Page 44 of Pucking Revenge

“I showered. I just—” He pulls on his neck and gives me a sheepish look. “I didn’t have a fresh pair of socks, and apparently the ones I found in your laundry basket weren’t as clean as they looked.”

“You’re fucking gross. You went through my laundry?” This is exactly why I lock my bedroom door. The guy has no boundaries.

He shrugs and lifts his chin, going for flippant now. “Whatever. We’re at a damn animal shelter. The piss smell in here will overpower it anyway. And they’re your socks.” Without a glance back, he heads down the hall where the rest of our group disappeared.

Begrudgingly, I follow, doing my best to breathe through my mouth only. It’s going to be a long morning.

SIXTEEN

SARA

“Any chance you could pause the game and actually look at me while we’re talking?” I tease.

My brother doesn’t even bother to look away from his gaming screen when he rolls his eyes.

I’m running late for work, but I couldn’t leave home without checking in. Not after all the panicked messages my mom left last night. According to Ethan, she’s out picking up breakfast now.

When he answered, I immediately put it on FaceTime so I could see him for myself. While he’s barely looked at the screen, I can tell by his posture and his tone that he’s feeling good. To anyone else, he looks like a typical twelve-year-old boy who’s more interested in the game he’s playing on his Nintendo Switch than in what his big sister has to say.

He licks his lips and leans in closer to his screen. “Sorry, Sar. Just need to block this puck.”

My brother has a crazy obsession with hockey, and because of his multiple sclerosis, this is probably the closest he’ll ever get to the ice.

He hisses a yes, then finally turns his attention to me. “You look tired.”

I snort a laugh. “Thanks. Appreciate the brutal honesty.”

“Hey.” The grin that splits his face is blinding. “Someone’s gotta tell you the truth.”

“You feeling okay?”

His expression sours, and his eyes go dull. “I’m fine.”

“Mom sounded?—”

“Like Mom,” he interrupts. “I’m fine, Sara. Seriously. You know how dramatic she is.”

He’s not wrong. My mother sent me a dozen messages last night, each one more panicked than the last. When I got home and picked up the phone I’d forgotten to take with me that morning, my stomach had plummeted.

I never go anywhere without my work phone since I handle the majority of social media requests for the team, but I often forget my personal device.

It was late, so rather than immediately calling my mother back and potentially waking her up, I listened to her messages, figuring they’d make it clear whether I should. By the time I got to the last one, I knew everything was fine.

My brother’s reaction to his new trial medication was normal, according to the doctor, and a sign that it was working. Pediatric MS, while a devastating diagnosis, is manageable. As long as I can pay for treatments, Ethan’s medical team is hopeful that he’ll go on to live a long life.

I study my brother, his posture and expression, the light in his eyes, discerning whether he’s really okay or downplaying his pain and other symptoms to keep me from worrying. It’s tempting to hop on the next flight home so I can see for myself, butthe airfare is stupid expensive, and my credit card is officially maxed out.

I could go to Beckett for a loan. Or Liv. They’ve been nothing but generous, and over the last several months, they’ve become more than my bosses. They’re my friends. But it’s too damn embarrassing to admit that even with my extravagant salary and the free apartment, I’m unable to handle my bills.

Besides, the team is headed to North Carolina in a few weeks, so I’ll see him then.

“Fine. But don’t be too hard on her. She’s only dramatic because she loves you.”

Like a typical twelve-year-old boy, Ethan rolls his eyes and huffs. He knows it, even if she drives him crazy.

I lean closer to my screen and pause until I’m sure he’s looking at me. “And I love you.”

He gives me a half smile. “Course you do. What’s not to love?”

---