“No problem,” she says, placing her hand on my seat and turning around to reverse out of the driveway. “I remember how shitty loud noises are the first few days. It’s why you should’ve stayed home.”
“Just what I want to do, sit around in silence thinking about how I can’t play hockey.” Then her earlier words register. “Wait—you said you remember what it’s like? Have you had a concussion?”
Finley laughs. “Yep. I’ve probably been injured more than you have.”
“No way,” I say in disbelief—not only over her statement, but also how she’s able to distract me so easily. Justin fucking Ward ran me down on the ice and ruined my season. I shouldn’t be laughing like it’s one big joke, the way I treat everything else, but it’s nice to take a break from my spiraling thoughts.
Finley shimmies in her seat, sitting taller. “Care to put your theory to the test? I’ve been injured a lot.”
Sitting in the passenger seat beside a smiling Finley, her hair gleaming gold in the sunshine, is surreal. She’s lived rent-free in my mind for so long, it’s like my dream girl came to life.
“You’re on. This will be a short game. Broken finger.”
“Sprained wrist,” she replies.
“Shoulder tendonitis.”
She lifts her hands off the steering wheel and points a finger in my direction. “Had that one too.”
I raise an eyebrow. Does she play hockey? Matt has two brothers who play in the NHL. His parents visited a few times when the brothers were playing against each other and invited me to their family dinners… where no one said a word about Finley or alluded to another sibling. What gives?
I shove the question aside and refocus on our screwed-up game. “Bruised rib.”
“Sprained ankle.” She grins. “I can go all day, Zach.”
I suppress a groan. I wish I could suppress the images her words conjure, but no such luck. I get a flash of Finley beside me in bed, blond hair against dark sheets, a flirty grin on her face.
She’s screwing with me, right? She has to know how I feel, how shemakesme feel.
“Split lip. Puck to the face and a punch to the face.” I press a finger to my mouth. I’m lucky I haven’t managed to lose any teeth, especially with the greasy way I play. “You going to explain what caused your injuries?”
Finley makes a sharp right into a parking lot, and the answer to my question comes into view. She parks in an empty space in front of a massive beige-and-glass building with a sign readingPALMER CITY GYMNASTICSin thick black caps. Before I can say anything, Finley reaches into the backseat for a backpack and hops out of the car.
I scramble to catch up to her. “Gemma made it sound like you were headed to a gymgym.”
She stops abruptly, her arm sweeping toward the building. “This is agymgym.”
“Is this why you didn’t want me to come with you?”
“No one knows I’m training again,” she says with a nod, crossing her arms over her chest.
Tension deflates from my chest now I know she’s not actively trying to avoid me. But it raises the question ofwhyFinley needs to hide her gymnastics from her family.
“I couldn’t exactly say no to Gemma without raising suspicions.”
“You could’ve left me on the side of the road somewhere so I didn’t learn your secret.”
“Talk about a move that would damn me straight to hell, leaving a concussed suspicious-looking dude on the side of the road.”
I hold up my hand. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. I’m wearing sunglasses, not a quiver full of arrows.”
“A quiver full of arrows?” she repeats slowly. “What century do you think this is?”
“It’s a video game thing.” I shrug, hating how shit I am at talking to girls. I wish I could skip the flirting and awkward dating stage and move right into a comfortable relationship. I think I’d thrive there. “So you brought me because you don’t want bad karma?”
She scuffs the top of her sneaker on the pavement, eyes fixed on the ground. “And… maybe I want someone to know.”
A burst of heat fills my chest at the idea she’s choosing to confide in me, to share a part of her life she’s concealing from those closest to her.
