Page 16 of Breaking the Ice

“I can’t give up peanut butter.” He gasps. “No more Reese cups?”

The wide-eyed look of utter horror on his face would make me laugh if I didn’t know he is absolutely serious—and probably a little freaked out.

“Almonds are tree nuts,” I tell him. “Almonds, cashews, hazelnuts, macadamia nuts, pecans, pistachios, walnuts, pine nuts, and Brazil nuts, apparently, are what you need to avoid.”

“What the hell are pine nuts? Or Brazil nuts? Does this mean I can never visit Rio?”

I can’t help it. I bust out laughing. At Evan’s glare, I smother it with a cough. “Um, I think that’s something you can worry about later. If you don’t know what they are, they probably don’t interfere with your day-to-day. For now, you just need to read labels and ask some questions at restaurants before you order.”

“How do you know so much about this?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest. “Do you have allergies?”

“I was allergic to milk when I was younger, actually, but I grew out of it,” I tell him. “It’s not too bad, though. Like I said, you’ll adapt.”

“But I just don’t understand⁠—”

“If it will make your hockey game better?” With a raised brow, my dad opens the door to the tiny exam room.

Evan snaps to attention, something I didn’t think was possible. “Coach Russell. What are you doing here?”

My dad adjusts his navy-blue Harrison Hockey pullover. “Bella said you were at the hospital.”

I roll my eyes. “I also said that I’ve got it handled, and you didn’t need to come.”

But my dad’s presence jogs an idea in my mind and I turn to Evan. “Do you have someone that we need to call? Family, or…?” I trail off, unsure how to fill in that blank.

Evan shakes his head. “Nah. My dad is actually a doctor, and I’m not ready to field his questions.”

“You should call him later, son,” my dad says to him. “I’m sure he’d want to know.”

His words shouldn’t wound me, but they do. Would he have rushed in if it was me? Would he have even noticed? I cross my arms over my chest.

Dad gives Evan a once-over. “It was an allergic reaction?”

“Yes sir. No more tree nuts. Which includes…” He points to me, and I rattle off the list from my phone article again.

My dad sighs in relief and settles into the creaky plastic chair jammed in the corner. “Okay. Sounds like you’ll live.” He clears his throat and scratches his head. His gray hair is a little too long. “And hopefully play hockey again soon.”

“We were studying and then...” Trailing off, he gestures at his face, eyes full of worry. “I have a US History test tomorrow and⁠—”

“Hey.” I pat his arm, then drop my hand as my dad’s gaze swivels to take that in. “I’m sure Dr. Knuth will understand if you need an extension.”

But Evan shakes his head. “Nope. I need the grade in there to bring up my average so I can play this weekend. I’ll go home and finish studying.”

I blink. Maybe he’s more dedicated than I first thought. He stands and absently scratches his chest. He’s probably still residually itchy from the hives.

“If you take Benadryl, it will make you sleepy,” I say, interrupting the silence. They both stare at me like I’ve grown a second nose—which is fair. I clear my throat. “But you can take an oatmeal bath.”

“Oatmeal?” Evan sounds incredulous. “For real?”

“It helps.” I shrug. “That way you can get some relief but still stay awake to study.”

“Thanks.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, he rocks on the balls of his feet. “And thanks for bringing me here tonight. You kinda saved my life.”

I scoff. “You weren’t having breathing issues.”

“But they said I could in the future, so. You’re pretty much a hero.” His blue eyes telegraph his thanks, and my body warms under his look.

My dad slings an arm around my shoulder. “Alright, Bella, I think it’s time to leave the young man in peace. You can go now, I’ll make sure he gets home okay.”