Chapter 18
TRICK
“Ihave to get back to the game,” Coach Winnick says. I think he’s looking at me.
“We’re going to win this one. I wish I could be out there kicking B.C.’s ass.”
“We’ll take care of B.C. You take care of yourself, Trick.” Coach gives me a thumbs up, though it appears he has three or more thumbs.
He leaves, and Doc says, “Time for you to go home.” Dad and Doc help me off the exam table, and when I land on my feet, I feel a strong need to puke. I close my eyes before the dizziness overwhelms me.
Doc takes my chin and pushes my head up to face him. I reluctantly open my eyes.
“How’s the nausea?”
“Peachy.” I close my eyes again. I shouldn’t have mentioned food.
“On a scale of one to ten, how bad is your headache?”
My head screams ten, but I know better and try to concentrate to give him the right answer.
“Eight.”
Mom makes a distraught noise, and I open my eyes, looking straight at her. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.” I smile, and even though she’s blurry, I resist the urge to blink her into focus.
“I’ll call you tomorrow, and we can set up our next check-up,” Doc says to me. But listening is hard, and I close my eyes again as an irresistible urge to fall asleep overwhelms me.
“Let’s get you home,” Dad says.
My only thought is Fifi as they half carry me. What about Fifi?
“What was that, honey?” Mom says as she holds me on one side with Dad on the other.
Shit. I said her name out loud. To my parents.
“Nothing,” Daniel says. “He’s talking trash.”
When did Daniel get here? He takes Mom’s place, and between him and Dad, I make it out the back exit of the rink. Leaving Fifi behind.
“That was nice of Coach Winnick to contact his professors and get extensions on his assignments.”
I’m listening in and out of my sleepy haze in the back seat with Daniel and Kathleen. I have the window open for the fresh air and in case I need to puke. Though my stomach seems to be settling down.
I open my eyes to see where we are—almost home, passing through the center of Rye. My sight is clear now, but the pounding in my head is still there, making it hard to focus.
I don’t complain. No point, and I don’t want to worry Mom or Kathleen.
Fifi pops into my head again, and I zip the urge to text her to ask if she can send me notes—or better yet, hand deliver them. Maybe tomorrow. Then I remember Dad took my phone. Shit.
Turning to Daniel, I consider asking to borrow his phone, but he looks like he wants to slap me.
“What are you mad about? It wasn’t my fault someone pushed me into the brawl. Save your dirty looks for Vincent.”
He snorts and shakes his head. He looks like he wants to say something, but doesn’t and turns away instead. I close my eyes. The strain on my head to figure out my kid brother is more than I can handle right now.
The next morning, the smell of bacon wakes me, and I smile. Then on a big lungful of the greasy scent, I dare to open my eyes, hoping that the blurriness is gone. When I look around at my old bedroom-turned-office, I smile again, and this time it sticks.
Getting up, I dress, taking my time and appreciating the fact that my headache has receded to a dull throb. When I walk into the kitchen, breakfast is at full tilt with everyone there, seated at the table in their places.
I take my seat at the end near Kathleen and my mother. To their credit, no one hovers or jumps to my side to help me like I’m an invalid.
“How’s the headache?” Dad says from the other end of the table.
“Better.” I shovel a pile of bacon onto my plate. Kathleen frowns and adds eggs and potatoes before I have a chance.
“Food cures everything,” she says, blushing.
“You’re probably right. Either way, I’m all in.” I give her a grin, ready to enjoy the breakfast and my family surrounding me, in spite of their surreptitious glances like they want to figure out how I’m doing from a look because they don’t trust what I say. I don’t blame them.
I stuff a forkful of food into my mouth, simultaneously satisfying my never-ending food craving and giving me an excuse not to answer any questions, when there’s a knock at the back door that opens off the kitchen.
My mother rises instantly to open the door and Kathleen goes to the cabinet to get another plate. They’re both smiling, if puzzled.
“Anyone expecting a guest?” Mom asks before she pulls the door open.
For no possible reason, a lump of some kind of crappy feeling fills my throat, and I stop chewing while my heart speeds up like I might need to run any second.
Everyone at the table shakes their heads, all watching expectantly as she pulls the door open.
“Hi, you don’t know me. I’m Pammy Pledge. I’m here to see Trick—Patrick.”
Fucking shitastic. I stand so fast my chair stutters backwards, and I almost fall back down because a wave of dizziness, followed closely by nausea, assaults me.
But my eyesight is clear as day as I meet Pammy’s eyes, and I almost spit out my food because I know what she’s going to say next.
“I’m Trick’s girlfriend.”
The room falls into shocked silence. Then everyone turns to me, for confirmation I assume.
And this is where I feel the screws to the vice squeezing the life out of my chest tighten, and then tighten some more.
Keeping my eyes locked on Pammy’s, I try to read her mind and try not to scream at her, what the fuck are you doing?
She pleads so blatantly with her eyes that I’m glad no one else is looking her way right now or they’d know she’s a damn liar. I should call her out, turn her away, and tell everyone there’s a big misunderstanding.
But knowing my family and them knowing my reputation, they’d only blame me for said misunderstanding.
Daniel catches my attention when he gives me animosity so hard I could swear I hear him growl.
I clear my throat and go with the only option I have that’s not going to blow up my life right now.
“Hi Pammy.” I stand, and my knees actually fucking shake. It must be the concussion getting to me, plus Pammy’s girlfriend bomb at breakfast. That can’t be good for a person.
“Everyone, this is Pammy Pledge.” I swallow hard. “My girlfriend.”
Daniel is the only one who doesn’t smile and nod and say hello. I can’t help meeting his glare, and he mouths WTF with such animosity behind it that I know something is seriously wrong. But hell if I know what. It’s almost like he knows I’m a fucking liar.
Almost like he knows why I’m lying. Fifi.
Shit.
I manage to walk to the door, ignoring the comments like “You old dog” from Pops and “This is an unexpected surprise” from Kathleen, all while Mom pulls Pammy inside and wraps her in a warm hug, happy to meet her whether or not she’s skeptical about her girlfriend status.
Mom’s willing to give us the benefit of the doubt, and everyone else follows her lead.
When Mom’s finished with her, I give Pammy a hug, not hesitating because I take the opportunity to whisper in her ear.
“What the fuck, Pammy?”
She whispers back, “It wasn’t my idea. I’ll explain everything as soon—”
“Sit down and join us for breakfast,” Dad says. “You’ll have to forgive our… surprise, but believe it or not, Patrick has never had a girlfriend before, at least not the kind he introduced to his family.”
Pammy goes white, and I give her shoulder an encouraging squeeze. I’m about to make an excuse to Dad about breakfast when she jumps in.
“Breakfast would be nice. Thank you.”
That pleases Kathleen, and she moves her chair so Mom can squeeze another one in for Pam to sit next to me.
I notice Daniel shake his head and Liam smirks. Rory studies Pammy curiously. I’m glad Connor and Sean aren’t here or they’d probably beat the truth out of me, concussion or no concussion.
As soon as she’s seated, Pammy turns to me. “How are you? How’s your head? I read that you have a concussion.”
“Yeah. Sorry they took my phone or I’d have let you know.” I aim an accusing nod at my Dad.
“I apologize, Pammy. If we’d known, we would have contacted you.” He sends me an accusing glare right back. “The doctor gave strict orders for Patrick to avoid all screens for forty-eight hours.”
She nods, and I offer her a piece of bacon by way of apology for the distinct tension in the room. In fact, my head is back to pounding, and I have no doubt it’s from the tension.
“We have any aspirin, Kathleen?” She always has a stash of painkillers—the off-the-shelf kind.
She pulls a bottle from her apron pocket and hands it to me.
“Your headache is back.”
I nod and pop a few in my mouth, avoiding looking at anyone.
“How did you two meet?” The question would be normal if it wasn’t coming from Daniel, but there’s a challenge in his tone of voice like we have something to prove.
No matter, Pammy is up to the challenge as her face opens into a beautiful big grin.
“We met at the Coop—the UNH bookstore. I work there and he came in for—”
“I was looking for a book on the history of hockey so I could post some interesting factoids on my IG account.” I sort of make this up out of nowhere, and I squeeze Pammy’s thigh—however fucking inappropriate that is—because I need her to go along with it.
No way was I going to let her tell my family I was looking for a book of poetry.
No matter what excuse she gave them for such a book, they’d never believe her if she were a nun married to the pope.
“That’s actually a good idea,” Kathleen says. “Send me some quotes, and I’ll include them. Also, I need more photos.”
“Right.” Shit. She’s been helping me out with my IG account because I don’t have the time or much interest to bother, and she insists that I need to do it for my personal brand or some such shit.
“It is a brilliant idea, right?” Pammy says.
“What’s your major, Pammy?” Dad says, wearing his friendly smile.
This is where Pammy shines, and I enjoy watching the faces of everyone in my family as she explains to them what she’s studying. Everyone’s impressed, and everyone but Mom gives me an extra look of skepticism.