Page 92 of Line Change

“That sure appeared to be an elbow to the back of the head,” one of the announcers says as they show a replay of the hit again. “At least as far as I can tell.”

I gasp.

“He got up off the ice on his own. That’s a good sign,” Becca says, trying to reassure me. “I’ll try and find out how he is after the game ends.”

“Thank you,” I say as play resumes with no penalty call.

Bash doesn’t come back out onto the bench for the rest of the game, and I force myself not to spiral and panic that he’s really hurt. The Storm end up losing two to one. True to her word, Becca texts the head trainer once the game is over.

“He’s banged up and sore, but he’ll be alright. They’ll reassess tomorrow,” Becca says, reading from her phone. “Translation: they’re watching him for signs of a concussion, and he probably won’t play in the next game.”

I know that’s protocol when a player goes down that way. I also know the medical staff will look after him very well, and he’s in good hands. Still doesn’t make me feel any better. I clutch the pillow to my chest as the ladies around me chatter, too stressed out and tired to engage in the conversation.

“I think we’re going to head out,” Madison says a few minutes later.

“Me too,” Aubrey says.

“I should probably go too.” I set the pillow down and get to my feet.

“Are you going to be alright?” Becca asks. “You’re more than welcome to stay here.”

“Thank you. I’ll be okay,” I tell her as we all say our goodbyes.

When I get into Bash’s car, I send him a text.

Me: Saw the hit. That was such a dirty play.

He responds almost immediately.

Bash: Hurts like hell.

Me: I’m sorry. I miss you.

Bash: I miss you too. I love you.

Me: Love you too.

I wait a couple of minutes, but there’s no reply, probably because they’re getting on the bus to head to the airport, so I put the car into gear and head toward the condo.

Chapter thirty-five

Sutton

On Sunday afternoon, my sister calls, and we finally get to catch up after we kept missing each other the past few weeks. Father’s been having her handle the cleaning out of Grandmother’s home as well as organize a charity event in Grandmother’s name. Which apparently is keeping her busy. I want to ask her if he’s said anything about the will and my inheritance, but I don’t want to stress her out or worry her, so I stay quiet.

The next day and a half fly by, and then it’s Tuesday, the day I get to meet my grandmother’s attorney to sign all the paperwork.

I ended up just taking the day off work so I didn’t have to worry about rushing back or getting caught in a meeting, and I’m glad I decided that. My stomach has been in knots since I woke up this morning. I poured myself two separate cups of coffee because I couldn’t find my first, only to discover it hours later in one of the cupboards in the kitchen. Then I tried to put the peanut butter in the freezer and the loaf of bread in the microwave. I don’t know whether to blame it on pregnancy brain or nerves. Maybe both.

But after all of that, I managed to leave the house on time, and now, according to my GPS, I’ll reach my destination with five minutes to spare.

Which is perfect.

Just enough time to ensure I’m not late, but not too much time that I’m anxiously sitting in my car staring at the clock.

Ten minutes later, I’m turning into a parking lot in front of a big colonial style house with a sign out front that says Alexander and Sons Law Firm, the name Glenn gave me.

I park and take a minute to check my appearance in the mirror, reapplying the red lipstick I put on before I left. I don’t normally wear lipstick this bold and can’t even remember why or when I bought it, but I saw it in my makeup bag this morning and grabbed it. It makes me feel like a badass and pretty hot, if I do say so myself.