Page 136 of Test the Ice
“Did you fall?” I ask her, bopping her on the nose.
“Da!”
I chuckle and hold my hands out to see if she’ll give Reese a break.
She leans forward, and I take her in my arms before swinging my legs over the bed and resting beside Reese. She scoots over to make room as Charleigh’s little hand reaches for Reese’s phone that’s playing an episode ofMs. Rachel.
She settles onto my chest, fully content.
“I assume no concussion if she’s watchingMs. Rachel?” I ask, peering at the top of Reese’s head. She’s so much smaller than I am that her head hardly reaches my shoulder.
Reese’s chest expands with a heavy breath. “No. Just twelve stitches and years off my life.”
My chest vibrates with a quiet chuckle.
I take my hand and interlace our fingers together before giving them a squeeze. “You okay?”
She glances down at herself. “Why? Do I not look okay?”
Dried blood is smeared all over her chest, her hair tangled at the ends. One of her dimples appears, followed by her cheeky smile.
Oh, she’s got jokes tonight?
“You look stunning. Even with blood all over you.”
“I think that makes you a psychopath.”
I hum under my breath. “For you? I’d be anything.”
She snorts out a laugh, her smile growing wider. “I don’t know how you can make me laugh after the night I’ve had.”
“It’s a talent of mine.”
“That and hockey,” she says.
I rest against the back of the bed and haul Charleigh up to make her more comfortable.
“Well…if you managed to watch the game, one could argue that hockey is not my talent.”
At least during the first two quarters. I was on fire during the third.
“What? Why? What happened?” Reese’s voice brinks on the edge of panic, so I squeeze her hand to get her to relax.
“I was…distracted.”
“Distracted?” she repeats.
I glance over to see her silent question on her face.
“I was worried,” I admit. “When you two didn’t show up for the game. I didn’t have a chance to look at my phone, and all the stuff with Benedict…I was worried something happened.”
Reese shuts her eyes and brings her hand up to squeeze the bridge of her nose. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve had Daisy pull you to the side. I didn’t want to distract you from the game or worry you.”
When is she going to realize that she’s always a distraction to me? If she isn’t in my line of vision, I wonder where she is. If she doesn’t answer my calls, I think about sending a search party for her. I’m half-tempted to turn on her location services just to ease my mind.
Our eyes meet, but before I can say anything, the curtain slides open, and in walks Zoe holding two to-go cups of what I assume is shitty hospital coffee.
“The hoops I had to go through for these!” she announces.
