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Jack smirks. “Nah. We have the same genetics, after all. Just an informed opinion from an objective standpoint.”
“They should have put your head in a sling,” I snort. “It’s gotten too big.”
“That’s what she said,” he laughs.
I roll my eyes. “You still want to watch that footage?”
“Yeah. Pittsburgh got a new center last year. He was a rookie, but he had a killer season. We play them first thing when the new season starts. You need to see him play.”
“We should just slap a coach’s jersey on you,” I muse, dropping onto the couch beside him. “You’re almost as bad as he is.”
“Someone has to make sure you guys can still win a game with me out of commission for another two months.”
“Right,” I deadpan. “How will we go on without you?”
“Don’t act like you’re going to mope when you skate back out as our left wing and look to your right and I’m not there.”
“I’ll try to hold back my tears.”
“You’re excited to be back, though, right?”
“Mostly, yeah,” I tell him. “I could do without the stupid-ass internet chirping, but it does feel good to be back home.”
“Did you talk to your dad again?”
I can feel myself grow immediately tense, a common occurrence when my father is involved. My official relationship with my father is that publicly, we’re solid, but privately? He can fuck right off. Not that it stops him from calling every so often to try to critique my performance even though I was playing for another team. And now that I’ve up and gone against his wishes and taken Mom up on her prodding to get me to take the trade back home…things are even more tense.
“He’s still not happy I’m back,” I admit. “Especially since everyone is making it their business to try and suss out why I was at Mei and Bella’s wedding.”
“Because there’s no way you could have just been invited, obviously,” Jack snorts.
“Dude, I have read everything from I tried to object when the minister called for it to me cornering her in her honeymoon suite, demanding an audience.”
“Bella would have kicked your ass.”
I nod. “Absolutely she would have.”
“Well, good thing he doesn’t have the final say in where you play,” Jack says smugly. “He’d have a lot of explaining to do if he pushed you too hard on it.”
“But so would I,” I point out with a sigh.
Jack frowns, no doubt trying to think of what to say to that. I wave him off.
“It’s whatever,” I tell him. “I just have to keep my head down until this shit with the press blows over. Once we start winning games, Dad won’t give a shit where I am as long as I keep my mouth shut.”
“And Abigail?” Jack prods gently. “Have you talked to her since you’ve been back?”
I grind my teeth together. Abby’s name always elicits strange emotions inside me—ones that are usually colored with guilt. “Just some texts here and there.” I shoot him an apologetic look. “I gave her your address in case she wants to visit. I hope that’s okay.”
“Shut up.” He waves me off. “Of course it is. I’ll add her to the list with the doorman so she can get up without any fuss.” He eyes me warily. “Sorry,” Jack offers, clearly seeing how tense I’ve become. “I wasn’t trying to rehash old shit. I was just curious.”
“It’s fine.” I shrug. “Let’s just watch your footage.”
“Sure. Yeah.”
He fiddles with the remote, flipping through recordings in the DVR, making a face that is equal parts concentration and worry. It’s funny—I’ve seen Lila make the same one. The reminder of her inadvertently causes my mind to wander back to our visit at the coffee shop, the scent of lavender and sugar still lingering in my senses.
“I was really surprised by how different Lila looks,” I say offhandedly. “You should have sent more pictures and prepared me while I was away.”
