“I hope he takes your advice and comes home.”
I smile into the phone. “Sasha, you forget I’ve had a lifetime of berating my brother and telling him what to do. He’ll tell me I’m being my usual overbearing, bitchy self, but he’ll do what I say.”
She laughs a little at that. I tell her I’ll call her later and hang up. I finish my milk, put the empty milk container in the recycling bin and head into my bedroom to change.
Twenty-five minutes later I walk into the gym slightly annoyed. I hate going to work on my day off. I’m pleased to see that the place is pretty busy. The gym’s membership has been steadily climbing, but I know Trey is still concerned. The rent on this building is high and he’s invested a ton in the renovations to make it as sleek and modern as it is. I worry still that he took on too much and I hate the added pressure he took on by borrowing money from our father. Dad is never one to let you forget when he helps you.
I know I spend more time than the average sister worrying about Trey. But I’ve been front row center to all the stress my father placed on him when it came to hockey. Trey’s injury—no fault of his own—devastated our father more than it did Trey, and no matter how much he has denied it, I know in my heart that it was Dad’s constant pressure to “get back at it” that caused Trey to down painkillers instead of giving up on hockey, which is what the doctors said he had to do.
I was the one who first noticed something was up, when I visited him at school after the injury and he vacillated between sluggish and agitated the entire weekend. And I was the one his roommate confided to, about thinking Trey was stealing money from him. And I was the one his college coach called when Trey vomited all over the ice in the middle of practice and then was found unconscious in the showers. I’m the one who got to the hospital first after draining my savings on a flight. I’m the one the doctor first told of his oxycodone addiction. I’m the one Trey cried to. When my father showed up he argued viciously with the doctor and even his own son, who was ready to admit he had a problem.
And even though that was years ago, I still feel like it was just yesterday. Almost losing my only brother, watching him hit bottom, all over a stupid sport and my father’s ridiculous pressure, it left a scar on my soul. One that sometimes feels like it still hasn’t healed. But I don’t micromanage Trey. I don’t. I just worry more than most.
Sara is at the juice bar; she’s flushed and I’m guessing she just finished teaching one of her Pilates classes. She gives me a tight but professional smile. Sara and I used to get along great when she was first hired and we were prepping the gym for opening, but ever since the laundry room incident, she has been chilly, to say the least.
“Have you seen Trey?”
“It’s his day off.”
“And he hasn’t come in?”
Sara shrugs. “Not that I know of.”
Jessie walks out of the women’s changing room dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. She must have just finished a shift. She grins at the sight of me, and I feel my face heat up as I return her grin with a sheepish one of my own. “Didn’t think you’d be out and about so early after last night.”
“What was last night?” Sara wants to know.
“We were out with a…friend…or dare I say boyfriend?” Jessie asks, her green eyes bright with hope. I feel a wave of panic ripple through me at that word.
“Not ready for that word,” I reply swiftly, and I nervously tuck my hair behind my ear. “At least not yet.”
“But maybe one day?” When I don’t answer, her grin deepens.
“Is this about Sebastian Deveau?” Sara says, a bite to her voice. “Are youdatinghim?”
“We need to change the subject before I freak out, okay?” Jessie simply nods, but she’s still grinning. “Have you seen Trey?”
“I told you he’s not here,” Sara huffs.
“He was here this morning when I started,” Jessie replies, and I try not to give Sara a glare. “I talked to him briefly. He was in his office.”
I glance over my shoulder down the hall to my brother’s closed office door. “How did he seem? What time was it? Did you see him leave?”
“It was early. I got here at eight. He was upbeat. Way more upbeat than I was at that hour.” She laughs a little.
I walk to his office. Jessie follows me as I dig my keys out from my purse. I have the only other full set that locks and unlocks every door in this place. I’m not officially the assistant manager, but unofficially I am. I just never asked for the title. I knock. No answer, so I try the handle. It’s not locked. I push it open. Trey is slumped over his desk, eyes closed, mouth open, a puddle of drool next to his laptop.
I freeze and my stomach and heart seem to switch places. Is he…is he passed out or, oh my God, or…Jessie doesn’t see what I think I see and she’s smiling as she fights a laugh. “Sleeping on the job,” she says and walks into the room. “Trey!”
At the sound of his name he startles and sits up. Thank freaking God. He blinks a few times and wipes his mouth on his sleeve as his eyes focus on us. He turns red—blushing easily is a family trait—and grabs a Kleenex to wipe up the drool. “Well, this is unprofessional.”
Jessie smiles sympathetically. “Don’t worry about it. You’re the boss and it’s your day off.”
She turns to me and gives me a quick hug. “I’ll leave you to talk, but Jordy and I are having people over tonight. Just an informal get-together. I’m cooking chili. You should come. It’s the last real day for Jordan to do anything social before playoffs.”
“I would love to! But I have plans tonight. A date.”
“You do?” Trey interjects, so shocked it’s kind of embarrassing.
