Settling the Score (The Summer Games #1)(57)

I wanted to paint Caroline as the villain. It would have been so nice to hate her, but by the end of the night, I felt nothing nothing but confusion and sadness: confusion over why Freddie didn’t love Caroline—for god’s sake, after internet stalking her for a few hours, I was willing to toss my life aside and marry her myself—and sadness, because, at the end of this all, one of us was going to end up brokenhearted.

“Ready, Andie?”

I turned to find Lisa standing a few feet from the training table, looking fresh-faced and ready to get to work. Her black polo nearly matched the color of her eyes as she assessed my wrist. I’d been icing it for the last fifteen minutes, but it was time to start my training session for the day.

“No rest for the weary.”

She nodded. “Let’s have a look at it. Sit and scoot back.”

I followed her directions and propped myself up on the leather table. She came around the side so she could unwind the wrapping as gently as possible. The bruising was already more faded than the day before.

“Tell me when it starts to hurt,” she said, turning the wrist slowly counterclockwise. “I’m trying to get a feel for the mobility.”

She kept going, working my hand in different directions and applying varying amounts of pressure before I finally couldn’t take it.

“There.” I winced.

“Okay.” She nodded. “Your doctor sent over your x-rays. In his email he recommended that you sit out for the rest of the Olympic games…?”

Her black eyes darted up to me for confirmation, but I shook my head.

“Well that was his recommendation, but I have a different plan.”

She reached beneath the trainer’s table for a blue elastic band. “Is that so?”

She seemed amused, which was a first. From what I’d gathered during our training sessions, Lisa wasn’t someone who laughed easily.

“Yes. I know my body and I know how far I can push it.”

“So you think you can play in two days? Isn’t that when your next game is?”

I bit my lip, thinking over her question. I hadn’t been able to put any pressure on my wrist the day before, and it’d only improved slightly overnight.

“Okay, not that game,” I relented. “But definitely the final.”

“When’s the final?”

“Next week.”

She scoffed. “You’re asking for trouble.”

I leaned back. “So you’re not going to help?”

Her dark eyes met mine. “Oh no, I didn’t say that. If you’re willing to put in the time, then so am I. I’m not saying you’ll be ready for the final game, but together, we can try.”

I smiled. “All right. What first?”

She tossed the blue elastic band at me. “This thing. And rest assured, you aren’t going to like it.”





MY TRAINING SESSION with Lisa was about as enjoyable as a bikini wax paired with a nipple piercing (the latter being something I could only make assumptions about), but it felt good to have a goal again, and the pain distracted me from thinking of Freddie. After she was done torturing me, I dragged myself back to our condo, showered, and threw on the first thing I touched: the unicorn onesie Becca had insisted on hanging in my closet. I had to hand it to her though—after I slipped it on and zipped that sucker up, I decided I’d wear it for the rest of my life. It was soft, and it did make me feel a little bit better. Glitter will do that to you.

Kinsley and Becca were still at their evening practice, and if I had my timing right, they were probably in the middle of watching footage for their game against Canada. I’d been excused from the practice so I could attend my physical therapy session, but also because Coach Decker didn’t want to see me. I’d already sent her three emails and left two voicemails. She knew how I felt about the situation. She could get her way with the semifinal—I wasn’t prepared; I couldn’t play—but I’d be damned if I was missing that final. I’d be at every practice and I’d go to therapy twice a day. I’d play through a compound fracture with my bones sticking out if I had to.

I pulled out a prepared meal from the fridge and popped it in the microwave. Though I wasn’t really looking forward to a heaping plate of chicken and vegetables, I didn’t have a choice. If I wanted to play in that final game, everything had to stay the same. I had to keep up my workouts and diet. Sure, I’d nearly chugged a bottle of vodka the day before, but sometimes vodka counts as medicine.

The microwave dinged and I pulled out my meal just as a soft knock sounded at the front door.

“One sec!” I yelled as I set the plate on the counter. Ouch. The plate had been scalding and I’d nearly burned off my hand pulling it out without an oven mitt. I ran my fingers under cold water and shouted over my shoulder. “Just a minute!”

Whoever it was, it wasn’t Kinsley or Becca. They’d have been shouting at me to hurry up already. I peered through the peephole and spied a heap of honey-brown hair just before a soft British voice spoke up.

“Hello? I know you’re in there, I have a keen sense of smell for asparagus.”

I yanked the door open and stood back to find Freddie’s sister standing on the other side, wearing a friendly smile.

“Georgia?”