“My car just made some noises that can’t be good. I have to pull over. I think the engine just died.”
“Damn, where are you?”
I look around, trying to get my bearings, then tell her the nearest cross-streets.
“Are you safe?” she asks. “Can you get out of traffic?”
“Yeah, I’m on the shoulder now.” The engine makes one last clicking and grinding noise, then goes silent with a shudder. “I think I’d better call you back. I need to figure out how I’m going to get home.”
“I can come pick you up. Give me just a few minutes.”
“No, don’t come yet. I should probably call a tow truck first. I’d rather not leave my car here on the side of the road if I can avoid it.”
“Okay, but don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything. I might be moving a little slower these days, but I’m not so frail and fragile that I can’t come pick you up.”
I manage a smile even though I’m worried and frustrated and already mentally calculating a towing bill, because frail and fragile are two of the last words I’d ever use to describe my sister.
“Thanks, I promise I’ll call you in a bit to let you know what’s going on. I love you.”
“Love you too. Be careful.”
I hang up the phone and squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, then heave a frustrated, exhausted sigh.
This is exactly what I didn’t need today.
Chapter 14
Grant
I’m changing out of my practice gear and into sweatpants and a hoodie for my physical therapy session when I remember Heather’s school meeting.
Our conversation earlier has been in the back of my mind all day, resurfacing over and over again and distracting me while I’m supposed to be giving my full attention to practice.
Fortunately, my reflexes and muscle memory are strong enough that I can still block shots and run drills while my mind is miles away. But the thought of spending the next two hours in PT without knowing how that meeting went is driving me crazy.
As subtly as I can, I pull out my phone and shoot off a quick text.
ME: How did the meeting go?
She doesn’t respond right away, and that’s fine. Not a problem. It’s not like I expect her to be waiting by the phone or to drop everything she’s doing the minute I text her. She’s probably back at work by now anyway. Or driving back to the office, which means she’s busy either way.
When my phone buzzes quietly with her reply a couple of minutes later, I have to remind myself to play it cool and avoid giving the guys any ammunition. Most of them are like brothersto me, but the last thing I want right now is another round of teasing.
Heather: My car broke down. I’m okay, but stranded for the moment.
I have to read the message two more times because my brain keeps stuttering over the words “broke down” and “stranded.”
Nope. Not for long. Not if I can help it.
ME: Where are you, exactly? I’ll come and get you.
HEATHER: No, it’s okay. I’m fine, I promise. A guy just stopped to help.
A guy. As in some random guy?
Fuck that.
The possessive feeling takes over so quickly that I don’t realize that’s what it is at first. The mental image of some stranger walking up to Heather while she’s stranded and vulnerable on the side of the road makes me clench my jaw and slam my stick against my locker with enough force to draw the attention of a few of the guys around me.
