Page 88 of The Pucking Coach's Daughter
“Right.” I do recall her saying that about Penn.
“So then what?” Maddy prompts. “There must be more to that.”
“I was pissed. Penn wanted to comfort me. I didn’t grow up with like… hugs, you know? It just felt wrong. So Oliver took me to a place where I could destroy a room.” I obviously leave out that it’s his family’s business. Admitting that feels too personal. Like the fact that his abuela was there.
Meeting his family was not on my bingo card.
We park in the garage under the arena. It doesn’t connect to it, with all exits leading to the street, which is why the players and staff don’t use it. But it’s great right now, since we have to go out to the front and scan to get in.
I check my phone out of habit, only to find another text.
L: I’ll tell you a lie, if you want
Me: Why are you doing this to me?
L: I would run away with you if I could.
What the fuck does that mean?
Me
Not good enough.
I’m starting to think this is some sick prank.
L.
It’s not.
If I call you right now, will you answer?
No response.
And then—it goes off.
It rings.
The call comes through, the screen illuminated with L. at the top. The green accept button is right under my thumb, but my heart stops.
“You guys go on ahead,” I say to my friends. My voice wobbles. “I’ve got to take this.”
Brandon squints at me, but I hold up the phone to indicate a phone call. And I pray that they don’t ask more about it, because… he’s actually calling me? I’m about to hear L.’s voice?
I was half joking. I really, really want to hear his voice, I want to know who he is—I want to know everything. I’m insatiable in that regard.
“Okay,” Brandon agrees. “See you inside.”
I answer the call with a soft, “Hello?”
I can’t believe this is happening—and it could still be a sick joke. Scarlett or Andi could be on the other end of the line, ready to laugh at me.
“I thought about it,” a low, raspy voice says. Male. Vaguely familiar, but at the pitch he’s speaking, I can’t place it. “I wouldn’t run away. But I would follow you if you did.”
Doesn’t help that my heart picks up its pace, sprinting in my chest. I grip the phone tighter, turning away from the direction my friends went. A million questions bubble up my throat, but then it hits me.
“I don’t know how you can say that when I know nothing about you.” Not sure accusatory is the best route to go, but how long can L. string me along?
“You know more than you think.”