37. Hoisted by my own Petard
Chapter thirty-seven
Hoisted by my own Petard
Jeff Akerman, NPHL Network Analyst:“News just in is that Blackwater’s Aces are officially heading into their dream playoff run, Cal.
It hasn’t always been a convincing campaign, but Boone Mercer has pulled off a miracle with his team and bounced back to secure the East’s final wild-card position.
With two games remaining for the Aces, their focus shifts from getting in to proving they belong in the increased pressure of the Everly Cup playoffs.
With their regular-season finale against the Titans coming up, I’m hoping to get a useful indication of exactly how dangerous this team can be. ”
Leaning against the doorway, I watch Carter carefully wrap tape around a stick.
When he’s done, he sets it against the wall and tugs a pill bottle from his pocket with shaking hands. My stomach sinks as he tosses one into his mouth. “Hey.”
The twitch of his hand sends pills scattering across the floor of the equipment room. Carter chokes. “Jesus, Ro. Where’d you come from?”
“What are those?” Stepping inside, I watch him lean down to pick them up and drop them back into the dark, amber bottle. “New painkillers?”
“Yeah,” he mutters, still looking around the floor. He curls his hands over them as I approach.
“Let me see?” The sinking turns to a cold, hard rock as he slowly releases his fingers to show me the label.
“Oxy,” I breathe. He doesn’t look at me. “You’re taking oxy now? Since when?”
“It’s all above board.” He stuffs the bottle back in his pocket. “Martin brought in some new doctors. It’s the only thing that helps with my shoulder.”
“Carter.” I kneel down beside him. His eyes are glazed, a thin layer of sweat coating his forehead. Does it kick in that quickly? My hand finds his cheek, grazing the stubble there. “I don’t like this. You always promised me you’d stay away from it—”
“They know what they’re doing.” He shrugs off my touch, getting to his feet and leaving me kneeling on the floor as he reaches for another stick. “We got to trust the experts, Ro. You don’t need to worry about it.”
“That’s what we’re doing now?” I stare at him as he winds the tape without looking at me. “I can’t even ask questions?”
He sighs. “Not about this. Trust me, okay? I have it handled. Once the season’s done, I’ll start looking at surgery. Were you looking for me for a reason?”
“Do I need one?”
He gives me a look that tells me he’s in no mood for it. “I have shit to do, that’s all. I’ve got to run drills after this, and then meet with Mason. Then I’m with Remy, and then Gabe. Probably someone else after that. I’m fucking exhausted.”
“Then take a break.” I’m in no mood to give him extra strings for his baby violin pity party. “Ask someone else to run drills. Benji would help.”
“I’m the fucking captain,” he snaps. “They’re all depending on me.”
“And they won’t be able to if you’re drowning under the weight of things other people can help with!” My temper flares. “You haven’t even asked how the dinner went. The one you missed because of all your responsibilities.”
“The guys said it was fine.” He looks over at me. “Saw your message, but I couldn’t reply. I know his dad can be a bit of an ass, from what he’s said.”
Fine.
Everything is on fire, but everything is fine.
“Something like that.” I drag myself to my feet. “I came to ask if you booked my medical appointment yet.”
Guilt flashes over his face, his brows drawing together. “Not yet. You sick?”
“Maybe.” I rub at my arms. My body is veering from roasting to the ice age every ten minutes. “Can you book it?”
“Yeah.” He drops the stick, giving me his full attention as he yanks his phone from his pocket. “Sorry, baby. I’ll do it right now. Sit down. Do you need water?”
I blink at him slowly, but flop down onto the bench. “I’m not dying, Carter. Make an appointment before you forget.”
He’s already flicking through his phone, his eyes traveling over me like he might be able to make a diagnosis via x-ray vision. “Yeah, hi. I need to make a general medical for my omega.”
Carter reels off my name. Our address. “March eighteenth, two thousand and two.”
I stare down at my hands, waiting for him to be done.
“Thanks.”
His boots appear in front of me. And then his face.
“What did they say?” I glance up.
“March eighteenth.” When I pull back, he captures my hands easily. “March eighteenth was two weeks ago.”
“Why the fuck are you telling me?” I try to summon an attitude, but all that comes out is a sad little fizzle. “You’re the one who needs a calendar.”
“I forgot your birthday,” he breathes, his eyes growing wide as he searches for words.
“If it makes you feel better, you weren’t the only one.” I pull my hands out of his and fold my arms, building a barrier between us as he stares at me in growing horror. “Not a big deal. It’s probably not even my actual birthday.”
Just a date they shoved on my paperwork. A best guess. There was no handy information sheet tucked in my trash bag when whoever owned me decided to dump me at a fire station instead of sticking around. “We could probably just say it was today and call it quits.”
“I forgot your birthday,” Carter repeats. He looks down, swallowing hard. “I never forget your birthday.”
“Yeah, well.” I dash my hand over my eyes. “First time for everything.”
“I’m sorry,” he croaks out before looking up at me. Carter wipes away the irritating eye leakages slipping down my cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Ro. Jesus. I mean, I saw you—”
“Four times,” I interrupt. “You saw me four freaking times, and it wasn’t enough to jog your memory? On the same day as the teddy bear toss?”
It’s not anger I’m feeling. It’s something else. Something that feels a bit like panic. “Where’s your head at, Carter?”
Because wherever it is, it’s certainly not with me.
“This fucking season...” He shakes his head. “Fuck it. I’m not making excuses, Ro. It was a shitty thing to do. And with everything going on with the pack… I fucked up.”
He pulls out his phone. “There’s a six-day break between game eighty-two and playoffs. I’m going to book somewhere for us. We’ll talk shit through with Liam and Jonas, and we’ll get on a plane out of here for a bit. Get some fresh air, clear our heads.”
“Somewhere really nice,” I say tightly. “Five stars. Silver service. All the fancy shit.”
“You got it,” Carter says softly. His hand drops to rub circles on my leg. “Was it bad? Last night? I’m sorry I missed that too.”
“I cooked for six hours.” I make my eyes big, and wide, and sad. The confessions I’m not allowed to make press against my chest. “I chose those dishes especially for you, and you weren’t there.”
For a second, he looks like I’ve booted him directly in the heart. Then his eyes narrow. “You did not.”
“I did!” I protest. I splay a hand over my chest. “Do you know how hard it is to cook racks of lamb for eight people?”
“You’ve never cooked rack of lamb in your life.” His lips are twitching now. “You called that place we used for my birthday dinner when the whole team came over. Admit it.”
“So perfectly pink,” I whisper, pressing the back of my hand against my mouth.
He swoops in and kisses my lips. “Invoice came through to my phone app.”
Damn it.
“Hoisted by my own petard,” I sigh. “In my defense, I did make a really nice jus.”
“What’s a jus?”
“Heathen.” I nudge at his shoulder, and he grins. “My skills would be wasted on you, anyway.”
I lean forward to touch his cheek. His skin feels clammy. “We’re going to be okay, you know.”
“Of course we are,” he says immediately, winding his fingers through mine. He presses his lips to them. “The Titans have six games left, Ro. We’ll sit down with Liam and Jonas, work out a plan. We can do this like adults. I’ll speak to Coach about the team.”
“You’ve thought about this.”
He nods. “I was thinking—Ethan and I can swap timings. He goes in with them on the ice, I’ll work with Noah and Ryker. We can minimize time spent together to get through playoffs.”
He rubs his thumb across my knuckles. “And come July first, I’m a free agent. No contract.”
I drop my eyes to his hands. “What about the apartment?”
He shrugs. “Let them have it if they want it. We’ll have to split assets anyway. You and I can find a house in Blackwater with a few steps instead of a twenty-floor elevator.”
“I hate that elevator,” I confess.
“Me too.” He kisses my hand. “Few more days, and it’s you and me again.”
I want that so much I could cry. “You promise? No taking it back, Reynolds. I’m gonna start looking at houses.”
He pulls out his phone, and mine buzzes. He gets to his feet. “Way ahead of you. I should probably get to the rink before they send out security. Coach fines by the minute.”
“Best get going before we can’t afford a house.”
When I take a step, a pebble crushes beneath my boot. I wipe white powder from my sole over the ground, looking down at the crushed remains of an oxy tablet.
It’s a prescription, I tell myself. Not a big deal.
They wouldn’t let him have it if there was any risk.