Three

There are few things more unnerving than receiving a text from your sister-in-law that reads, "Can you please come over? Joel needs your help ASAP."

My initial thoughts were like, "Great. What did that idiot do now?" But the more I wondered, the faster they ran in the direction of, "Something could be seriously wrong; I need to give him a call."

So I did. And he didn't answer.

Which is why I tell Kenz I need another minute to find out what's going on. Gwen's text interrupted our five minute water break from the ice. After three rings, my sister-in-law picks up. "Hey."

"Hey, what's going on? Everything okay?"

A weighty sigh sounds into the phone. "I'm honestly not sure. Joel's okay, but he hurt himself."

I expel a breath of frustration. "What did he do now?" Kenzie taps my arm, giving me a look that silently asks what's going on. I shrug, still without an explanation.

"I'll let him tell you what happened when you get here. Are you too busy to come over right now?"

That's a loaded question. Of course I'm busy—I'm working. I'm always working lately. But I'm never too busy for my family.

"No, I can be there in ten."

"Great. Thanks, Jude."

"Should I call our parents?"

"Ah, no. He only wants to talk to you."

Weird, but okay. "All right. See you in a few." Gwen hangs up and I toss my phone onto my towel.

"What"s the matter?" Kenzie looks up at me, blue eyes searching.

"All I know is my brother got hurt," I say honestly. "It must be bad if he's asking for my help."

Kenzie winces. "Ouch. Well, text me and let me know, okay?"

I wrap my arm around her in a quick hug, then grab my gear and leave the practice rink. The entire ride to Joel and Gwen's house, my mind searches for why Joel would need my help. Whatever injury he has can't be that bad if he's not telling Mom and Dad. I bet it's like the time he tried jumping over a parking meter and tore something in his nether regions.

I sigh and turn up the volume on the radio, getting lost in some indie pop record I downloaded last week.

I park quickly when I reach their house, then hurry to the front door. Three knocks and no answer later, I'm walking inside on my own. I figure it's all right since they already know I'm coming. "Hey. Anybody home?"

"In here!" Gwen calls from the master bedroom.

My mouth pulls down into a frown. Now I'm convinced his injury is like that time he tried to jump the parking meter.

"Ah, stop doing that!" Joel snaps at Gwen.

"Sorry," she says before murmuring something I can't make out. My feet pick up their pace at his tone. He never talks to her like that, so he must be in quite a bit of pain.

"Hey," I say when I reach the door to their room, garnering each of their attention. Joel's sitting on the edge of their bed, and Gwen's propped on her knees beside him, holding his right arm. "What's going on?"

"Joel messed up his wrist," Gwen says with a shake of her head. "It's not looking good."

Joel groans. "I thought you were going to let me tell him." Gwen sends my brother a look of exasperation before hopping to her feet.

"Fine. You tell him. I'm going to get more ice." I give her arm a reassuring squeeze as she brushes past me.

"You don't need to take your frustration out on her." I step into the room and drop onto the bed beside Joel. "She's not the one who did whatever idiot thing that hurt your wrist."

An irritated groan leaks from my twin. "Dude, I know. You don't need to tell me that. I know."

I point toward the injury. "So what happened?"

He shakes his head, avoiding eye contact. "I don't even wanna tell you. I already know you'll give me a lecture."

"I promise to skip the lecture if you promise to skip the part where you say you'll stop doing dumb junk."

A slow smile starts to form on his face before it falls. "Yeah, okay." My wariness spikes when he gingerly grabs his wrist and winces. "Gwen and I were messing around in the backyard. She was doing cartwheels and roundoffs, showing off like the hot little gymnast she is—"

I wave my hand to speed up his explanation. Never do I need to hear how hot he thinks his wife is.

"Well, I tried to do a cartwheel, and it was pitiful. She laughed her head off, then I swore I'd do it better. In true Gwen fashion, she told me to quit while I was ahead, but—"

"Let me guess," I cut in. "In true Joel fashion, you didn't heed her advice."

He shakes his head. "Nah. I landed wrong on my wrist, and she says I sprained it."

Taking a good look at the injury, I do notice how swollen it is around the base of his hand. "Sprains aren't that bad, though, right? I mean, what's the treatment for that? Some ice?"

Joel opens his mouth to speak, but Gwen answers me from the doorway. "He won't go get it looked at, but I'm thinking it's somewhere between a level two and a level three sprain." She crosses her arms, her gaze fixed on his injury.

If anyone would know how bad it is, it's Gwen, the gymnast turned physical therapist. She's had enough of her own injuries to tend to, not to mention all the clients she deals with on a regular basis.

"You should get it looked at to be sure of how bad it is," I insist. Joel tosses me a dark look.

"No. They'll tell me I can't play."

"So what if you can't play for a few games?"

Joel's attention goes to Gwen, who takes slow steps into the bedroom. "Unfortunately, if his sprain is as bad as I think it is, we're looking at weeks of missed games, not just a couple."

I make a surprised sound in the back of my throat as I glance at Joel. "That sucks, man."

"You have no idea," he says, pushing off the bed to get to his feet. "If I miss multiple games in a row, I could permanently lose my starting position. Ever since Dex and then Cyrus left the team, Coach has been stricter with the players. He's made it clear none of us can afford to get injured or miss a game with the playoffs on the line. When Dex got hurt, he lectured all of us about being more careful, how he feels like he's been losing players left and right…I don't want to add to that. My team needs me." The seriousness of his expression tells me how dire he feels the situation is.

"Plus, there's…something I haven't told you yet. An even bigger reason for not disclosing my injury." He shoots Gwen a look I can't decode before refocusing on me. "A scout from the local pro team approached me two weeks ago."

My gaze bounces between Joel and Gwen. "Seriously?"

Gwen answers first. "Yeah, we couldn't believe it. He wants to graduate Joel." A wide smile cuts across her face. "It's like a dream come true. He would get to stay local to help with your parents and still be able to go pro."

"That's awesome, bro." I stand and clamp a hand onto Joel's shoulder. "Proud of you."

"Yeah, well, hold your congrats," he says with a long sigh. "Nothing is set in stone. The scout made it clear he's looking at a couple different guys from other teams. Which means that if he catches wind of my injury, I'm likely out of the running."

"Seriously? Even if it"s just minor?"

He meets Gwen's eyes, then mine. "Yeah, seriously. Gwen says that if a level three sprain isn"t treated properly—meaning I need to keep it braced and not use it—I could suffer permanent joint instability, and scouts know that. A sprain can also mean arthritis in the joint later on. Pro scouts only want to sign guys in pristine condition."

It doesn't seem fair that an injury like this would make him lose the pros' interest, but I guess I get it. They want strong players who can win them championships. Drafting someone with a past injury could mean said player has a weak spot, or at least an area he has to treat gingerly as to not reinjure himself.

"You know it's always been my dream to go pro and stay local," Joel adds, "so I can take care of our entire family." Again, his gaze lingers on Gwen.

I get the distinct feeling that I'm missing something important, but I can't guess what. "Okay, so you don't go pro right now because of a hurt wrist. That doesn't mean you never will, right? And it's not like it has to happen right now."

"No," he relents with a sigh. "But a pay increase and permanence would really help with what's about to come next." Reaching for Gwen, he takes her hand. "Gwen's expecting."

My eyes pop open. "Like…a baby?"

"Yes, nimrod, a baby."

"Wow," I breathe. "Congratulations."

Gwen beams as she leans into Joel. "We're really excited." Just as quickly as her smile came, it vanishes as her eyes fill with tears. She bites her lip and her expression falters. "But we're also…scared."

Crap. Crying females are a particular weakness of mine.

"It's just a lot to handle right now," she whispers, swiping at her eyes. Joel pulls her into a hug and kisses the top of her head. I stare down at my hands, attempting to give them what privacy I can.

After a few awkwardly silent minutes, Joel says, "Gwen, will you give us a sec?"

She nods, then quietly leaves the room. "There's more I need to explain," Joel says, looking as somber as I've ever seen him. It's unsettling.

I offer him an encouraging nod.

He swallows with a frown so deep it almost seems permanently etched onto his face. "Jude, we're in trouble." I tilt my head, curious as to what he means, when he continues. "Gwen and I are deeply in debt. Like…really deep."

A rock settles into my stomach at hearing that. "Student loans?" I knew they'd been trying to tackle the mountain of Gwen's student loans, in addition to giving what they can toward Mom's medical bills.

"It's not just that." My brother meets my eyes with a pleading look. "Gwen has been undergoing fertility treatments. It was way more expensive than we thought it would be, but we've been wanting a baby for so long…" Visibly choked up, Joel's bottom lip quivers in an unexpected display of emotion.

"Hey." I sink down beside him and knock my knuckles against his thigh. "It's okay, man. You don't have to go into all the details."

Pressing his fingers into his eyes, he clears his throat. "Jude, I can't leave you with the sole responsibility of paying Mom and Dad's medical bills. But with the baby coming, and our debt…If I don't get signed with a major team soon, that's exactly how it's going to be."

Icy dread hits me like a frigid gust of wind at that prospect. I don't make anywhere near what Joel does as a minor league hockey player, which means the meager portion that I'm able to throw at their debt won't cut it for long.

Our parents would soon be forced to dip into their retirement to pay for Mom's medical bills.

After a weighty pause, he continues. "Moving up would mean a significant pay increase. So significant that I'd be able to pay off the rest of Gwen's student loans, our fertility treatments, and Mom's medical bills within a year. You'd be off the hook."

As appealing and relieving as that sounds, Joel's inconvenient little injury puts a definite damper on it. I blow out a long breath and run a hand through my hair. "And you're sure that letting the league know of your injury would hurt your chances at the major spot?"

"It wouldn't just hurt my chances," he replies. "It might end them altogether. Higher-up teams only want the best, Jude. Not damaged goods. Like I said before, a significant sprain could be a sign of a weak wrist. Take Sinaya, for instance. Guy injures his shoulder in a game. It's minor, no big deal, his doc says. They put him back in after sitting out two games, then he gets hit again and messes up his entire rotator cuff. Needs surgery. He loses out on the whole season."

"But he came back, right?"

Joel nods as he hops to his feet and begins to pace. "Yeah, but the scouts lost interest in him. And he never went back to his starting position. From then on, he was considered second string. That's a pay cut, by the way."

It's a cautionary tale, for sure. The more I consider it, the more I understand his concern. Especially with the knowledge that he's got a baby on the way and a mounting pile of debt he can't pay, in addition to being the main contributor who's knocking out our parents' debts. That kind of pressure would weigh on anyone.

"So what will you do?" I'm genuinely concerned for how we'll make this work and how he will manage not to lose his starting spot, as well as the position on the local major team. But the hopeful look he sends me trips an alarm bell in my brain. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because. I thought of an idea."