Page 81 of All That Glitters

I head back inside the newsroom, but Jameson doesn’t follow right away. Worry pricks at the edges of my mind. It’s hard to be out of sync with my best friend, but he’s viewing this through the lens of wanting me to rest more. This isn’t the season for that. I can relax on spring break.

Right now, I need to do everything to secure my future and prove to my parents that I’m a great writer. I frown at that thought. I don’t care that much about my parents' approval, do I? I shake my head and sit at my desk. It’s probably just side effects from my weird sleep schedule.

A few minutes later, Jameson returns. He sits down at his desk, looking more defeated than I would have expected. Worry eats a hole through my stomach like a worm through an apple. Will this disagreement affect our relationship? He glances up and our gazes catch. I offer him a tentative smile, and he gives me one in return that allows me to breathe a little easier.

He loves me. Everything is going to be okay.

I nod to myself and get to work.

Chapter thirty-eight

Out of Focus

Jameson Sinclair

I wince as I bend my knee to lace up my skate in the locker room. It’s more sore than usual, but this isn’t a game I want to miss.

“You look like you shouldn’t be in here,” Nash says quietly from beside me.

“PT cleared me,” I reply.

“Yeah, well, I know you, and I’m sure you disguised every bit of your pain while he was poking and prodding.”

I finish lacing the skate and move to the other one.

“I’ll be fine. If I need to, I can take the next game off.”

As I’m speaking, my phone buzzes on the bench next to me. I pick it up and notice a text from Marigold.

Goldie: Thanks for the food. You didn’t have to do that.

I ordered pizza for her and her roommates. It may not be the most balanced of choices, but I’m more concerned with her eating at all, rather than what she’s eating. I know her well enough to know that it’s going to take reminders to get her to eat while she’s working on a deadline. Hopefully her roommates will do that part. I’ve done what I can for now.

Nash shakes his head. “Playoffs are next month. You’re risking a lot.”

“I’m fine,” I grind out. “Drop it.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Someone is in a mood.” He tips his head to the side. “I thought things were good with you and Red?”

I glare at him. “They are.”

“The man doth protest too much,” Nash says with a cheeky grin. “That’s Shakespeare.”

“I’m aware,” I say in a flat voice. “Even though you misquoted it.”

“I adapted it for my purposes.”

“And what are those? Annoying me until I throw you into the boards?”

Nash shrugs. “If that’s what it takes to get you to admit something’s wrong.”

I scrape a hand over my face. “Nothing is wrong besides you bothering me when we should be getting ready for the game.”

“Time for warm-ups!” Coach Rhodes shouts into the locker room.

I stand up off the bench and ignore the way my knee immediately protests the movement. I’ve been following the protocol as much as I can, but I know I haven’t rested enough.

“I’m just trying to help,” Nash says as we walk out of the locker room and into the tunnel.