She gives me a doubtful look. “Anywhere?”
I raise my eyebrows. “Do you have somewhere sketchy in mind?”
Laughing, she shakes her head. “It’s just, if I can’t deliver food, I won’t be able to pay you back.”
“Okay, first of all, don’t even worry about that. You obviously know I’m a professional hockey player. You know they pay us well, right?”
“Sure, but that’s not the point.”
“No, that’s exactly the point. That’s the whole entire point. I can afford it. You don’t need to pay me back. End of discussion.”
“So you’ll drive me around so I can keep making money? I’m short fifty bucks on my rent, and while my landlord-slash-roommate isn’t a complete asshole, she’s already annoyed that I haven’t paid her yet. It’s the third. Rent was due two days ago.”
“Right.” I pull out my wallet, count out five twenties, fold them together, and set them on the table in front of her. “There’s that problem solved, plus a little extra because you need more than zero dollars left over after paying rent.”
Holding up her hands, she shakes her head slowly. “Jason, I can’t …”
“You can. Once again, I’m not going to listen to any arguments about this. I’ll just toss it in the door after you once I take you home if you won’t put it in your pocket. I guarantee your roommate won’t be too proud to pick it up. But you want to make sure she knows it’s from you for rent, got it?”
She stares at me, dark eyes wide and round, and for a second, I worry she might start crying again. Then she blinks, takes a breath, and slumps in a posture that seems like defeat. “Got it.”
Normally I feel good about winning, whether it’s a game, an argument, or anything else. Winning’s awesome. But this? This doesn’t feel like a win. It feels like … bullying.
But what else am I supposed to do? I can’t just let her walk home to god knows where without being able to pay her rent. Her parents won’t help or can’t help, so I’m just supposed to let Hunter’s little sister become homeless and carless all in one night?
Not fucking likely.
“What else do you need?” I ask, pushing forward despite the fact that I fuckinghatethe way her shoulders sag, like she’s been absolutely beaten by life. Even if she doesn’t realize it, I knowthat she needs someone in her corner. Someone to help her over this slump.
It’s no different than when one of us gets into a slump on the ice. Your coaches and teammates are there to get you over it with a mix of tough love, encouragement, and giving you the things you need to get you through. When Hunter died, I was in a really bad place, and between my teammates and parents giving me space to grieve and my coaches keeping me on track with a mixture of compassion and firmness, I made it through without derailing my whole career. I had a lot of guilt at the time, but my mom came into my room one night and quietly said, “You have to go on living. That’s the best way you can honor him.”
It took longer than just that night for me to fully believe that, of course. But I eventually realized she was right.
Did anyone say anything like that to Hailey? From what I can tell, her parents never got that memo. From what I can tell, Hailey’s been holding on out of sheer stubbornness. It’s gotten her this far, but whether she likes it or not, it’s my job to step in and help.
CHAPTER FIVE
Hailey
Do I need anything else?
The question hangs in the air like a stinky fart.
I need …
God, I need so many things. Money being the biggest thing. The thing that would solve so many of my problems.
I need a car. I need to be able to pay my rent without having to scrape it together and live off rice and beans for weeks to make it work. I need students who don’t flake out because the sun is shining, gigs that pay decent, a cello player who’s not out on maternity leave, health insurance so I can get antibiotics when I inevitably end up with a sinus infection or bronchitis in the fall and get that funny mole looked at—when you lose a sibling to cancer, you don’t like taking chances with anything like that.
That last one slips out before I can stop myself. “Some health insurance would be nice.”
The way his brows crimp, his lips pressing together in a way that could be concern or irritation, isn’t very reassuring. I wave away the comment. “I’m kidding.”
His eyes narrow, and he cocks his head to the side like he’s going to object, but I keep talking, not giving him the space to say anything. “Seriously, Jason. This is more than enough. The food, the cash, the tow, the ride …” I shake my head, spreading my hands, palms up. “I don’t know when I’ll ever be able to pay you back.”
He grunts. “I already told you. You’re not going to pay me back. This isn’t a loan, it’s a gift.”
I have to bite back a response about not wanting charity because the reality is, I need it. I need it too much to tell him no, especially when he’s insisting like this.
