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He glanced at her sister. Did they all know that Billie was certifiable?
“You were sent home, Billie. Don’t tell me it wasn’t serious.” He was angry now. What the hell was she trying to prove?
“Okay, it sucked. Is that what you want to hear?”
“Which one?” he asked dangerously. “The concussion you suffered last year or the one you had a few months ago?”
“What?” Bobbi moved toward them. “You had more than one concussion?”
Billie ignored her sister and instead, focused her pissed off eyes at him. “How did you know that?”
“I Googled it.”
“Jesus, is nothing sacred anymore? You’re Googling my injuries?” She exhaled. “Look, what happened in Europe sucked, but I’m recovered. My head is good and I can damn well play hockey in a stupid tournament in the city.”
“It’s not just a stupid tournament and you know it. There are a lot of ex-junior players entered and they don’t play to lose. Those guys are as fast, if not faster, than you. They’re big guys with a lot of skill.”
“Yes!” Her shiny eyes were wide and she looked at him as if he was the biggest dummy on the planet. “That’s why I want to play. Don’t you get that?” She glanced around the room. “Doesn’t anyone understand that?”
“I get that one bad hit and your brain could be toast,” Logan said through gritted teeth.
“I know how to play smart and I know how to take a hit. What happened in Europe, both times, were bad hits from behind. I had no way to protect myself.”
“You don’t think that could happen here?”
“I’ll stay out of the corners and I’ll keep my head up.”
He rolled his shoulders. This was like talking to a brick wall. “You can’t know what’s happening behind you all the time. You don’t have eyes on the back of your head.”
“No, I don’t,” she said her mouth tight. “That’s what you’re there for.”
He took a step forward, all of the warm and fuzzies he’d felt for this woman gone, replaced by an anger that took hold of him hard. The thought of her hurt and lying on the ice made him crazy. How could she not see that?
“I won’t do it.”
Her eyes widened and he knew that finally he’d gotten her attention.
“You’re not going to play?”
“No.”
He stared into her eyes and felt his whole world shift. He heard murmurs from the back of the house—Herschel and Trent—and glanced away, a little shaken at the depth of his emotion. His need to protect. His need for Billie.
Bobbi stood behind Gerald—and Billie was right, the guy was a turd. He had no idea what her sister was doing with him.
“Well, well, well, this is unexpected.”
The voice came from nowhere and they all turned to look at the tall, slender woman who stood just inside the doorway.
She wore a form fitting leather jacket, one that emphasized either one heck of a padded bra, or implants. Her jeans were snug, her boots-a pair of those furry things that looked more like slippers. Her hair was cut to just below her shoulders, vivid red chunks intermingled with the inky black strands. Her dramatic makeup screamed LA but her attitude was all New York.
“What are you doing here?”
The question came from Bobbi and her tone left no doubt that things were going to get a whole lot more interesting than they already were.
“It’s Thanksgiving in a few days. Where else would I be?”
Betty-Jo Barker strode into the room as if she’d never been left.
