Chapter 17
Billie
The diner is slower than usual today, but since it’s my first shift on my own, I’m grateful.
It’s raining out, which is probably a big part of the reason, but I’m still skating back and forth to the kitchen nonstop.
The one good thing about skating everywhere is that it’s a lot faster than walking—as long as there’s no one in your way.
“Hey, Buddy, can you put the hockey game on?” I call to the bartender as I wait for drinks. “The Phantoms are on.”
He grins. “You got it, B.”
I like Buddy. He’s funny and charming, married with two kids, and makes the best drinks I’ve ever tasted. He’s also a big Phantoms fan, so we’ve bonded over that. He thinks it’s extremely cool that I’m Bodi Michener’s sister, and I’m planning to ask Bodi or Rome to get him a couple of tickets.
Nita wants to go to a game too, so that’ll be fun if we can all go together.
“They’re down 1-0,” Buddy says, shaking his head. “Third period.”
“Keep me posted!” I yell over my shoulder.
“Hey, Billie!” The hostess calls to me and I turn.
A couple of the wives and girlfriends I recognize from the Phantoms are standing at the hostess stand, and they wave.
“Hi!” I wave back as I skate over to them. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s a dreary, ugly day so we decided to get out. We thought we’d come have something to eat and sit in your station—Marty told us you were working here.”
“I told them you don’t have a table big enough,” the hostess interrupts, looking grumpy.
“That’s all right.” Nita appears out of nowhere and smiles. “We can put them at table thirty in the back. It’s quiet tonight and I’m sure Billie won’t mind going back and forth.”
“Not at all.” I shake my head. “I’ll seat them.”
I grab five menus and lead the group over to the designated table. “You guys can look at the menus while I get you some water, and then we’ll chat.”
“Thanks.” I recognize Stevie Marchand—she’s a freakin’ supermodel, so it’s amazing to me that she’s here, hanging out in the diner like a regular person. I guess she is a regular person, but not the kind of person I usually hang out with.
While I’m filling water glasses, Nita comes up behind me. “Thank you for inviting your friends,” she whispers.
“I barely know them,” I whisper back. “My brother has only let me meet his teammates and their families once.”
“Really?” She looks confused.
“It’s a long story. Someday when I’m not working I’ll tell you.”
She nods. “Okay. And let me know if you need any help. I know it’s tough taking a table up there when your station is down in the front.”
“It’s no problem. Thanks for giving me the extra table.”
“I’m about to cut Trixie and Violet anyway. You okay with staying late?”
“Of course.”
“Perfect.”
I make my way back to the table where Stevie is sitting and realize I recognize their faces but can’t remember the names of the others. I figure I should own up to that right away.
“You guys are going to have to help me out,” I say as I pass out water. “I can’t remember all of your names.”
Stevie laughs. “No worries. I’m Stevie and I’m engaged to Marty Nadeau. That’s Saylor.” She points to a beautiful brunette who also looks familiar. “She’s engaged to Canyon Marks. Next to her is Bristol, who’s the team’s head of PR.”
“And not engaged to anyone,” Bristol says primly.
We all chuckle.
“Next to me is Ally,” Stevie continues, “who’s Canyon’s niece. And across from her is Bailey, who’s Jensen Bang’s wife.”
“Well, it’s nice to meet you all again. I haven’t been able to get to many games between school and work.”
“You’ll have to come sit with us at the next one,” Stevie says.
“I’d love that,” I say. I glance over at my other tables and need to check on them. “Do you know what you want to drink?”
“Prosecco for me,” Stevie says.
“And me.” Bailey grins.
“Me too,” Saylor adds. “And do you do any kind of mocktail for Ally?”
Ally looks like about thirteen, so I nod. “Absolutely. Buddy makes great mocktails. Is there anything you don’t like?”
“No, I’m easy,” Ally replies with a grin.
“I’ll be right back.”
I put their order into the computer, check with my other tables to make sure no one needs anything, and then make my way to the bar. When I glance up at the TV, I realize play has stopped and the players are all standing around while a trainer is leaning over a player—and it’s one of the Phantoms.
“Who’s down?” I ask Buddy worriedly.
“Looks like number forty-six.”
Forty-six.
Rome wears 46.
“Rome?” I ask, my chest tightening painfully.
“Castellano, yeah. He just scored the tying goal but hit the boards at an awkward angle. Looks like it might be his groin.”
“Fuck.” I stare up at the screen as they replay what happened.
Rome manages to poke the puck into the net but he’s going so fast he can’t slow down in time. He hits the boards hard, his left leg extended at an awkward angle and doesn’t move after he goes down.
I cover my mouth with my hands when he tries to get up but immediately falls again.
“Please,” I whisper to myself. “Don’t let it be a head injury.”
From what I could see, it seems like Buddy’s right, but things happen so fast it’s hard to know for sure.
“Okay, he’s skating off with help,” Buddy says. “At least they didn’t need a stretcher.”
We both sigh in relief.
But Rome’s head is down and Ivan is leading him off the ice while Rome balances on one leg.
Dammit.
He’s hurt .
Bodi and I have an arrangement that if he’s injured in a game, even something as minor as a split lip, he calls me the moment he comes off the ice. Rome and I don’t have a deal like that.
I never even thought of it. I know he’s a professional athlete, which comes with risks, but the time we’ve spent together has been so far removed from anything to do with hockey, it never occurred to me that we needed to discuss a potential injury.
“Billie? Your big table is looking for you.” One of the other waitresses nudges me.
“Yeah, I’m going.” I grab their drinks and head in that direction slowly, looking over my shoulder at the TV. Luckily, it’s gone to a commercial now so I can focus on my job, but there’s a hollow pit in my stomach, worry gnawing its way through me.
“Someone’s hurt,” Ally announces as soon as I get there.
“It’s Rome,” I whisper, hoping I don’t sound as sick as I feel.
“He’s Bodi’s roommate, right?” Stevie asks, looking up at me.
I nod. “My roommate too since I’m living there right now.”
“He needed help off the ice,” Ally says, wrinkling her nose. “That means it could be serious.”
An injury means Rome may not be able to play, which I know will be frustrating for him.
“It was such a pretty goal,” Ally continues, looking at what I assume is the replay on her phone.
“I just hope he’s okay,” I say, blowing out a breath. “My brother and I have a deal about injuries, even something minor, where he knows to call me immediately after the game. Obviously, that’s not the case with Rome…”
This sucks.
I desperately want to tell them how worried I am, how scared, but I have to keep my mouth shut.
“He’ll be okay.” Stevie seems to sense how upset I am and gently squeezes my forearm. “It’s part of the life. But you know that.”
“I guess I’ve been lucky. Bodi’s lost a tooth and had a few stitches, but nothing like this, where he had to leave the game. He pulled a muscle years ago, when I was still in high school, and missed a few games, but I guess I was too young to appreciate how scary injuries can be…”
Christ, I’m babbling.
“I’m waiting to hear from Rowan,” Bristol says. “She usually updates me on injuries in case I have to write up a press release.”
“Oh, uh, could you let me know too?” I ask.
“Of course.”
“So, do you guys know what you want to eat?”
They tell me their orders, we chat for another minute, and then I hurry to the back. We’re not allowed to use our phones while we’re working but I keep mine in my pocket anyway. I slip into the bathroom and pull it out, immediately open the texting app and send Rome a message.
BILLIE: Please text me as soon as you can… I’m so worried.
I’m not expecting a response but stare at the screen for a few seconds anyway.
Then I stuff it back in my pocket and go back to my job.
There’s nothing to be done until I hear from him.