Chapter Four
Four
Jack
Two weeks after the incident, and I feel like I could fight a bear.
Even with the coach thinking that all I’d suffered was a sprain, I’d still been forced to sit out for the games against Vegas and Toronto.
He assures me I’ll be able to play in the game against New York next week if I’m feeling better—something I’ve already assured him I am—but given that the team doctor hasn’t cleared me for play yet, thinking that it’s just a sprain, I haven’t really had a choice but to play along.
Even if it makes me feel like I’m coming out of my skin.
I’ve been walking around the Back Bay area for the last hour or so; there’s a small rink on this side of the city where I can usually get some skating in without being recognized—as long as I wear a hood and a face mask—and I need the time on the ice today more than ever.
My arm isn’t really sore anymore, but there’s a tightness to it that, if I’m being honest, has been there for months.
Like the bones don’t want to work like they should.
It’s fucking terrifying, because it means that the doctor has to be right about everything he said.
And even with seeing the X-ray evidence, some part of me had been willing to convince myself that it was all a mistake—that if I ignored it, it would just go away.
If the stiffness above my wrist is any indication, it’s clear that I’m kidding myself.
I shuffle along the brick-laid sidewalk, adjusting the mask on my face as I pass by several little shops.
There’s a bookstore just up ahead—I haven’t seen the inside of one of those since college—and just beyond that there’s a tiny little coffee shop with a wooden sign hanging outside.
When someone exits the door as I near, I get a blast of fresh coffee beans, and with the dreary gray of the sky and my even drearier attitude, coffee seems like just the thing.
I pull open the door and step inside, tugging at my ball cap to make sure it covers my eyes.
It’s not like I don’t like the attention I get when I’m recognized, but it just feels like a chore today.
The line inside isn’t too long, and I settle at the back of it as I take in the place.
Tiny tables, intimate lighting, chalkboard signs—it’s a typical coffee joint.
But when my eyes land on the counter, I realize that couldn’t be less true.
Because sitting behind the counter is a very familiar face.
I knew she lived somewhere in the area, but it never occurred to me she might be working somewhere over here.
I assumed that between her dad and Ian, there would be no reason for her to be.
So it’s strange to see Abby Thompson in an apron and a green visor—looking her usual bored self as she gives someone their change.
A smile touches my lips behind my mask as I watch her. She looks like the picture of ennui, with her thin-lipped smile and her slightly glazed eyes—and I can’t say why it’s so endearing to me, how constantly grumpy she is. Sure, Ian can be a grump sometimes, but Abby really makes it her own.
I wait patiently for my turn, already planning the way I’m going to tease her about her visor, but just when she gets done with the customer in front of me, she says something to her coworker, stepping aside and moving around the counter to settle into one of the little tables in the corner.
Ah. On break then. Even better.
I get my order in as quickly as I can, carrying it over to the same table and dropping down into the seat opposite her as she gives me a confused look. I tug down my mask to grin at her, and the immediate roll of her eyes gives me the strangest urge to laugh.
“What are you doing here?”
I shrug, taking a sip from my cup. “I was in the neighborhood.”
“Are you stalking me now?”
“Consider it a compliment,” I tease.
“I consider it a felony,” she grumbles.
I can’t help it then; I do laugh.
“I really was just in the neighborhood. Complete coincidence, I swear.” I look around the shop, taking it in again. “I didn’t know you worked here.”
She arches one delicate brow. “Why would you?”
“I just thought it might have come up in one of our many heart-to-hearts.”
“We could never have a heart-to-heart,” she scoffs. “You like the sound of your own voice too much.”
“It is a very nice voice,” I answer seriously.
She eyes me then, a little wrinkle forming at her brow. “How’s the arm?”
“Oh, it’s…” I bristle, feeling that increasingly familiar pang of fear reverberate through my chest. “It’s fine,” I say. “They were making a fuss over nothing.”
She levels me with a stare. “Oh, really.”
“Really, really.”
She shakes her head. “You’re impossible. You know I’m living with Ian right now, right? I know you begged them not to tell your coach how bad it is.”
“Wait, hold up. You’re living with Ian?”
“And Lila.”
“I thought you lived around here?”
She narrows her eyes. “And how would you know that?”
“I stalk you, duh.” When she rolls her eyes again, I add, “Ian mentioned it once. So why are you staying with them?”
She sighs, scrubbing a hand down her face. “Pipe burst in my apartment. Apparently, it’s going to take a while to fix it. They found mold in the walls, so they have to do a complete reno of most of the units.”
“Jeez, tough break.”
“Fucking telling me,” she snorts.
I make a face. “Ian and Dee don’t have a guest bedroom.”
“Nope,” she says, letting the p make a pop sound. “Couch city for me.”
“Ouch,” I answer with sympathy. “And they’re still in the honeymoon phase.”
“Trust me,” she groans, “I know. They are not quiet. It’s a fucking nightmare.”
I cover my ears with my hands. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”
“A couple of weeks ago, you were talking about thinking of Ian naked,” she reminds me.
“I can’t be blamed for what my brain does,” I remind her. “It has a mind of its own.”
I take her in then, really take her in, noticing how tired she looks. Not just physically, but it’s something that seems to emanate from inside her, like it’s oozing out of her. It’s in the droop of her shoulders, the dark circles under her eyes, the tension she seems to carry in her entire body.
I can’t help but ask it, it just comes out. “Something else wrong?”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know…You look…tired.”
“You said that the last time I saw you,” she points out.
“Well, it’s still true.”
There’s a flash of vulnerability in her eyes, and oddly enough, I want to do something about it. Touch her hand…tell her it’s okay…I don’t know. Something. It’s a weird sensation.
I like to tease Abby, I do—mostly because she’s so easily riled and it makes me a little giddy to be the one to make her that way—but lately it seems like she’s a lot more…down than she usually is.
“Look,” she sighs. “I love your sister and my brother, but…”
“But?”
She throws up her hands. “If I have to sit through another dinner where they’re both prodding me to talk about my feelings, or how I’m doing, or asking if there’s anything they can do for me—I’m going to scream.”
“Ah,” I say, realization dawning on me. “They’re babying the shit out of you, huh?”
“For months,” she says wearily. “And I appreciate that they care, I really do, but it was bad enough when I had my own place…Now, I swear they’re like my parents.
Always texting and asking when I’ll be home, asking if I need a ride from work, asking me if I remembered to charge my cell phone—ugh.
” She shakes her head. “I know I sound like a jerk right now.”
“No, no,” I tell her. “I get it. It sounds exhausting.”
She looks up at me with wide eyes, nodding slowly. “Exactly. Exactly. It is exhausting. And on top of school and my dad and everything else, I just—” She blinks at me, her lips parting. “I don’t know why I’m telling you any of this.”
“Eh, I’m a great listener.”
Her lips purse. “You rarely shut up long enough to be a good listener.”
“Excuse me,” I say, pressing a hand to my chest. “I am a sensitive soul,” I tell her. “I’m here for the people, if you will.” I wink at her. “Always ready to lend a helping hand.”
She gives me a flat stare, and I can’t help but chuckle. She’s so damned grumpy.
“Fine, fine,” I relent. “Still. I’m sorry things are shit right now.”
She rubs the space between her eyes. “They said it could be two months before my apartment is ready to be lived in again. They’re comping the rent for the months I’m not there, but still.
I hate the idea of living off Ian’s charity.
” She blinks again, looking taken aback by her own words.
“Jesus. I can’t seem to stop running my mouth today. Maybe I am tired.”
I grin back at her. “Told you so.”
“Yeah, well. It is what it is.”
An idea pops into my head, one that’s probably unwise and unwarranted, but sitting here letting her snipe at me…
I’m realizing that it’s the first time in weeks I haven’t thought about my injury or what’s to become of my career.
It’s…refreshing, not having to think about it, even if only for a little while.
Maybe that’s why I open my mouth and let something stupid fall out of it.
“You know…Ian’s old room is open. You could always stay there.”
Her nose wrinkles. “What?”
“I’m just saying, it’s empty. No reason you couldn’t stay there until they fix your place.”
“That sounds like the worst idea I’ve ever heard,” she says with zero hesitation.
I can’t help it; I laugh again. “I mean…probably, but it’s got to be better than sleeping on my sister’s couch and listening to her bone your brother every night.”
I shudder, because the thought still sends a chill down my spine.
For a brief moment, I think she might be considering it; her eyes round, a sort of curious gleam in them as the idea no doubt settles in her mind. But in mere seconds, she’s shaking her head again, snatching her visor from the top of the table and roughly shoving it back on her head.
“My break is up,” she says. “And that’s still a terrible idea.”
I shrug. “Can’t force you, but the offer is there.”
“Is it.” She looks at me with that same curious expression. “Why do you even care, huh?”
My lips curl, and I give another light shrug as I say, “Just a good person, I guess.”
She actually snorts, but there’s a twitch of her mouth when she does it, like I almost got a smile out of her.
“Right,” she says with a scoff. “Of course you are. I gotta get back to work.”
“Just think about it, yeah?” I call after her.
She throws a hand over her shoulder, waving me off, and I find myself smiling the entire time I watch her return to the counter, that perma-scowl on her mouth and that ever-present wrinkle between her eyes as she is no doubt still thinking about it.
I mean, if I were having to listen to Ian and Delilah bone every night, I’d probably move to Antigua or something.
I sip at my coffee, a smile lingering at my mouth as I watch Abby work quietly, not bothering her with a goodbye when I finally finish and head toward the door.
I spare her one last glance before I walk through it, catching her staring at me with that bewildered look, like she still can’t believe I would offer such a thing.
Truthfully, I don’t know why I did either.
It’s not like she’ll ever take me up on it.
My arm twinges, and I rub it idly as I leave the shop.
Still, oddly enough, I find that I really meant it.