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“If I hadn’t made the dare, you wouldn’t have taken it. Now look at you.” I point to his foot. “How is that not my fault?”
Noah’s blue eyes follow my gaze, looking a little sad, but not angry. “Neither of us could’ve known a little game of chase would end like this.”
“Which is why I shouldn’t have started it.” I throw my arms up, exasperated.
“Why are you so determined to think this is on you?”
I start to say ‘because it is’ when I realize that’s not really an answer, just a feeling. A deep-seated, inherent belief that when there’s something wrong, I’m to blame. There’s probably some daddy issues to unpack there, but let’s face it—since I enjoy a little bit of trouble, most people wouldn’t call me innocent. He shouldn’t either.
“Poor judgment, not thinking things through, acting like a kid… Take your pick—any of those are reasons to blame me.”
“You can’t single yourself out when I did all the same things.”
I roll my eyes dramatically. “Are you trying to say we’re both to blame?”
“I’m saying neither of us are. Shit happens. Do I wish I could take it back, think it through before doing something reckless?” He runs a hand through his thick blond hair, a nervous tic maybe. “Yeah, of course. I don’t know what this is gonna mean yet, but I doubt it’s good, and I’m dreading what I find out. At the same time, I was having more fun goofing off with you than I have in months. Maybe even years. How could I blame you for that?”
“There’s a whole city of people out there who would easily blame me. Not to mention your teammates. And Xander. And his dad… You know his dad might actually come after me. He’s never liked me.” I recall the way I got booted from one of his team cookouts a few years back when I asked the guys to feel their muscles.
“No one needs to know all the details. I’ll just say I tripped.”
“Yeah, because people will believe the guy who balances on ice for a living would fall on dry land.” I snort.
“Stranger things have happened.”
I give him a critical once over, wondering not just why he’s being so chill about this, but why he’d spare me from the people’s wrath. My dick isn’t that spectacular.
“Sure, we can go with that plan. You tripped over your own big feet doing something you probably mastered when you were one. Now what?”
“Now, I find out how bad this is.”
“How?”
“I call the team doctor and ask him to make a house call.” He pulls his cell from his pocket and selects the doctor from his contacts, pausing to give me a forlorn look before he makes the call. “You should probably head home, just to make sure you aren’t linked to this.”
He’s right—the only way to stay completely out of this is to make myself scarce—but I don’t jump up and make my exit the way I should. Even though I’m zero help right now, maybe even less than zero, it feels pretty shitty to leave him hurt and alone. Especially, when he looks so lost.
It goes against everything in my free-spirited, no-strings, me-first persona, but I can’t abandon him. Not now.
“What if I just hide until the doctor leaves? Then if you need that beer, I can get it for you.” Omigod did he almost smile? I really am getting better at comforting him or whatever.
“That won’t work if he sees your car in the driveway.” Noah’s face reverts to the pitiful look he was wearing when he suggested I go home.
“I’ll stash it in your garage.” I lift a shoulder to my ear. “It looks big enough to be its own car lot.”
“It only holds three cars.”
“Do you have three cars?” I ask pointedly.
“No.”
“Perfect. You have room for mine then. I’ll put it away and hide in your bedroom until the coast is clear.” Coast is clear? Great. Now, I’ve invoked Scooby Doo. Too bad I can’t ask Noah’s doc for an MRI because something is clearly off with my brain.
I hop up before my mouth can do any more damage to my totally badass image and head off to find my keys. But before I can make it too far, I hear my name.
“Tripp?”
“Yeah?”
