“It’s exhausting.”
“But effective. You’re one of the best defensive players in the league.”
I pause. She’s been doing her research.
I fight a satisfied smirk. “Well, I used to be.”
“Your coach says you’re improving. You told me that.”
There’s something in her eyes—pride, like she’s behind me. On my team. Not Candy Kane’s team. Mine. Someone who sees past the performance. Past my careful control.
I remember that feeling…from Barcelona. It’s addicting.
My phone rings.
I glance at the screen.
Dad.
My stomach drops.
It’s almost ten p.m. My father never calls this late unless?—
Unless something’s wrong.
“I’m sorry,” I say to Chloe. “I have to?—”
I answer. “Dad?”
But it’s not my father’s voice.
It’s a woman. Professional. Calm. “Is this Brody Kane?”
“Yes. Who is this?”
“This is Hennepin County Medical Center. Your father, Robert Kane, was brought in about an hour ago. You’re listed as his emergency contact. We need you to come to the hospital as soon as possible.”
The world tilts.
“What happened?” I ask.
“He was in a car accident. You should come. Soon.”
The line goes dead.
I’m staring at my phone. My hand is shaking.
“Brody?” Chloe’s voice is gentle. Worried. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s my dad. He’s in the hospital. I have to—” I’m already standing. Throwing cash on the table. Too much, but I don’t care. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”
“Okay.” She’s grabbing her coat. Her purse. “Let’s go.”
“You don’t have to?—”
“I’m going with you.”
“Chloe—”
