30. Carter
Chapter thirty
Carter
“This is the highest strength.” Mina observes me over her black-rimmed glasses.
She doesn’t look too impressed by me right now. Nobody in this room does.
Curling my fingers around the bottle, I yank it away like she might change her mind. “I appreciate it, Doc.”
“Yes, well.” She pushes her glasses up. “I was strongly against this course of action. I may have been overruled, but my limitations stand. Maximum four-week dose and only when urgently needed. Any longer and you’re risking serious issues. Tramadol isn’t to be played around with.”
“Understood.” I shove them into my pocket, resisting the urge to flip the lid and swallow one now. Mina would lose her shit. “What about cortisone?”
“No more. You’ve had three in twelve months.” She sighs, her voice gentling. “We’re running out of options. You should prepare yourself for that possibility. Have you spoken to Rosie?”
“Now isn’t a great time.” I brush off the question. “A lot is going on at home. I will.”
Martin hacks a cough into his fist and claps my shoulder. “Not at the end of the road yet, though. What about oxy?”
My body grows tight. Mina’s words are careful. “That’s not an option here. Unless anything has changed, Carter?”
I shake my head silently.
“Regardless, I’m not comfortable prescribing at this stage.” Mina turns over the chart, blocking it from our view.
I can sense my coach’s eyeroll. “We done here, Mina? Bus is waiting.”
I manage to hold off until I’m in my seat before shaking a little white pill into my palm. Swallowing it dry, I will the pain to dull a fucking inch so I can think clearly.
Something’s wrong with my omega.
With my Rosie, and I can’t fix it. Because I don’t know what the fuck is going on.
When Liam slides into the seat opposite an hour later, my jaw is tight. He takes me in with assessing eyes. “You called?”
“Yeah.” I tap my fingers on the table between us, waiting for Dylan and Ethan to pass us. “We need to talk. What’s going on with Rosie?”
He huffs a laugh. But I’m watching him. I see the way his eyes slide away from me. “Only the usual. She’s still acting out about Lau—about the thing. She’s settling, Carter. It just takes a bit of time.”
I’m not sure I like his version of settling. “I’m worried about her. Aren’t you?”
“No.” He leans his head back against the headrest. “Because I’m always with her. If you were, you’d see she’s coping. Swear down. This season’s making you crazy. Hell, it’s making all of us crazy.”
I look at him long enough that he shifts in his seat, his eyes dropping. His throat flushes red. “What, you don’t fucking trust me now? She’s my omega too.”
Shit. Exhaling, I drag my hand over my face. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I do. It’s just…”
“The season making you crazy,” he finishes dryly. “Honestly, she’s doing well. I wouldn’t say she’s perfect, but she’s not going to be for a while. But she’s adjusting.”
She shouldn’t have to adjust when she should be thriving.
I promised her I’d build her a pack, and I have.
A pack, a home, and a future. And now she has to fucking share it.
It feels like all the building blocks in my life are crumbling, and the only reason I built them in the first place was for her.
Not for the first time, I wonder if I’m doing the right thing. But I can’t pull her from a pack she’s settled with on a whim. I made a promise to all of them. And to my team.
I tear my pack apart, I tear the team apart. There’s more than us to consider.
Liam’s like a brother. I let him in because he was solid. Unbending. A safe pair of hands. Jonas was always the one who was gonna make her laugh. Make her smile.
But Liam is the one I picked because he could take care of her if I couldn’t.
Another face slips into my mind, and I shove that thought way fucking down to the depths of hell where it belongs before I look over at Jonas. “You need to have a word with him. He couldn’t make it much more obvious.”
I wonder if he realizes that Lauren is uncomfortable. He offers her another chip from his bag, but she shakes her head, glancing around. When our eyes meet, I incline my head in question.
She looks away from me, and I find myself frowning. I try not to get too close to their scent match. Easier that way. My voice drops to avoid being overheard. “How are things going?”
“Fucking slowly,” Liam mutters. “She’s skittish. I don’t blame her though. Not with everything going on.”
“Best not to push it.” My eyes drift to the time on my watch. “Why the hell did we leave so early?”
“Some of the boys wanted a night in Montreal.” Liam crosses his arms. “Family visits, you know.”
And in the meantime, Rosie’s at home alone.
Pushing to my feet, I look down the rows of heads, searching for Coach.
“Tell me you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking.” Liam’s brow knots. “Give her some space.”
“If I give her any more space, I’ll be moving out,” I say shortly. “I can make it home and still get to Montreal in plenty of time for the match. I’ll leave first thing in the morning.”
“And miss morning skate?” He scoffs. “Sure, Cart. Good luck. Like Coach’ll let that happen.”
Coach doesn’t have a fucking choice.
But Liam sees the answer in my set expression. “Jesus. Fine. I’ll come with you.”
“No.” When he looks set to argue, I lift my hand. “It’s going to cause enough grief if I go. Stay with the team. Besides, it’s like you said, right? You’re always with her.”
And maybe I want to see how she acts when he’s not.
His mouth snaps shut, but he doesn’t look happy. Leaving him, I shoulder my way up to where Martin and Viktor are poring over battle plans.
When my head swims, I brace myself against the back of Ryker’s seat. Jesus, those pills are strong. “Coach?”
“Everything alright?” Martin shades his eyes against the sun nudging through the window. “Is it the shoulder?”
“Uh, no.” I flex it instinctively, not mentioning the tramadol. “Look, I need to jump off and meet you in Montreal.”
Both look at me like I’ve lost my damn mind. I hold up my hands. “Hear me out. Rosie’s not well, and I’m worried. If I get hold of a car to drive back, I can leave Blackwater first thing in the morning and make it back to you after lunch. I won’t be missing the game.”
“Don’t think so.” Martin’s expression is set in lines that tell me he’s not impressed. “You knew the schedule, Carter. There’s prep and morning skate. You need to get a feel for the arena.”
“Wasn’t asking, Coach.” When he stiffens, I tighten my shoulders. “You know I don’t fuck around with the schedule, ever. I’ve played against the Habs a dozen times. My head won’t be in the game if I don’t do this.”
Viktor mutters at me in Russian. It doesn’t sound like a compliment.
“Fine me if you have to.” I fold my arms. “But I’m going home.”
He swears under his breath and points a stubby, thick finger at me. “Fuck me. Fine. Get Cross up here. If you’re joining late, I want a contingency. But we’d better not need to use it. You get me?”
My heartbeat settles back into a semblance of normal. “Yeah, coach. I hear you.”
“And don’t make a fucking habit of it, Reynolds.”
“No, sir.”
***
Dropping the duffel at my feet, I watch the team bus trundle off into the distance and look around.
There’s not much to look at. This service station’s seen better days. A faded orange sign advertises some sort of drink, the information long since flaked away to leave patches of gray cement behind.
Pulling out my phone, I search up local car hire companies. The nearest one is forty-five minutes from here and twenty minutes later, I have a ride on the way with a promise to sign a jersey for the owner’s hockey-mad kid. Checking the screen, I notice Rosie hasn’t opened my last message.
A notification pops up. Another, and then another.
My eyebrows fly to space.
Fuck me. She’s dropped the equivalent of a small countries’ net worth at NestRest. My lips twitch up as more come through, giving me a trail to follow her movements through the best shops in Blackwater.
Thank you, Katie.
Grinning, I pull up an empty screen and type another message out.
You feeling better, baby?
Sliding my phone into my pocket, I brave the entrance to the station, ducking so I can fit through the door. A shrunken beta that looks terrifyingly closer to dead than alive doesn’t move from behind the counter. I shift past him, wondering if I should check his pulse.
A long, hacking, wet cough answers for me. “Need help?”
“Uh.” I grab a lukewarm bottle of water from a broken fridge and turn to risk the snacks. “All good, thanks.”
There’s not much here. My hand hovers over a bag of Sour Patch Kids, and I snag it.
The dead guy rings them up, eyeing me suspiciously with watery pale blue giant orbs. “I know you?”
“Don’t think so, sir.” I shift in place, glancing out the window for any sign of my ride. “Just passin’ through.”
Still nothing from Rosie. I emerge to a light dusting of rain, taking shelter under the overhang and stalking the latest updates on her day via the hit to our bank account like they’re the latest NPHL stats.
I’m overreacting. Liam’s right, and she is fine.
But she still doesn’t reply.
***
The elevator doors slide open, and I step out. It’s late—later than I intended, thanks to a pile-up on the freeway we had to divert around.
Our hall is full of bags. Most of them are dark green, the logo for the best nesting supply store in Blackwater gleaming back at me in silver foiled script. “Rosie?”
I can’t hear anything. Not the sound of the television, or any sign of her moving around the apartment. Maybe she’s in bed already. My plan is starting to feel more foolish by the second.
I head down the hall, pausing when I hear a shuffle. “Ro? It’s me.”
“Carter?” Her head pops out from around the wall. A rolling pin is raised in her hand. “Jesus wept. I thought you were a burglar!”
It takes two codes and a key card before our private elevator will even move. The emergency stairs are key-coded too. I find myself smiling. “Put the rolling pin down.”