“Always so dramatic.” I laugh. “I texted you.”
“Did you hear that, Carter?” Dad calls out. “He texted.”
Pops comes into the living room with a glass of wine for Dad and a bottle of water for me. “Thanks.”
“Next time, call,” Pops admonishes. “We need to hear your voice to know you’re doing okay.”
“I’m twenty-three. I don’t think you need to check on me anymore.”
Dad claps me on the knee. “Nick, you’re our son. We will always be checking on you. Even in your forties.”
“So make sure you call, or we’ll start popping by your place.”
The last thing I want is for them to randomly drop by. Not that Bex and I are ever there, but if I’m not, that will raise questions. Questions I don’t want to answer.
“What’s that face for?” Dad asks, pushing his glasses farther up his face.
He’s more gray than brown now, but other than that, he doesn’t look like he’s aged at all. I hope I have his good genes and age as gracefully as he has.
“What face? There was no face.”
“Uh-uh, no way. You’re hiding something.”
“Am not,” I fire back.
“Nick, that’s exactly what you say when you are hiding something. Has Angie taught you nothing?” Pops comes back into the living room now.
“Who’s hiding something?”
I groan, burying my face in my hands. Of course Angie and Troy choose this moment to show up.
“Your brother.”
“What are you hiding?” Angie shrugs out of her coat and throws it over the back of the couch. “Do you know what he’s hiding?” She turns on Troy.
He throws his hands up in defense. “Why are you asking me? I don’t know what’s going on. All I know is he took a hard hit in practice today.”
“You did?” Both of my dads’ eyes swing to mine.
“Are you okay?”
“Do you need ice? Ibuprofen?”
“Have you talked to the coach about this?”
They fire off their questions as I shoot an annoyed face to Troy. “Thanks a lot, man.”
“Sorry,” he whispers. He heads to the kitchen and grabs three beers, passing one to Angie and myself, before cracking his open.
“I’m fine.” I take a refreshing sip while trying to reassure my dads. “Nothing I haven’t taken before.”
“But during practice?” Dad asks.
“Stop worrying.”
“Okay, but if that’s not what you’re hiding, what aren’t you telling us?” Angie asks.
Damn. She’s like a dog with a bone and won’t ever drop something. I both love and hate this trait about her. It was great when we were little and we were on the same side. Now? Not so much when I’m on the receiving end.
