Page 30 of Hard to Handle

HUNTER

“HEY MOM. JUST CALLING TO see how Jonah’s doing.” I lean back against the pillows propped against the headboard behind me. Different day. Different hotel. Same life.

Her nervous chuckle unnerves me. “He’s fine. Just has a cold. Probably from all the germs. I went to the store to buy things to prepare us to come and see your game. I probably got the germs there and somehow brought them home to him.”

Christ, it’s always my fault he’s sick, one way or another.

“There are germs everywhere. You can’t really avoid them.”

“When it comes to Jonah though. He’s fragile and—”

“Can I talk to him? Can you put his headset on him?”

“You know sometimes that thing doesn’t work.”

“Then can you put the phone up to his ear?” I ask, running a hand through my hair as I stare out the window.

“Your father asked if you’ve been getting his texts. He says you’re not responding.”

Another no when it comes to Jonah. I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am. Thanks, Mom.

And my father’s texts? I don’t think I’ve responded in ten years, and yet he keeps sending them as if he doesn’t notice otherwise.

Then again, it’s not like they notice me much at all.

“How should I respond to his texts?” I ask. “Thanks for the negativity? The criticism? How exactly should I respond?” I chuckle, the toxicity I endure to talk to my brother is ridiculous.

“He means well. He’s the reason you’re there, you know.”

“Jonah, Mom? Can I talk to him?” Exasperation hits an all-time high.

“Yes. Sure. I can’t remember the last time you called for him.”

Two days ago.

Two fucking days ago. And two days before that.

There’s shuffling on the other end of the line as she goes through the process of connecting his headset to the phone line so he can hear me.

“Okay, it’s connected,” she says, her voice distant.

“Hey J.” I suddenly feel calm and pause after my greeting because in my head, I can hear him talking back, I can feel my twin responding. God, I miss him. “Just wanted to call and check in. I’m sure Mom is driving you crazy with her fussing and repeating the same thing over and over. I get it. I totally do.” I close my eyes and listen to the ventilator for a beat. “We’re playing Rampage tonight. Those guys are fucking assholes but yeah, I’ll keep my stick up like you taught me. It’s going to be a tough one. Ferguson knows how to play me. It’s like he knows which line I’m going to take before I even know myself. And their double team defense is strong. We’ve been working on a way to overcome it. It’s like a play you would have made up. Perfect in every way for them and harder than fuck to defend against for me.”

So I talk to my brother for the better part of an hour like I always do, caught in that indecision that I’m being an ass for talking to him about things he’d kill to be doing and treating him like he’s gone completely.

The worst part about it is that I call him because I want to, because he’s the only person that quiets the anger. But as I hang up, I wonder if my calls only feed his.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

DEKKER

SOMETHING’S OFF.

I can’t put my finger on it but watching Hunter play, the difference is noticeable from the last game to this one.

There is none of his intuitive anticipation of where his opponents are going to play several passes before it happens. There’s no showmanship as he dodges defenders left and right while keeping the puck in action. There’s a loss of the ferocious determination to get the puck in the back of the net.

Normally I can’t take my eyes off him because his ease of play enthralls me. Tonight, I’m all but cringing every time he gets the puck. It’s almost as if he’s the star kid on the first-place hockey team that’s creaming the last-place team so the coach has told him to hold back and pass twelve times before he attempts a shot.