Page 85 of Playmaker

I nodded.

And a few minutes later, tugged under by Percocet and not so wound up over my future with Sabrina, I was out cold.

Chapter 26

Sabrina

That was a hell of a game!Lila had written.Nice goal!

I smiled as I wrote back,Thanks. We could’ve used your grit out there. They’ve got some forwards who need a defender to put them in their place.

Lying in the hotel bed, I read and reread my message. For a moment, I was worried that wasn’t the right thing to say. I knew she was struggling with not being out here, and that she felt like she was letting the team down, but I also wanted her to know she was missed. Though we were holding our own in the playoffs, we were definitely feeling her absence both on the ice and in the locker room.

When she replied, I felt a little better:The girls from the minors are holding their own. And you all looked good out there. It sucks not being able to play, but it’s fun to watch everyone.

Would be a lot more fun with you,I told her honestly.Especially before and after games.

The next game is at home. Can’t promise a lot of fun, but I’ll do my best. (winking emoji)

Just being able to see you will be amazing. BTW how is your knee?

Eh. Sore. Would be better if these jerks didn’t make me do exercises and crap.

I laughed as I wrote out,Those bastards, doing their job to make sure you recover.

I know, right? I’m going to speak to their manager.

Giggling into the silence of my room, I rolled my eyes. I could perfectly envision her smirking as she wrote those words.You’re not the easiest patient in the world, are you?

What makes you say that?

I was halfway through typing a response when the screen suddenly switched to an incoming call.

Dad.

My pleasant mood instantly evaporated, and I indulged in a muttered, “Fuck!” before I sighed and accepted the call. “Hi, Dad.”

“Hey, kiddo. That was quite a game tonight.”

I tensed. Lila had said as much, but I expected that from her. Dad didn’t watch my games, never mind compliment them. Thishadto be baited. A backhanded comment, like calling someone’s performance “remarkable” when he actually meant “remarkably terrible.”

Instead of taking the bait, I cautiously asked, “Did you watch it?”

“I missed the first period, but I caught the last two.”

My lips parted, and I had no idea what to say. My dad had… watched my game? Not just the highlights so he could pick apart my performance?

Before I could find my breath or my voice again, he added, “Your stepmother and I will be at your game on Tuesday.”

I blinked. “You… You will?”

“We will. How about we take you to dinner after?”

“I…” It took a full ten seconds for me to remember how to speak. “There’s—we’ll be flying out right after the game.”

“Ah, they don’t let the grass grow, do they?”

“They never do.” And he knew that. How many times in his career had he gone straight from an arena to an airport? That was pretty much life as a hockey player. And it would be my life on Tuesday night unless—

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