Page 170 of The Pucking Coach's Daughter
Penn’s arm hooks around my waist. He kisses my shoulder.
The only thing I can focus on is that this, with them, feels right.
fifty-two
sydney
“It’s time.” Penn sits cross-legged on my bed, mirroring me. He holds out my phone. “You’ve got a thousand messages from people who care about you. I screened the asshole ones, of which there were only a small amount.”
Carter, true to his word, left almost before the sun was up. It was a quick trip for him, but he made it for me. He came because Penn told him to, and there was no hesitation on his part.
After letting me lie down for almost twenty minutes, Carter dragged me up and put me in the shower. He stayed in the bathroom with me, sitting on the floor outside the tub, while I slowly scrubbed myself clean.
When we came out, Penn had ordered room service.
So we ate, and they kept conversation superficial, discussing the teams they’re playing tomorrow and what classes they’re taking. They didn’t try to loop me into it too much, although Penn and I complained about the people in our Intro to Law class for a solid five minutes.
I can’t keep my head in the sand, so I take the phone.
The missed calls are overwhelming. I skim the names: Dad, Perri, Carter, Penn, Maddy, Brandon, Dylan. Even Oliver. Twice. And L. five times.
He called me five times?
A lump forms in my throat. I don’t even know him, and he realized my absence.
There are voicemails from most of them, too. Not L., although I would’ve been curious to hear what he had to say.
Text messages. Dad’s go from normal to worried over the span of a few days. Perri’s, too, finally concluding that they’re going to swing by my apartment to check on me.
L. wondering where I am.
Maddy asking if I’m okay, then asking where I am. If I’m sick or in the hospital.
Brandon…
I cover my mouth at his last text from yesterday evening.
Brandon
Dyl is counting on us to be at her first home v-ball game, Sydney. You can’t just up and vanish on us. All week, sure, whatever. But tonight? After you promised to be there for her? What the fuck?
Penn takes it and scans the message, then mutters something about not screening messages from my supposed friend.
The next thing I know, he’s calling Brandon on speaker phone.
“About time,” Brandon snaps. “Now that the game is over. They lost, by the way. Dylan was crushed.”
“As sweet as it is that you care so deeply for your bestie,” Penn drawls, “you might want to consider why Sydney went radio silent.”
Brandon pauses. “Who is this?”
“Penn Walker.”
“Where is she?”
“She’s sitting across from me, wondering why the fuck I’m calling you. This is the first time she’s had her phone on since Monday, by the way. What a swell fucking message to read when your supposed friend is not doing well.”
“What happened?” Brandon clears his throat. “Seriously.”