Page 64 of A Little Complicated

“Yeah, well, at least I won’t have to see it if she winds up participating,” Archer says.

I tilt my head. “What do you mean?”

“I’m gonna be out of town again and won’t get back until after the carnival, so…” He hesitates and clears his throat. “I’m gonna need you to keep an eye on her, Mav.”

My head falls back, and I stare at the ceiling, convinced I’ve already died and gone to Hell for being put in these positions.

“Is it a problem?” Archer prods.

“If she heard you say that, she’d knee you in the balls,” I point out.

“Then I guess it’s a good thing she left. Look, I know you care about her. We all do. Think you can play nice for me?”

My short nails dig into my palms, and my jaw locks as I consider his request. I love my brother. More than anything. But it’s times like this when I want to hate him too. For trusting me. For relying on me. For believing I’m better than I really am when we both know it’s the furthest thing from the truth.

My molars grind, but I force a nod. “Sure thing, brother.”

“Good.”

“Still jealous you get to miss the ice plunge, Arch,” Reeves chimes in from the fridge. “My balls are always freezing after that shit.”

I grunt my agreement and grab the half-finished coffee belonging to Ophelia from the counter, throwing back the rest of its contents and heading back to my room.

Who knows, maybe a little ice will be good for my blue balls because they just might be the death of me at this point.

21

MAVERICK

“Maverick!” Coach calls. “Come here.”

Sweat drips down my forehead and stings my eyes.

I can’t. Fucking. Breathe.

Ripping my helmet off, I wipe the moisture from my face and head to the bench.

When I reach him, Coach asks, “You okay?”

“Fine,” I pant. “Why?”

His eyes thin like he doesn’t believe me. The guy’s so old he even coached my Uncle Theo and Uncle Colt, but you’d never know it. Other than the shaved head and a few more wrinkles, he looks the same, or at least it’s what my uncles tell me. The guy’s as sharp as a tack too. And when his scrutiny is directed at you, well, it kind of makes you want to piss yourself.

“You look tired,” he decides.

Tired?I feel like my heart might explode.

Reaching for my water bottle on the bench, I mutter, “Guess I partied too hard last night.”

He glances down at his iPad littered with the team’s stats. “At the beginning of last season, you could sprint from one end of the ice to the other three seconds faster than what I just clocked you at. Three seconds, Maverick.”

The team is still running drills, skating backward to the center red line, pivoting, and sprinting diagonally across the ice to the far corner. My muscles ache from simply watching it.

“Mav,” Coach starts.

“I’ll try harder.”

“Look at me,” he orders.

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