“Good,” I utter.
Jameson throws a pillow at me. “He’s trying, Hunt. For the love of fuck, pull the tampon out, would you?”
My eyes bounce between both of them before eventually staying on Clark. “I won’t kick your ass again, as long as you don’t talk to Isla Hardy or about her for the rest of your fucking life.”
His brows pull together. “Hunt, that seems fucking excessive. I like talking to her?—”
Stepping closer, I ball my hands into fists at my sides. “Do we have an agreement or not?”
He glances at Jameson, who gives him literally nothing besides a slight nod, and finally, he stares up at me.
“Fine. I won’t talk to her.”
“Or about her,” I add.
“Or about her,” he mimics, and I relax.
“Good,” I mumble before taking off toward the kitchen to grab a water.
“Sounded heated in there,” Cane Hale says, smirking at me from the sink. “Did you actually just unplug West’s video game and live to tell the tale?”
“That shit is stupid,” I say, shaking my head. “If he put as much time in on the ice, he’d be unstoppable.”
“Yeah, maybe.” He shrugs. “Or … maybe not.” He chuckles. “I’m headed to the field. See ya, man.”
“Later,” I say and grab a water before heading toward my bedroom.
Cane is Cash’s brother and also Coach Talmage’s son. But unlike Cash, Cane doesn’t play hockey. Instead, he fucking dominates as a pitcher for the baseball team.
When I first found out I was coming to NEU and came to check out the campus, one thing I found fucking weird was that all sorts of athletes from different teams lived in the same houses. Normally, it’s athletic dorms or certain teams living together. Not baseball, football, hockey, and basketball players all shacking up.
Walking into my bedroom, I close the door and take my phone out of my pocket. Once a week, I call Juliet. Always at the same time so that one of the ladies in the nursing home can give her the phone. She has no one else, and because she was there for me whenever I needed someone while growing up, I try to do the same for her.
Lying down on the bed, I press my finger to the Call button and bring it to my ear. It rings a few times, just like it always does, but eventually, the nurse, Maria, answers.
“Hey, Hendrix,” she says sweetly. “Juliet is going to be so excited to hear from you. It’s always a treat.”
“Thank you,” I say, dragging my hand over the top of my head nervously.
I don’t know if she actually loves it when I call or if it disturbs her from her routine. Sometimes, she talks clearly and seemslike she knows it’s me. Other times, it’s clear as day that she doesn’t understand the whole talking-on-the-phone concept, seems agitated, and barely says anything.
Every single day is different, but I guess that’s Alzheimer’s.
“Okay, sweetie, say hello,” Maria tells her, like she has all the other times we’ve done this. “It’s Hendrix on the phone. This handsome guy.” I know she’s showing her a picture of me because that always seems to work well.
“H-hello?” She’s only said one word, and I can already tell she’s having a rough day.
“Hey, Jules,” I say, plastering on my most cheerful voice because that’s what she deserves. “How’s it going today?”
There’s no answer, and after a moment of silence, Maria talks again.
“Say hello, Juliet. It’s Hendrix. He called to talk to you; isn’t that nice?”
“Who?” Juliet says weakly.
“It’s this boy.” Maria has nothing but patience in her tone. “He calls you every week and comes and visits too.”
“I don’t …” She pauses. “I don’t know who that is, but he is very good-looking.”
