Page 61 of Just a Little Tempted

“Of course.” I straightened, my reflection in the bathroom mirror frowning back at me. “What’s wrong?”

Hazel took a breath, and when she spoke again, her voice was more controlled, but I could hear the strain beneath it. “I’m not sure anythingiswrong. I just… I’m worried about Miles. He wasn’t feeling well last night. Nauseous and more tired than usual. I figured it was a stomach bug—he’s been a little off since he got back from Jersey after Saturday’s game. But today, I haven’t been able to reach him.”

“He’s not picking up?” My voice tightened. I was already moving toward the living room, reaching for my purse.

“No and that’s not like him. When I left this morning at six, he was still asleep and he’s usually up by eight. I’d run home and check on him myself, but I have a live interview in ten minutes.” She paused, and I heard the worry she was trying to contain. “I’m probably freaking out over nothing, but I have thisfeeling. Would you be able to swing by? Just to make sure he’s okay?”

“I’m not at the office yet, and I have some extra time this morning.” I grabbed my keys from my bar as I headed out the door. “It’s no problem. He probably just left his phone on silent. I’ll tell him to call you.”

I was trying to reassure Hazel, but unease had already taken root in my chest. Miles wasn’t the type to ignore his phone. Something about this definitely felt off.

“Thank you,” Hazel breathed. “I owe you.”

I ended the call and drove straight to the house she and my brother shared—a two-story home in a quiet neighborhood where everyone had manicured lawns and waved to their neighbors as they drove by. The kind of wholesome place where they could raise kids someday.

Miles’s car sat in the driveway. I parked beside it and walked to the front door. I rang the doorbell, hearing it echo inside the house. I tapped my foot, waiting impatiently.

Nothing. I knocked and rang the doorbell again, a couple of times. After a few minutes, a muffled thud came from somewhere in the house. I frowned, straining to listen, but the door didn’t open. I rang again, my finger pressing the button harder than necessary.

Just when real worry started settling in, the deadbolt clicked and the door swung inward.

My heart dropped to my stomach as soon as I saw my brother, dressed in sweatpants and a gray t-shirt. One look at Miles told me that something was seriously wrong. Hisbrow was furrowed in confusion, his movements sluggish and uncoordinated. But it was his eyes that made my blood run cold.

His right pupil was blown wide, so dilated that the blackness had nearly swallowed his blue iris. Bright morning sunlight streamed directly into his face, but his eye wasn’t reacting or contracting at all.

“Raina?”

When he spoke, the stench of vomit hit me, sour and sharp. I forced myself not to recoil. Hazel mentioned that she thought he’d caught the flu, but this seemed more than that.

“Are you okay?” I stepped closer, pressing my palm to his forehead. No fever, but he was clearly, terrifyinglynot okay.

He jerked back, wincing at my touch. His hand went to the back of his neck and he frowned at me. “What are you doing? Why are you here?”

The words came out on a mumble, and he stumbled to the side and caught himself on the doorframe. I watched his unsteady movements with mounting dread.

“Hazel asked me to check on you. She couldn’t reach you.”

More confusion clouded his features, like he couldn’t quite process my words. “Hazel?”

He was still rubbing his neck, his face tight with pain.

“Are you hurt?” I asked carefully.

“Just sore,” he muttered. “From the game.”

Saturday night. The hit. I’d watched him get slammed into the boards, his body crumpling onto the ice. He’d skated off under his own power, but what if his neck wasn’t the only thing that had taken the brunt of the impact? What if he’d hit his head harder than anyone realized?

What if this was more than a stomach bug?

“Come with me.” Making a spontaneous decision, I grabbed his arm, tugging him toward the door. “I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“What? Why?” He blinked at me slowly. “I’m fine.”

But he didn’t resist. Didn’t pull away. He let me guide him outside, and the fact that he wasn’t fighting me only sharpened my fear. The Miles I knew would have argued. Would have insisted he was fine, that I was overreacting.

He would have asserted himself, and this Miles just followed, docile and confused.

We’d almost reached my car when he stopped abruptly, wrenching his arm free of my grasp. I’d been pulling out my phone to text Simon, to let him know something had come up and I might be late, and the sudden jerking movement knocked the device from my grip.