In the kitchen, I toss my stuff on the counter, then notice the takeout bag from my favorite breakfast spot.
My stomach grumbles. “You know the way to my heart, man. I won’t even question why you were already in my house this morning.”
“I just made sure you had a few things on hand.”
At his words, I walk over and open the fridge. I scan the many containers of food stacked up on the shelves and look back at him. “A few things? This looks like meals for a month. You didn’t need to do all this.”
“It’s nothing.”
It’s not nothing. The fridge is packed with pre-cooked meals that I’d bet his chef cooked last night or this morning. That guy needs a raise for putting up with Jack.
I shut the fridge and lean a hip against the counter. “I’m not helpless, you know. I’ve still got one good arm.”
“I know. Just trying to help how I can. The team leaves this afternoon and we’ll be gone until Friday. I’ll feel better knowing you aren’t sitting around eating Ramen and DoorDashing burgers.”
A burger sounds fucking fantastic right now.
“Well, thanks.” The reality of my situation is starting to really settle in, and it sucks.
Not long after, Declan stops by and then Leo. The four of us all live in the same neighborhood. Leo is across the street, Declan just next to him, and Jack is at the end of the cul-de-sac. One big, slightly dysfunctional, but hella fun family.
We settle in the living room. Leo is telling us about how Callum projectile vomited on Scarlett’s dad （also our coach） last night after the game and Coach had to go into the media room smelling like baby puke.
Sitting around, shooting the shit does wonders to help me forget about my injury, but when they all start checking the time and making excuses, I realize they need to head to the team jet.
“Scarlett wanted me to invite you over for dinner tonight,” Leo says.
“Sounds good.”
Declan tips his head. “Take it easy. I’m counting down the minutes until you’re back.”
“Me and you both.” I walk them to the door.
Jack hangs back. He pulls his sunglasses down over his eyes. “I’m having a party next Saturday after the long road trip.”
“What’s the occasion?”
Jack throws a lot of parties, but there’s always a reason. If this is on my behalf, some pity party to make me feel better about sitting out for four weeks, I want to know beforehand.
“I met someone last night and her birthday is coming up.”
Well, that’s unexpected. My brows rise. “You met someone last night and you’re throwing her a birthday party?”
“That’s what I said.”
Jack does not bend over backward for chicks. Certainly not one he just met. “Who is she?”
“Meredith.” He hesitates, working his jaw back and forth. “She’s a sports reporter.”
I bark a laugh. “A reporter?!”
“For the Twins. She doesn’t cover hockey,” he quickly adds.
I fight another laugh. “I have so many things I want to say right now, but I don’t want you to take back all the food you brought over. You hate reporters.”
“She’s cool.”
“And super hot?”
His lips curl into a smile. “Yeah, that too.”
“Wow. You don’t mess around. You left the hospital late, somehow met a chick and got to know her well enough to throw her a party?”
“Ha ha. It’s not a big deal. I asked her to go out next weekend and then when she said it was her birthday, I asked what she wanted to do. She said to keep it simple.”
“And you thought throwing a party with all your teammates was keeping it simple?”
“She’s new to town and doesn’t know that many people. I repeat, not a big deal.”
“I can’t wait to meet her. The great Jack Wyld may have finally met his match.”
“Let’s not get carried away. Saturday night, eight o’clock, bring a date if you can find one.”
“Maybe I’ll ask Bridget.”
“Yeah, text her…oh, wait. You can’t because you somehow didn’t get her number.”
I give the finger to his back as he jogs toward his car.
“Thanks for everything, asshole,” I call out.
He opens the car door with a smirk on his face. “See you in a week. Try to shower before then, my car stinks like sweat and hospital food.”
I shake my head as I go back inside. God, he’s a pain in the ass.