“Your tone still makes me worry, Foster.”
“Just a little tired. I’ll take a quick nap later.” He gives me a side-eye as he walks out.
Davidson is proven right when I don’t even get ten minutes into warm-ups before crashing into a teammate.
“Foster, go home and rest. Come back with a fresh start,” Coach tells me when Davidson skates away from him.
I try to protest but get cut off. “Now.”
Annoyed and exhausted, I listen to Coach and go home without another word. When I get there, Bryce is already gone. I curl up on his bed and set an alarm so I don’t oversleep, but stop before putting it back on the nightstand.
Bodie
I miss you
I almost asked him to come home to me.
Almost.
Chapter Twelve
Bryce
Me
I miss you too
He texted me hours ago and I couldn’t make myself tell him what I really want to—what I need to. I shouldn’t have waited this long, but would he still be here if I hadn’t? Telling anyone just leaves me open for what Josh did to me. I swore I wouldn’t do it again. He was the test before I told Bodie, and he failedmiserably. Things are different now with Bodie, though. I need to get it off my chest—then maybe sleep wouldn’t be such a problem. I shouldn’t have to rely on Bodie to sleep, even though I’ve never slept better than I have this past month.
Talking to my mom usually helps when I need someone, but even she doesn’t know. What would she think? I saw what she went through after Dad died—her depression lasted almost three years. If it wasn’t for Dad’s life insurance, we probably would have been homeless because she couldn’t work half the time. Mrs. Foster was there for her and eventually convinced her to get some help. How could I ever tell her what happened that night?
“Bryce, baby. What are you doing out here?” Of course she saw me sitting in the car and came outside to get me. She’s wearing her favorite apron with a heart and her initials on it—their initials—DC. My dad bought it for her just before he died. She rarely wears it, which means she’s thinking of him a lot today.
“You scared me, Ma.”
“Then stop making me come out here, and get your butt inside.” Even when I’m not feeling so great, she still manages to make me laugh.
I walk into the house and smell her pot roast cooking—it reminds me of my favorite meal as a kid. The nostalgia also has me thinking about Bodie, because he would ask her to make it at least once a week.
“You going to stay for dinner? Should we call Bodie over too?”
“Nah. He’s got a game tonight. He’s probably at the Coliseum already.”
“I’ll just send some home with you, then, so he has a good meal when he gets home. I’m sure he’ll be hungry.”
My mouth opens and closes a few times before I can get out, “Ma, can we talk for a minute?”
“Yeah, honey. Is something wrong? Did you—”
“Don’t spiral, Ma. Everything is fine.” A white lie. “Did you know I have sleep issues?”
“Now, or when you were a kid?”
“Does it matter? Both.”
“I think I remember in middle school you had some trouble, but I thought it went away when I didn’t catch you playing video games so much in the middle of the night anymore.”
She’s right about not catching me, but only because she got me a cell phone in eighth grade, and I was able to keep myself occupied without her knowing.
