"Let him fight. I'm trying to protect him and the team."
Mike smiles, a genuine warmth in it. "You're going to fit in just fine here.”
I grab my things from my locker, fingers fumbling with the combination lock, the residual adrenaline making me clumsy. I strip off my team polo, the fabric clinging to my skin, damp with sweat from the tension of the night. I pull on jeans, a vest, and my Mavericks fleece jacket. The facility is emptying out around me, and I can hear the distant sounds of the locker room, thebanging of doors, the rumble of male voices, players heading home, staff wrapping up, and the night shift janitors starting their rounds.
Collette's waiting outside the media wing when I emerge. She's in a burgundy blazer that makes her look effortlessly put together. Her camera equipment is slung over one shoulder, and her phone is in her other hand. She looks up when she sees me.
"Ready?" she asks, tucking her phone away.
"Yeah."
We start walking, the night air hits like a slap, cold and sharp, and I suck in a breath, letting it burn my lungs. The city sounds filter in around us, distant traffic, voices, the wail of a siren blocks away. My footsteps echo on the pavement, my shoulders are tight, and my jaw aches from clenching.
"How was your first game?" Collette's voice is light.
"Fine."
"Just fine?"
"It was good. Busy." The words feel automatic.
"You pulled Emmett off the bikes," she states.
I glance at her, her expression is neutral, but her eyes are sharp. Watching me. "You saw that?"
"Everyone saw that. Felix was texting me about it." A grin tugs at her mouth. "Said you looked scary."
"His shoulder is injured.”
"And?"
"And he's refusing to rest it."
"Shocking." Her tone is dry as dust. "A hockey player being stubborn about an injury."
We walk another block in silence. The sidewalk is cracked under my feet, uneven, and I focus on not tripping, on putting one foot in front of the other. But I can feel Collette's attention on me like a physical weight.
"You're really worked up about this," she says finally.
"I'm not worked up."
"Jo." She stops walking and turns to face me, her hand catches my elbow, gentle but firm. "You're practically vibrating."
I am. I can feel it, the tension coiled in every muscle. "I'm frustrated."
"Why?"
"Because he's being an idiot. He could seriously hurt himself." The words burst out of me. Too fast. Too heated.
Collette's head tilts, that look she gets when she's reading people. "You've dealt with stubborn athletes before, in London, this is no different." I pull my arm free and start walking again, ignoring her words. "This is about him," Collette says behind me.
"No. It's about a patient ignoring medical advice."
"Bullshit."
I stop walking and face her, the look on her face is all too knowing, my sister sees everything.
"What do you want me to say?" I ask her.
