Page 87 of The Pucking Coach's Daughter
His sweatshirt is in the wash. While I was loath to toss it in with my load, his scent was starting to fade. And it really needed to be cleaned.
Which leaves me with this.
There’s also the matter of Carter’s confession. Who knew, hidden under that sexy exterior, lurked someone… kinkier?
He has a green light as far as I’m concerned. My phone goes off, and I glance at the incoming text.
L.
Things seem better for you.
Annoyance flares through me. Things are most certainly not better. Superficially, maybe. But absolutely not under the surface. He would know that if he bothered to have an actual conversation with me.
I stuff my phone in my purse and tune back in to the conversation in the car. Dylan and Maddy are debating which is harder, hockey or volleyball. Brandon is laughing at them.
I smile, too, because Maddy has no skin in the game. Her smirk says she’s just ribbing Dylan, who can’t seem to see that through the argument.
“They’re on little death blades on ice,” Maddy says.
“The coordination it takes, the communication to get the ball over the net?—”
“That same coordination argument can be used for hockey. They have to use a stick to get a slim puck past a huge goalie.”
“It’s different,” Dylan huffs.
“I went to the public rink yesterday,” I volunteer. “With my dad.”
They all go quiet. They know of my brief, sordid history with my father. How we’re on tentative, shaky ground because I essentially had to go plead for his help over the summer.
Finally, Brandon asks, “How did that go?”
I smile. “It was actually really nice. Oliver and Penn were there, but?—”
“Wait.” Maddy swivels to face me. “Penn is Team Sydney, but Oliver has been against you since the beginning. And you’re smiling as you say both of their names. Did something change? Or are you still Team Penn?”
I shift, considering meeting his abuela, the rage room, telling him about the bracelet. It was a lot of honesty all at once, and he didn’t entirely run away. Besides spending a week avoiding me.
“I think we’ve come to an understanding,” I say. “Which came about after he tossed me in a trunk and threatened to beat me up.”
They gape at me. Brandon almost swerves off the road. Dylan launches for the steering wheel at the last minute, getting us back on track, and I force another, wider smile.
“It ended up fine,” I add.
“More,” Brandon sputters. “More details.”
“I was walking home… a car turned onto the street and came at me with high beams on, two masked guys jumped out and got me into the trunk. They brought me to some warehouse and wanted me to rat on the FSU team. Like tell them anything I knew…”
“And you didn’t,” Maddy confirms.
“Of course not. They said they were going to return me to Penn all bloody and bruised and basically surge the rivalry between the two schools, implying it would be my fault.”
“And it was Oliver and Penn?”
“Oliver and Bear.” I scowl. “Penn showed up afterward… put a stop to it.”
I can’t say what actually happened. How Oliver stopped Bear from doing something truly horrible.
“Good,” Dylan echoes. “I told you he could be nice sometimes.”