Page 97 of Drop Shot
Despite my insistence that they share the bed and I’ll take the couch tonight Ebba refuses and says she needs to be by herself tonight so after we all shower and change into pajamas I end up in bed with Whimsy.
She clutches that silly dinosaur stuffy I couldn’t resist getting her, like it’s a lifeline. Her blond hair hangs in wet, ropey strands like she didn’t even bother to properly brush it.
I rifle through her makeup bag until I find a comb.
“Can I brush your hair for you?” I ask.
She looks up at me with eyes that are still dilated from fear and adrenaline. “Huh?”
“Your hair.” I gesture with the comb. “Can I brush it out for you?”
“Oh.” She fingers a strand. “I forgot. Yeah, you can.”
She moves so I have room to sit behind her. I work as gently and carefully as I can to comb out the long strands. Every time I hit a snag I visibly wince, but it doesn’t seem to bother Whimsy.
When her hair is finally smooth, I set the comb on the table beside the bed.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I want to touch her—to hug her and comfort her, but I’m worried my touch isn’t what she needs right now.
“No.”
“If you change your mind, you can.” I slip out of the bed behind her. “And if you don’t want me to sleep in the bed, I swear it’s okay. I can beg Noah to crash on his couch, or I can bunk with Fisher.”
A panic look crosses her face. “No. Stay here. Please. Don’t go. I want you to stay.”
The frantic way she spews the words has worry stirring in my gut. “I won’t go,” I vow.
Her eyes stay glued to my movements as I make my way around the bed and settle beneath the covers.
“I hate to ask this of you.” She bites her lip. “But will you hold me? Please?”
Fuck.
There’s no chance in the world I can turn her down. “Come here, love.” She settles down beside me and I spoon her against me. Soon, I realize she’s shaking with silent tears. “It’s okay. Let it all out. I’ve got you.”
And I do.
I hold her until her tears dry and her hiccupping sobs cease.
And then I keep holding her, all through the night.
CHAPTER 32
ELIAS
My first-round matchis rougher than it should be playing against someone I’ve easily beaten every time in the past, but my head is all over the place and unfortunately not as focused on the game as I should be. Ebba and Whimsy are noticeably absent from my players box and the reason why has my stomach churning.
Fucking Keaton and his prick ass face and his prick ass outfits. I knew he wasn’t good enough for my sister, but she’s a grown woman. I can’t tell her who she can and can’t date. But man do I wish I’d at least said something. Granted, perhaps stupidly, I wouldn’t have thought him capable of what happened. And now both of my favorite girls are traumatized by it. I held Whimsy all night long and pretended not to notice when she woke up around four this morning quietly crying.
I return the volley and do my best to focus on the match.
Back and forth the ball goes. The familiarthwackof my racket connecting with the high-speed ball helps soothe the chaos of my thoughts.
I successfully complete the point in the longest rally of the match so far and prepare to serve again.
I pull two balls from my pocket and rub my fingers over them, testing the amount of fuzz. When I’ve chosen, I prepare to serve. I blow on my fingers before bouncing the ball a few times.
