Page 8 of The Goalie in Room 1

I frowned. Not because ninety-nine point four concerned me. Because Phoenix had texted.

He’d been running Halo House long enough to know the difference between someone who didn’t feel good and time to call Thad.

Then again, I’d also trained him well enough to include the temperature in the first message, so maybe I deserved this.

Me

Cough? Congestion?

The dots appeared.

Phoenix

Little congested. No cough. No stomach stuff. Eating and drinking.

Me

Anyone else?

Phoenix

Not yet.

At Halo House, not yet was usually the operative phrase.

Put that many people under one roof, and when somebody caught something, everybody caught something.

I’d learned that lesson the first winter I volunteered at the house. And if it was what I thought…one sore throat would become three.

Three would become six.

And six became Phoenix texting me at two in the morning to ask how much cold medicine one household could legally purchase before someone put them on a government watch list. It was way less than most thought. Especially because Phoenix hit up multiple pharmacies whenever one turned him away. Thankfully, my brother was on the police force and also volunteered at the house.

Me

Sounds viral. Monitor his temp. I’ll check him out later if he’s still feeling like shit.

Phoenix

Already told him you would.

I snorted.

Me

Then why exactly do you need me?

Phoenix

Prescription pad? And my handwriting is too pretty to mimic your hieroglyphics.

There it was.

Years of medical school.

Residency.

Fellowship.