“Why?”
He gives me an incredulous look. “Do you think I’m good at this, man?” He points to his screen. “I’m asking her what I should say next.”
I snicker. “She’ll probably tell you to just listen.”
He lets out a classic Luke-style grunt, then holds his phone out for me to see.
The words ‘just listen to him’ sit in the last blue bubble.
“Told you.” At least I’m right about something.
He puts his phone away and leans back. “Shoot.”
I weigh my options before speaking. I’m emotionally intelligent enough to realize that keeping this stuff locked up inside is messing with my head and affecting my performance on the ice. Bree’s the one I want to talk to, but she’s not ready to fill me in. So I guess this brute—my team captain—is my best option. At least for now.
Like a spring, I snap into a sitting position to face him. “What chafes me most is that Chase is the reason she won’t talk to me about what happened to her.”
“No, man. That’s on you. You’re the one who’s made this about you.”
“What are you talking about? I want Bree to tell me what the prick did to her.”
He bobs his head. “Yes, because you clearly hate the guy.”
“I told him to stay away from her years ago,” I grind out.
“Exactly.” Brows raised, he holds his hand out as if he’s made his point.
But I’m not getting it. “What?”
He takes a deep breath and slowly lets it out. “You made it about you. Not Bree. You’re mad because Chase went after your girl and hurt her.”
“You bet I am!” I growl. I thought that was clear.
“Fine, but don’t take your anger out on her. You need to set your ego aside on this one and quit thinking about how he pissed you off and start hurting for and with her.”
Hurt for and with her? I’m not even sure what that means. I turn and sit back against the cushion and try to separate what I’m feeling and focus solely on what Bree’s struggling with. Might help if I knew more about what happened, but do I need to know everything in order to sympathize with her? The image of her with her face in her hands, crying, deflates my anger.
I curse under my breath.
Luke picks up his phone, preening like he scored an impossible goal.
“Are you texting Sophie again?”
“First, I’m ordering pizza. Then I’m texting Sophie to tell her I listened and actually offered some sound advice.”
“Then we’re finished talking?” If he says no, I’ll make him leave and eat the pizza by myself.
He side-eyes me. “Is there more you want to say?”
“No,” I say with more force than I meant to.
He grunts. “Then my work here is done.”
Chapter Fourteen
BREE
When I walk into the Turtle Tide, the aroma of fresh seafood, french fries, beer, and all the accompanying spices shifts my saliva glands into overdrive. Nautical-themed objects and signs cover the wood-paneled walls, and light blue tweedy fabric patterned with dark teal anchors or seashells covers the booth cushions.
