Instead I snap too sharp. "Go to bed."
Her mouth shuts. The warmth in her eyes cools to something flat and distant. She turns and disappears down the hall without another word.
Fuck me. Opening my mouth guarantees that whatever comes out is rude and surly.
Getting into sweats and lying in my bed feels almost too good. My injury is beyond painful. I look at the bottle of pain pills I've been prescribed sitting on my bedside table. By grinning and bearing the pain, I've gone all day without needing any opiates. But now I think I might actually need one.
I shake a pill out and down it with the bottle of water I keep on my bedside table. Then I close my eyes. My shoulder aches, pain radiating from the epicenter out into my neck and down to my sternum.
I tell myself that the pain's good.I don't need more than this.
But I know I’m lying.
Chapter Eleven
Scout
"This is so fancy," I mutter while filling Silas's ridiculously expensive blender with ice, protein powder, almond milk, and frozen strawberries. Following the directions, I put the lid on, then lock the container inside a shield that promises to vacuum seal and blend simultaneously.
The blender is still loud, shrieking through the condo at six in the morning like the world's angriest alarm clock. I grin as I pour two tall glasses of bright pink smoothie. It smells amazing, which means Silas will probably hate it.
From the hallway comes a gravelly growl. "What the hell is that noise?"
"Breakfast," I chirp, setting a glass on the counter. "I noticed you only have coffee before the gym. That's not enough calories. It slows down your metabolism." I wait, looking over my shoulder with my brightest smile. "You're welcome!"
Silas appears in the doorway looking like murder in sweatpants. His dirty blond hair sticks up on one side, sleep-mussed and somehow endearing despite the scowl. Thoseblue-gray eyes are flat and cold. He's shirtless, all broad shoulders and defined abs on full display. Six foot eight of barely contained morning rage wrapped in gray sweatpants. The bandage on his shoulder's visible. Even freshly woken and radiating hostility, he's unfairly attractive.
Honestly, it's rude.
"It's six in the morning."
"Early bird gets the worm."
"What if I don't want the worm? I love silence."
A bit of his hair is sticking up on the side. I stare at it, willing myself not to think it's cute. He's Oscar the Grouch, not a puppy. Puppies don’t have razor blade edges.
I cross my arms. "You are seriously grumpy in the morning."
"I'm always grumpy when someone wakes me up by blending something at maximum volume."
"It just so happens I got permission for you to return to the ice."
Silas's hand stops where it was scratching his beard. "You did?"
He sounds uncertain. I beam anyway.
"Yes, Bossy. I did. In practice, you'll wear a red 'No Contact' jersey, but you can do skating drills. Nothing that requires bending or contact. The Havoc have a game tonight. You'll be benched, but you'll be with the team."
Silas's face screws up. I'm not sure what he's going to say, but he surprises me with a grated-out, "Thanks."
"You're very welcome." My smile's so big it hurts. "You need to be ready to go soon. I've got a car picking you up at 7:30. Now come drink this smoothie."
He scowls and mutters something about rookies who get fined for being late but I get to run a juice bar in his kitchen. I ignore him and sip my smoothie, watching him over the rim.He stands there glaring at the pink drink like it personally offended him.
Then he picks it up and chugs the whole thing in four long pulls.
Victory tastes like strawberries and vindication.
