Page 141 of Traded

He unzips the side of his duffel, rummaging around in it with increasingly panicked movements. “I don’t sleep well before games.”

“You never had any issues before.” I swallow as he yanks open the main section of his bag, pulling out clothes. “I’m worried about you.”

“Nothing to worry about.” But Carter doesn’t look at me, tugging out his wash bag and rifling through it. “I told you already, things are good on the ice. Better than they’ve been in months.Shit.”

He dumps the washbag down and runs his hand through his hair. “Where the fuck are they?”

“Have you lost something?” Lauren wheels her suitcase into the room, leaving it beside Liam’s. He doesn’t answer, pushing to his feet and disappearing. We both stay silent, listening to him toss the contents of his bedroom upside down with increasingly irritated grunts.

“I’m sorry you can’t come.” Lauren sounds genuinely apologetic as she flashes an uncertain look in the direction of the grumpiness. “Is there anything I can do? I put some extra water bottles in the fridge, and some meals you can warm up if you’re hungry.”

Wow. Our sister-wife relationship really is progressing.

“Thanks, mom.” I draw my knees up. “I should be coming with you.”

We both look up as another crash sounds, and Lauren’s mouth gapes open. “Seriously. What’s he looking for? Sounds important.”

I slide my hand into the pocket of my onesie and bite down on my lip. The sound of drawers slamming—off their hinges, from the noise—makes me flinch. I hold up the bottle to Lauren silently, and she frowns. “What’s that?”

I’m learning to fucking despise the sight of this bottle. “His pain meds. For his shoulder.”

Her brows fly up. “And you have them… why?”

Another bout of swearing interrupts any response I might give, and my fingers curl around the bottle. Lauren looks between my face and the hall, her expression settling into understanding.

I’m glad one of us does. Because I’m not sure I understand what’s happening myself. Why my alpha is pacing the apartment at night when he’s here at all. Why he’s distracted, and irritated, and why he seems to need these pills more than he needs anything else. Why he spent my entire medical appointment sweating and itching at his neck, to the point that my doctor asked if he was having a reaction.

“That’s why you want to come so badly,” Lauren says quietly. “You’re worried about him.”

“Yeah.” I turn the bottle of oxy over in my hands. His name is blurred, the ink warped from touch. “Stupid, right?”

Lifting my hand, I throw the bottle over toward his strewn luggage. It bounces off his shoe and rolls a few inches away. “He’d only get it from somewhere else.”

When Carter storms back in, his face set like thunder, his eyes land on it immediately. He scoops the bottle up and shoves it into his pocket. “We gotta go!”

“You’re still taking those?” I can’t not say anything.

I should be going with them. But I’m stuck here with my ass glued to the couch because Liam and his fucking mind games are playing holy hell with my hormones.

“Leave it alone, Ro,” Carter says gruffly. He doesn’t meet my eyes. “Less stress, remember?”

I am currently one hundred percent stress, with a glistening sweet cherry of trauma on top. I should find a therapist after we leave. Another therapist. The first one I tried a few years ago fired me for answering all of his questions in Shakespeare quotes.

“Jonas will meet us in the garage,” Liam says testily as he reappears. “Some sort of cologne-related emergency, apparently.”

Carter mutters something that sounds distinctly uncomplimentary, but his face softens as he leans over me and kisses my head. “See you on Thursday.”

“Yeah.” I force a smile and keep hugging my knees as Liam copies him before picking up his own bag and Lauren’s suitcase.

“You can message me too, you know.” Lauren tilts her head toward the elevator. “I’ll let you know how he’s doing.”

“Thanks,” I whisper.

They vanish after calling out goodbyes, and I stay where I am, placing my chin on my knees and focusing on breathing evenly.

When his footsteps sound, I keep my eyes down. I don’t want to look at him. “Have a good swing.”

“Will you look at me?” Jonas lets his bag drop. “Please?”