Page 20 of What About Us

Turns out, I’m the only one with work to do, and she orders me around like a fucking drill sergeant.

But I don’t complain because my knee finally feels pretty decent. It doesn’t feel like it wants to give out on me, and for the next couple of hours, we work it pretty hard.

“You’re doing well. Next week, I want to get you on skates.”

My heart stutters.

“Next week?”

“Let me be clear,” she says, her voice stern. “Not to play or scrimmage. I want you to just glide on the ice, gently. I want you to only do the bare minimum, but it’ll help with some muscle memory.”

“I think there’s a rink in Bitterroot Valley.”

“There is,” she confirms. “We’ll have a field trip day.”

I grin and drink some more water, watching as she types away on her computer, sitting at the desk, looking like she belongs here.

Fuck me. This is going too far.

Luckily, the doorbell rings, and I leave Ivy to do her work as I go to answer the door. When I pull it open, Ava’s standing there, her eyes glassy, that lower lip quivering, and I immediately shift into big-brother mode.

“Who do I have to kill, cupcake?”

She huffs out a breath and pushes inside, storming past me.

“Aves?”

“I’m okay,” she says as she takes a deep breath, and I know that’s a crock of shit. She’s not okay. But this is my baby sister, and she has to build up to it. “Is Ivy still here? I see her truck outside.”

“We were just finishing up,” I reply. “Get something to drink and settle in, and I’ll wrap things up with Ivy.”

She nods, and I return to the gym, where Ivy is just packing her computer away.

“I’ll be here in the morning,” she says. “And I promise not to be late.”

“We can plan on later in the day, if that works better so you can rest.”

“No. We agreed to mornings.”

Pain in the ass.

“Ivy—”

“I have to be at the bar in the afternoon,” she says, interrupting me, and I can’t help the scowl that moves over my face. “It’s fine.”

I don’t believe her. I don’t think it’s fine at all, but it’s none of my business, and my sister needs me.

“In the morning, then,” I reply as we walk down the hall to the front door. “Have a good day, Red.”

She wrinkles her nose. “You always called me that in high school.”

I freeze. I did? I don’t remember that, and it fucking pisses me off. I want to remember what a teenage Ivy looked like, but when I try to find it in my mind, it’s simply not there.

“It fits you,” I reply.

“The hair.”

“The blush.”