving him, I shoulder my way up to where Martin and Viktor are poring over battle plans.

When my head swims, I brace myself against the back of Ryker’s seat. Jesus, those pills are strong. “Coach?”

“Everything alright?” Martin shades his eyes against the sun nudging through the window. “Is it the shoulder?”

“Uh, no.” I flex it instinctively, not mentioning the tramadol. “Look, I need to jump off and meet you in Montreal.”

Both look at me like I’ve lost my damn mind. I hold up my hands. “Hear me out. Rosie’s not well, and I’m worried. If I get hold of a car to drive back, I can leave Blackwater first thing in the morning and make it back to you after lunch. I won’t be missing the game.”

“Don’t think so.” Martin’s expression is set in lines that tell me he’s not impressed. “You knew the schedule, Carter. There’s prep and morning skate. You need to get a feel for the arena.”

“Wasn’t asking, Coach.” When he stiffens, I tighten my shoulders. “You know I don’t fuck around with the schedule, ever. I’ve played against the Habs a dozen times. My head won’t be in the game if I don’t do this.”

Viktor mutters at me in Russian. It doesn’t sound like a compliment.

“Fine me if you have to.” I fold my arms. “But I’m going home.”

He swears under his breath and points a stubby, thick finger at me. “Fuck me.Fine. Get Cross up here. If you’re joining late, I want a contingency. But we’d better not need to use it. You get me?”

My heartbeat settles back into a semblance of normal. “Yeah, coach. I hear you.”

“And don’t make a fucking habit of it, Reynolds.”

“No, sir.”

***

Dropping the duffel at my feet, I watch the team bus trundle off into the distance and look around.

There’s not much to look at. This service station’s seen better days. A faded orange sign advertises some sort of drink, the information long since flaked away to leave patches of gray cement behind.

Pulling out my phone, I search up local car hire companies. The nearest one is forty-five minutes from here and twenty minutes later, I have a ride on the way with a promise to sign a jersey for the owner’s hockey-mad kid. Checking the screen, I notice Rosie hasn’t opened my last message.

A notification pops up. Another, and then another.

My eyebrows fly to space.

Fuck me. She’s dropped the equivalent of a small countries’ net worth at NestRest. My lips twitch up as more come through, giving me a trail to follow her movements through the best shops in Blackwater.

Thank you, Katie.