Dee’s expression softens. “He could use a lot of spoiling, I think.”
Her words make me think of Abby—which, what doesn’t make me think of Abby these days—back to when I told her something similar. That she was due for some spoiling in her life. It has a smile spreading across my face.
“And what about you?” Dee asks. “How is your arm?”
My smile dissipates, and I’m feeling a little guarded now. “It’s fine.”
“Fine,” Dee echoes, giving me a stern look. “Spoken like a true liar.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not lying. It’s no better or worse than it usually is.”
Which isn’tentirelytrue, actually, but I can’t tell Dee that. She’ll just worry. There was an incident at the last game where the other team slammed me into the boards, and truth be told…The thing has been kind of achy ever since. I don’t tell her that Ischeduled a follow-up with the doctor—haven’t told anyone yet—mainly because I’m dreading the entire thing, worrying what the doctor might have to say, weeks after he told me I should stop playing altogether. Since I have done everything except take his advice, the dull throbbing in my arm I can’t seem to shake is definitely worrisome.
“What are we talking about?” Ian asks, stepping into the dining room with Abby in tow.
Dee narrows her eyes in my direction. “Jack’s arm.”
“Ah.” Ian looks conflicted, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I’ve been meaning to ask how you were after the game the other day. That was a nasty hit you took.”
Abby immediately perks up, her brow furrowing. “Hit?”
“It’s not a big deal,” I say defensively. “Just got pushed into the boards. It was nothing serious.”
Her gaze lingers on mine in that way of hers—the one that tells me she can see right through my bullshit—but she blessedly says nothing, simply pressing her lips together instead. I know that later she’ll have questions, but I busy myself with setting out the last plate, ignoring the conversation altogether.
“Are we ready to eat yet?” I ask the group. “I’m starving.”
Bea snorts as she shuffles into the room, moving to the kitchen to start uncovering dinner. “Whenaren’tyou hungry?”
“Why is it that every time I come to visit, you feel the need to pick on me?”
“It’s how I show love,” Bea says flatly.
I roll my eyes. “Sure it is.”
Abby steps behind Bea to quietly ask if she can help bring anything to the table, and it makes something pinch in my chest—seeing her in this space with all the people I love. I think she could fit here, if she wanted to. Iwanther to fit here. It’s all I can seem to think about lately.
Abby carries a plate of rolls to the table, giving me a stern look when she passes. “We’re going to talk about this ‘hit’ later,” she murmurs, low enough so only I can hear.
I wince, giving her a sheepish smile. Her answering frown doesn’t spark confidence, but I know she’s just worried about me. Maybe if I asked, she might even agree to go to the doctor with me, so I don’t have to go by myself like the coward I am. Maybe if I get bad news, it won’t feel so devastating if she’s there with me.
I shake away the thoughts of the doctor, deciding it’s a worry for tomorrow me.
“This is really good,” Abbysays, taking another bite.
Bea gives her a sweet smile. “Thank you, hon.”
“It really is,” I agree, tearing into another roll.
“It oughta be,” Bea laughs. “It’s your, what? Third helping?”
“Gotta keep those hockey muscles big and strong,” I tease.
Abby rolls her eyes surreptitiously, and I reach under the table to squeeze her thigh, enjoying the way she jolts a little. It earns me a glare for my trouble, and I just blow a kiss back at her, grateful that Ian and Dee are now deep in conversation with Bea about Kyle’s impending adoption.
“We just signed a lease on a new apartment,” Dee is telling her.
I frown. “You did? You didn’t say.”
