Page 121 of Wicked Serve

“I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” I interrupt. “You don’t have to be on all the time. You’re allowed to take a sick day.”

“Isabelle. I need—” Whatever he might’ve added is lost in a bout of coughing.

I arch an eyebrow. “Back. To. Bed.”

When he finally nods, I let him pass. He slips into bed, on the side that has become his since he’s all but started living here, and grimaces through another deep cough. It’s probably just a cold, but it doesn’t sound pleasant.

“Guys play through things all the time,” he says, scowling as I tuck a blanket around him.

“What about when you’re in California?” I touch his forehead again, wincing at the feel of his clammy skin. We probably have some medicine around here. If not, I can run to the drugstore.

“You need to take care of yourself, so you play well,” I add, grabbing his water glass from the nightstand. I slip into the bathroom to refill it. “And so they won’t get mad when you sneak away after East Coast games to see me, of course.”

It’ll be hard, once he’s in the NHL and I’m still at McKee, but it’s nice to think about. He’ll be doing what he loves, and I’ll figure out ways to support him long-distance. And then when I graduate, hopefully we’ll be able to settle down together, whether it’s in California or somewhere else. People get married everywhere; it shouldn’t be hard to establish myself once I have a portfolio and more clients under my belt. If I can pull off James and Bex’s wedding successfully, Katherine might let me take the lead on some meetings with vendors and potential clients this summer.

I smile as I set the glass down, hoping he’ll give me one in return, but instead, he grimaces.

The attempt at positivity slides right off my face. “What is it? Are you going to throw up? I can get you a bowl. I know, gross, but babe, I really think if you just—”

“I’m not going to San Jose.”

I blink, whatever else I was going to say abruptly fleeing my mind. “What do you mean? Did they trade your rights to another team?”

“Sit.” He pats the edge of the bed. “Please.”

“Why?”

“Sit, Isabelle.”

I do as he asks, even though the careful way he’s looking at me sends my stomach plummeting. He coughs again, a wet sound that has me itching to hunt for NyQuil, but I don’t move. I compromise by taking his hand in mine. I don’t care if he’s contagious and we’re both going to end up sick. I can tell when bad news is coming. If his father fucked something up for him—

“I—look. When I came to McKee, my grandfather and I, we made a deal.”

“A deal.”

“He pulled some strings to get me into McKee, and in exchange, I agreed to work for his company when I graduate.”

“Right after?”

His dark eyes are so serious. He nods.

“Which means...” I trail off as the enormity of what he’s saying sinks in.

“I’m not going to play hockey after this season. I’ve been putting off telling the organization, but—”

I yank my hand away. “You can’t be serious.”

“It’s not like I’m happy about it.”

“You say that like you don’t have a choice.”

“You’re right. I don’t. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t have been able to finish my degree at McKee. Or any other school, for that matter. This was the only way for me to finish college.”

“Don’t you have a trust fund? You could have paid for it.”

“And who would have taken on someone who just got expelled, no matter how good he is?”

---