Bennett rose off him. Sandro was up in the next breath, the ice pack melting on the couch.
“What do you mean you don’t know?” Pacing away, Sandro ran his free hand through his hair and looked around as though the answers to his questions might be written on the walls.
Shit. Something had happened to one of his family members. The he in question could’ve been his other brother, one of his brothers-in-law, his dad, or a friend.
God, what would it do to Sandro if something happened to one of his loved ones? Watching him now, his breaths coming too fast, his palm pressed between his eyes, and his steps heavy, it was easy enough to imagine how wrecked he’d be.
Without thinking too much about it, Bennett took the stairs to the second floor two at a time, grabbed Sandro’s duffel bag from the closet, and started packing. Underwear, socks, T-shirts, a pair of jeans, toiletries. Then he did the same for himself. It took him only a few minutes, and once that was done, he checked for the earliest flight from Burlington to Toronto. They’d have to rent a car from there, but?—
The next flight out wasn’t until the following day. Fuck. That wouldn’t do.
“It’s my dad,” Sandro announced, racing into the room like a mob was chasing him. Chest heaving, he headed for the closet. “He was in an accident. Darcy doesn’t know how bad it is or—Where the fuck’s my bag?”
“Ro.” Bennett took him by the shoulders and forced him to face him. Keeping his voice calm, he said, “Your duffel’s on the bed. I’ve already packed it. The earliest flight isn’t until tomorrow, so we’ll leave right now and I’ll drive you, okay?”
Sandro was in no condition to be getting behind the wheel.
“But . . .” Sandro glanced around helplessly, his gaze pinging around the room without settling on any one thing. “My car’s in the shop still.”
“I know, baby.” Bennett swept his hands down Sandro’s arms, his heart squeezing tight at the fear on Sandro’s face. “We’ll take my rental. If you’re ready, we’ll leave right now. Okay?”
“Fuck.” Exhaling loudly, Sandro dropped his forehead onto Bennett’s shoulder. “My dad, B . . .”
“I know.” Bennett hugged him close, and Sandro shuddered against him. “I know. Do you have your phone?”
Sandro nodded against him.
“Okay. Grab your charger and let’s go.”
In Bennett’s passenger seat, Sandro’s leg bounced. He held his phone in one tight fist, and every few minutes, he illuminated the screen to make sure he hadn’t missed a call or text. Of course he hadn’t—he’d set the notification volume as high as it would go. He wouldn’t miss it ring even if it was buried under a pile of snow.
Of which there was a lot. Another storm had hit the area while the Trailblazers had been in Vancouver, and although it was pretty, it wouldn’t last. It was already beginning to melt as the temperatures rose above freezing.
“So much for a white Christmas,” he muttered.
“It’s still nine days to Christmas,” Bennett pointed out, one hand lazily holding the steering wheel. The other held one of Sandro’s hands on his thigh, and it was the only thing keeping Sandro grounded in the present instead of a thousand kilometers away in Tobermory.
With his dad, who may or may not be okay.
It felt like all of his fear was knotted in his throat, and he swallowed past it, his mouth dry. “True, but there isn’t much snow in the forecast in the next week.”
Was his dad dying? Why hadn’t anyone called to update him yet? They’d been on the road for an hour and a half already, had passed into Canada forty minutes ago. Surely Darcy knew something by now.
Sandro checked his phone again. Nothing.
Bennett squeezed his hand as the GPS on his own phone told him to take exit eleven for Highway 30 West. He’d punched in Sandro’s parents’ address before pulling out of the driveway without Sandro having to remind him what it was.
Why did he remember it after all this time?
“Tell me about you.”
Sandro blinked at the request. “Pardon?”
“Tell me about you,” Bennett repeated. An hour ago, he’d grumbled about “the stupid headrest” before undoing his bun. Now, his gorgeous hair hung loose to his shoulders, and if it weren’t for the winter jacket, he might look like a typical California surfer dude.
Sandro pulled a strand of hair away from Bennett’s chin, where it had gotten caught in his stubble. “You already know about me.”
“I know the version of you from fifteen years ago and the version of today.” Bennett sent him a quick smile. “Tell me about the time in between. Travels, new family members, what it was like to win the Cup, if you’ve had any pets, any memorable boyfriends or girlfriends.”
