37. Josie

37

Josie

" Y ou are a better person than I am, Mel," Annabelle says. "There's no way I would wear those pajamas, let alone for a family photo that's going to be immortalized on socials. God, look at his face—even the dog knows those PJs are hideous."

I look at the pic on Mel's phone again and I give my best friend all the credit in the world. She's been taken into the Franconetti fold and there's no turning back, but she's thrilled to be part of their crazy family.

Mel just laughs. "They are absolutely the ugliest thing I've ever worn, but they are so freaking soft. Besides, it made Wendi happy, so I was glad to do it. And because I was brave enough to wear the giant antlers in the pic, Wes didn't have to. Now Will's brother owes me one, and I'm saving that shit for a rainy day."

It's a Saturday night hockey game with the girls and I'm loving every minute of it. We've been back from Thanksgiving break for nearly a week, and the guys are excited to get back on the ice. They're playing Woo! U, which only intensifies the energy in the arena. It's their second matchup this season and thankfully their last. I have no doubt the Wolves will bring home the win again, but last night's game was brutal and I know tonight's will be just as physical. The guys haven't come out to warm up yet, so we're taking some time to catch up. Once the puck drops, though, Annabelle will give us a thorough play-by-play. For a girl who knew nothing about the sport a few months ago, she sure has picked it up fast. Mel and I are happy to watch and let Annabelle fill us in on what we miss. It's a fast-paced game, and I have to admit that I still lose sight of the puck sometimes.

"How'd you get the night off, Josie?" Annabelle asks. "We don't usually get to sit with you two games in a row."

"Truth. Not that I don't love having you here, because you know I do, but shouldn't you be at a spoiled child's birthday party or swim meet right now?"

I roll my eyes at Mel. "The twins' swim meet was this morning, followed by Iris's holiday recital. I'm still in the running for Best Big Sister Ever, so don't worry that I'm ditching my responsibilities. But Levi's back from L.A. for the time being, so he's taking over while I study for finals and finish up the semester."

Annabelle's practically bubbling with excitement at the mention of L.A. She's Deano's girlfriend, and also a theater major with dreams of making it big on the stage someday. "Oooh, that's right! Cassia's album wrapped last week. I saw it on her story. Do you think he'll be asked to work on her next album? Or maybe for another artist from Angel records? And does her house really have seven pools? Because that's the rumor, but if you look at the pics she posts, you can only see six."

Music starts pumping through the arena at a louder volume than before, a sure sign that warm-ups will start soon.

"I have no idea how many pools she has, and I can guarantee Levi doesn't either. That's not the kind of thing he'd notice. But I can tell you this. Not only did he write most of the songs, he's actually singing backup on two tracks. How freaking cool is that?"

Annabelle squeals and Mel does a little happy dance in her seat. "That's amazing. Is he losing his shit and telling everyone he knows? I can't carry a tune, but I would totally hire a skywriter if I ever found myself singing backup on the most anticipated album of the year."

"Right?" Annabelle chimes in. "I'd be telling random strangers in the street."

That's not my brother's style at all. I'm sure when the songs come out, he'll share them on his platforms and record himself singing—that's part of his job. But Levi's never been one to chase fame. I wonder what it will be like when he can live in L.A. or Nashville full-time. I doubt he'll be going to clubs or dating high-profile actresses. The accident changed him in a lot of ways. It made him cautious and reserved, where he used to be up for a good time anytime. I'm hoping that when he strikes out on his own, he gets a little of that carefree energy back.

A cheer erupts from behind us and I look down to see the guys skating out. They'll warm up for twenty minutes or so, and I love watching this part. It's fun to see them play now that I know their personalities so well. Norris is just as stoic as always, and Pete's smiling like he's just hanging out with his best friends. Technically, that's true. They just happen to be zooming around on little blades and fighting for the puck. Mickey bounces even on thin little knife shoes, and Van is clearly at home on the ice. He's a pretty relaxed person to begin with, but here in his element, he's confident and focused.

I catch his eye and discreetly blow him a kiss. He blows one back before resuming warm-ups.

I can't help but think this could be my life someday. I wasted too much time worrying that our schedules will never mesh or that Van would get tired of having to share my attention. I should know better than most that life has a way of changing in an instant, so it's important to grab onto the good while you can.

And I'm not opposed to merging my worlds. We're playing Coleridge next week and I promised Zane I'd bring him along. It's only an hour from our house, and it'll give me a little one-on-one time with him, which is always a bonus.

I've also invited Van to stay with us over the Christmas holiday for a few days. I don't know who's more excited, Van or Iris, but I wonder if he realizes that he'll be playing Prince Charming for most of his stay? And possibly the victim of a serial killer if Milo and Tillie are around.

I promised Mrs. Kemp I'd volunteer at the school library over break. At best, I'll be getting familiar with my future workplace, and at worst, I'll be organizing books, which is never a waste of time.

The game begins, and as expected, it's a battle. Woodcock is clearly seeking revenge for last night's loss, but our guys aren't giving up easily. I can see why the home crowd hates Dutton Wagner. The guy is stealthy as hell and his teammate keeps feeding him shots. Luckily for us, Norris manages to dart around the net and block nearly everything that comes his way. We're tied at two with just a few minutes left to play, and I'm hoping we score and end this thing before we have to go into overtime.

Van's gliding around the ice, passing the puck, and taking shots, despite the fact that #82, a guy named Bradford, has been hounding him practically the whole game. I decided I hated the guy when he tripped Deano in the first period. I thought Annabelle was going to fly out of her seat and storm the ice.

The clock ticks down just as Will snags the puck from Wagner and drives it down the ice. The rest of the players are in hot pursuit, half of them ready to help Will score, and the other half determined to stop him. I'm watching the action, hoping Will can tip the score in our favor, but both of his shots are blocked. It's sometimes hard to see the tiny puck amongst all those hulking bodies, but I catch sight of it on the edge of Booker's stick. He pops it in the net in a motion so quick that the goalie's scrambling for it even after the lamp lights.

Celebration breaks out and I'm caught up in the excitement. It's not until Mel grips my arm that I notice all action on the ice has stopped. Immediately, my whole body goes cold. Everything begins to move in slow motion. The roar of the crowd dies down and all eyes in the arena are on the injured player who hasn't gotten up yet.

I don't have to see the #17 on the back of the jersey or read the name stitched across the shoulders to know that it's Van who's lying in a heap on the ice. He's tucked into a fetal position, but his left leg hangs at an odd angle away from the rest of his body.

I don't think, I just move, and Mel follows.

It takes forever to reach the outside of the locker room and no one is letting us in anyway, but we don't care. There's information about Van on the other side of that door, and I'm going to stand here until I get it.

It feels like an eternity passes, but it's probably been less than five minutes since Bradford slammed Van into the boards then hooked his skate before speeding away.

I understand that hockey is a physical game and players take risks every time they step out on the ice. But that guy's just an asshole.

Finally the door opens and Will emerges. He hugs Mel, but looks right at me. "It's not good, Josie. The trainer sent him to St. Mark's for an eval. Coach went along and Pete's gonna meet you out in the main lot in five. Keep us posted, okay?"

There's a lot of hurry-up-and-wait in hospitals. I remember that much from Levi's recovery. Pete and I have been sitting in this waiting room forever. I called Van's mom, but she was in New Jersey for work, so it's taking her a little longer to get here.

No one knows anything, or if they do, they're not sharing it with us. As serious as Van's injury might be, it's not life-threatening, so we've been relegated to the middle of the pack here in the lobby of the ER.

Finally, Coach Baylor emerges from the double doors and walks toward us.

"How bad is it, Coach?" Pete asks, getting right to the point.

Coach blows out a breath. "It was a dirty hit. He got jarred against the boards, which is bad enough, but Bradford hooked his skate and dragged him down. His knee's blown out, same one he tore up a couple years ago. They're not saying anything final yet, but he's out for the rest of the season, at least."

"Jesus," Pete mutters, hanging his head.

It's hard for me to sit still. Every instinct I have is telling me to charge through those double doors and find my way to Van. He has to be hurting so much right now, physically as well as emotionally, and I want to offer whatever comfort I can.

"You can go on back. He's been asking for you."

At Coach's words, I rise, but then Pete puts his hand on my shoulder.

"Oh, sorry," Coach says, clearing his throat. "Uh, Pete should go first. I think they're only letting one person in at a time."

Neither man's eyes meet mine, and I've been sitting here for at least two hours, so I know damn well that visitors are allowed in pairs.

That either means that Van's mom has snuck in through some back entrance or Van doesn't want to see me. Neither option seems possible, but one of them has to be true.

Five minutes later, when Steph Donohue steps into the waiting room and looks around frantically, I have my answer.