Chapter 9
NINE
HENDRIX
I’ve accepted the fact that my home will never be quiet.
I mean, I live in The Tower, which is a huge-ass manor that houses some of NEU’s best athletes.
But one person I thought I wouldn’t have to deal with—because he’s a freshman and thankfully can’t live here per NEU’s rules—is Clark fucking Leeman.
It’s one thing to be on the motherfucker’s team and see him at practice, but it’s another to come home and see that my roommate, Jameson, has invited him over.
“The fuck is he doing here, West?” I grumble at Jameson as I walk into the living room, where the two of them are playing a video game.
“Oh, cut it out,” Jameson drawls. “Y’all are going to kiss and make up. Clarky knows he fucked up. Don’t you, bud?”
When Leeman doesn’t answer, my eyes narrow, and instinctively, I walk in front of the television and unplug the game they are so fucking engrossed in, and instantly, they both throw their hands up.
“Dude, what the fuck?!” Jameson yells before pouting. “We were right in the middle of a game, you fuckstick.”
“Is what West said true?” I jerk my chin upward at Clark. “Do you actually know you fucked up, or are you too fucking stupid to realize it?”
Tossing his controller onto the coffee table lightly, he sighs. “I get it, dude. I have a younger sister. I shouldn’t have said shit about Isla—or any other girl.” He shrugs. “I was trying to be funny.”
“It wasn’t funny, douchebag,” I toss back. “Why the fuck were you talking to her yesterday in the arena? Did you tell her what you said?”
“What?” He frowns. “No. Dude, her dad is Cam Hardy. He could end my career before it even begins.”
“Good,” I utter.
Jameson throws a pillow at me. “He’s trying, Hunt. For the love of fuck, pull the tampon out, would you?”
My eyes bounce between both of them before eventually staying on Clark. “I won’t kick your ass again, as long as you don’t talk to Isla Hardy or about her for the rest of your fucking life.”
His brows pull together. “Hunt, that seems fucking excessive. I like talking to her—”
Stepping closer, I ball my hands into fists at my sides. “Do we have an agreement or not?”
He glances at Jameson, who gives him literally nothing besides a slight nod, and finally, he stares up at me.
“Fine. I won’t talk to her.”
“Or about her,” I add.
“Or about her,” he mimics, and I relax.
“Good,” I mumble before taking off toward the kitchen to grab a water.
“Sounded heated in there,” Cane Hale says, smirking at me from the sink. “Did you actually just unplug West’s video game and live to tell the tale?”
“That shit is stupid,” I say, shaking my head. “If he put as much time in on the ice, he’d be unstoppable.”
“Yeah, maybe.” He shrugs. “Or … maybe not.” He chuckles. “I’m headed to the field. See ya, man.”
“Later,” I say and grab a water before heading toward my bedroom.
Cane is Cash’s brother and also Coach Talmage’s son. But unlike Cash, Cane doesn’t play hockey. Instead, he fucking dominates as a pitcher for the baseball team.
When I first found out I was coming to NEU and came to check out the campus, one thing I found fucking weird was that all sorts of athletes from different teams lived in the same houses.
Normally, it’s athletic dorms or certain teams living together.
Not baseball, football, hockey, and basketball players all shacking up.
Walking into my bedroom, I close the door and take my phone out of my pocket.
Once a week, I call Juliet. Always at the same time so that one of the ladies in the nursing home can give her the phone.
She has no one else, and because she was there for me whenever I needed someone while growing up, I try to do the same for her.
Lying down on the bed, I press my finger to the Call button and bring it to my ear. It rings a few times, just like it always does, but eventually, the nurse, Maria, answers.
“Hey, Hendrix,” she says sweetly. “Juliet is going to be so excited to hear from you. It’s always a treat.”
“Thank you,” I say, dragging my hand over the top of my head nervously.
I don’t know if she actually loves it when I call or if it disturbs her from her routine. Sometimes, she talks clearly and seems like she knows it’s me. Other times, it’s clear as day that she doesn’t understand the whole talking-on-the-phone concept, seems agitated, and barely says anything.
Every single day is different, but I guess that’s Alzheimer’s.
“Okay, sweetie, say hello,” Maria tells her, like she has all the other times we’ve done this. “It’s Hendrix on the phone. This handsome guy.” I know she’s showing her a picture of me because that always seems to work well.
“H-hello?” She’s only said one word, and I can already tell she’s having a rough day.
“Hey, Jules,” I say, plastering on my most cheerful voice because that’s what she deserves. “How’s it going today?”
There’s no answer, and after a moment of silence, Maria talks again.
“Say hello, Juliet. It’s Hendrix. He called to talk to you; isn’t that nice?”
“Who?” Juliet says weakly.
“It’s this boy.” Maria has nothing but patience in her tone. “He calls you every week and comes and visits too.”
“I don’t …” She pauses. “I don’t know who that is, but he is very good-looking.”
“He sure is,” Maria agrees, and a few seconds later, she’s back on the phone.
“Sorry, sweetie. She’s just having one of those days.”
I hate seeing Juliet like this. When I was growing up, she was the sole reason why Lilly and I even survived our childhood. I’m sure of it. And even when Lilly was taken into the state’s custody and put into foster care, Juliet did try to foster her, but it never worked out.
“That’s okay. I’ll try again in a few days, if it’s alright.”
“Sounds good. Talk soon.”
Once the call ends, I toss my phone onto my nightstand. Juliet has always been the one person I could count on to never leave me. And yet, it feels like she’s already gone.
I always hoped that I could make it pro and put her in the fanciest, nicest establishment in the country. But now, it just seems like that will never happen because she’s failing so quickly.
Rolling to my side, I let my mind wander to brighter things. Like Isla Hardy and how set she is on hating me.