I slide out of bed, slip on a sweatshirt, and brush my teeth before heading to Zach’s room. He lays on his back, tucked under several blankets. If Gemma hadn’t told me about the concussion, I wouldn’t have guessed it—cuts and bruises are part of a hockey player’s uniform.
Before I can second-guess myself, I pull my phone out of the front pouch in my sweatshirt and find the video of last night’s hit. Zach carries the puck, moving as quickly as lightning, zipping the puck to another player as they cross the blue line. And then it happens.
Someone on the opposing team wallops him, his shoulder slamming into Zach’s face. I wince and my hand lands on my chest. Zach hits the ice and remains motionless for several heart-stopping seconds. He tries to stand and falls. He’s crawling toward the bench when one of his teammates hops over the boards and pulls him the rest of the way.
Zach would say it’s part of the game, as if getting concussed at a person’s place of work is normal. I’ve heard my brothers and their friends say shit like that my entire life. Maybe this judgment makes me a hypocrite, because my sport also requires a risk to life and limb, but at least no one tries to take me down while I’m executing a tumbling pass during my floor routine.
My fingers smooth back a tuft of Zach’s unruly chestnut hair from his forehead.
“What are you doing?”
I jerk my hand away from his face. Kennedy Cole, Gemma’s best friend, smirks at me from the doorway. A slash of sunlight illuminates her blue hair. I've always wanted to dye my hair a fun color, but my coaches never allowed it.
“Nothing… um…” I clear my throat. “Just checking to see if he’s still alive.”
Kennedy moves to the bedside opposite me, worried eyes studying his face. “You might have better luck finding a pulse in his wrist or neck.”
“Right. Yeah.” I want to evaporate into thin air.
A faint smile graces her face as she shakes her head. “I’m starting to understand why Gemma insisted Zach stay here.”
Before I can ask what she means, Kennedy adds, “Gem said we need to wake him up. Did you already do that?”
“I was about to,” I say. “I think it makes more sense for you to do it, now that you’re here.”
Kennedy nods her agreement. “Zachary,” she whispers, placing her hand on his shoulder and nudging it lightly. “It’s your favorite roomie. Can you wake up so I know you’re okay?”
When he doesn’t stir, she says his name again, louder, shaking his shoulder a little harder. Not enough for his head to move.
“Say something,” Kennedy orders gently.
“This is the second strangest conversation I’ve ever had,” I whisper.
Kennedy tilts her head in question but quickly abandons her thought when Zach’s eyelids flutter open.
My breath catches as I stare at Zach’s chocolate brown eyes, the eyes I stared up at from my knees, eager to take in signs of his pleasure.
“Oh, Briggsy, you scared the hell out of me.” Kennedy grips his hand in both of hers. “How are you feeling?”
“Like roadkill,” he croaks.
Kennedy hands him a glass of water. Zach lifts his head to take a swig before falling back to the pillows. He lets out a yawn, his eyes closing for a second before they reopen. He’s fighting sleep, but it will take him again soon.
“You look shockingly good for roadkill.”
The words fly out of my mouth before I can stop them. I avoid looking at Kennedy but can’t ignore the weight of her stare. I can’t imagine what she thinks, and I hope she doesn’t say anything to Matt or Gemma.
Zach’s head slowly swivels toward me, his eyes widening in recognition. “You’re even prettier than I remember,” he says before his eyes close again, and his chest rises and falls peacefully.
A small smile graces Kennedy’s lips. “You’re lucky I’m not Gemma.”
I lock my expression down. I need to hide how much I like Zach’s compliment and our history. I can’t risk angering Matt tothe point of kicking me out of his house, which would effectively end my secret quest to return to gymnastics.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I leave the room and Zach behind me.
2
Finley
