The Risk (Briar U #2)(118)

“Fair enough.” I gaze down at my plate as the thought of Jake once again creeps into my brain.

“I’m sorry about you and Connelly.” I guess my sad expression and the reason for it weren’t hard to decode.

“Since when? You told me to stay away from him, remember? Compared him to Eric.”

“That comparison might have been made in anger,” Dad grumbles. “Connelly has a good head on his shoulders from what I’ve heard.”

“I told you so. He’s the one who helped me rescue Eric.”

“Speaking of that, have you heard from Eric since then?”

“No, and I have a feeling I won’t.”

“Good. Is there a way to forward all his calls to you to my phone? So I can give him a piece of my mind?”

“Dad.” The murderous glint in his eyes is a tad worrisome. “You’re not allowed to give him the Liam Neeson speech. Let’s just hope his mom convinced him to go to rehab. Maybe winding up in someone’s bushes was the wakeup call he needed.”

“Maybe.” He doesn’t sound convinced.

I’m not, either. It’s been five years since high school and Eric still hasn’t even acknowledged that he has a problem.

“But I am sorry about Connelly,” Dad says, steering the subject back to Jake.

“Me too.”

He lifts a brow. “Thought you said it wouldn’t go anywhere.”

“I did. That’s what I told him, anyway. He dumped me and I pretended not to care,” I confess. “I didn’t want him to see how upset I was. But I was upset. He’s the first guy I’ve met in a long time who I could see myself being in a relationship with. He was good for me, and he was good to me. Like, when I was nervous about coming home to talk to you, he lent me his—oh my fucking God!”

“Language,” Dad scolds.

I’m already flying out of my seat. I forgot about Jake’s bracelet. I forgot to give it back to him, dammit.

After my talk with Dad the other night, I went upstairs to take a shower and I remember shoving the bracelet in my nightstand. And I spent most of Thursday and Friday at Summer’s, because even though my basement is ready, I haven’t moved back in yet because I didn’t want to be alone. I’m afraid that if I’m alone I’ll just be thinking about Jake all the time. I completely pushed him out of my head these past few days. And since he wasn’t on my mind, neither was his good-luck charm.

He’s playing Michigan today. Crap. Why hasn’t he called or texted? Hasn’t he noticed he doesn’t have his bracelet?

“I have Jake’s good-luck charm,” I blurt out. “He gave it to me before we broke up and I totally forgot to give it back, and he’s playing today in Worcester!”

Coaching hockey players for more than two decades, my father has undoubtedly encountered a crapload of superstitions, charms, and rituals. So I’m not surprised when his expression turns grave. “That’s not good.”

“No, it’s not.” I gnaw on the inside of my cheek. “What should I do?”

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice.” He sets down his cup and scrapes his chair back.

“What are you doing?”

“You don’t mess with a man’s ritual, Brenna.” Dad checks his watch. “What time does the game start?”

I’m already looking it up on my phone. “One thirty,” I say a moment later.

Right now it’s eleven. It’ll take an hour or so to get to Worcester. Relief fills my chest. I can make it there long before the game starts.

Dad confirms my thoughts. “If we leave now, we’ll get there with plenty of time to spare.”

“We?”

“You think I’m really going to let you drive the Jeep in a panic? Christ. I shudder just thinking about the mailbox destruction you’d be leaving in your wake.” My father snorts. “I’m driving.”





Jake’s not answering his phone or responding to my texts. It occurs to me that maybe he blocked my number, but that would be a total dick move. He’s the one who broke up with me. He has no reason to block my number. Unless he thought I’d be one of those girls who called him five hundred times begging for a second chance? If so, then I guess he didn’t know me at all.

The alternative is that he’s too focused on his game-day rituals and isn’t checking his phone.

There’s a light drizzle outside, lazily sliding down the Jeep’s windshield. In the passenger seat, I wonder if there’s another way to get in touch with Jake. I don’t have Brooks’s number, and I deleted McCarthy’s. I suppose I could do some online investigating and track down their social media accounts, but that requires a level of panic I’m not feeling right now.

There’s lots of time, and when we get there, I’ll be bound to run into a Harvard player or someone who could send a message to a Harvard player. Hopefully, I can simply give the bracelet to someone who’ll pass it on to Jake, without me ever having to see him. I’m not sure what I would say if I saw him. Plus, he’s already accused me of being a distraction. Seeing me right before a crucial game might mess with his head.

When we pull into the arena, Dad bypasses the parking lot and drives directly to the entrance. “Get out here,” he orders. “I’ll park the car and meet you inside. Keep your phone on.”