Sleet Banshee by S.J. Tilly

CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

SEBASTIAN

“W

ho was that?” I ask when Samuel hangs up his phone.

“Oh - no one,” Samuel says, his tone tight.

I slowly turn my head against the scratchy hospital pillow to look at him. “No one?”

“Later, okay.” He points at me. “You’re supposed to be still and calm and resting and shit.”

I snort, then wince.

Fucking concussions. Fucking groin pulls. Fucking doctors. Fucking MRIs and poking and prodding.

I close my eyes and do my best to pretend I’m somewhere else. Thank fuck we still pulled out a win tonight, or I’d be in even more of a shit mood than I am right now. I’m still pissed at Samuel for apparently encouraging Anna in her Meghan schemes, but he’s my twin. And if there’s anyone I can trust to enforce my wishes, it’s him. I know he won’t stop Coach when he shows up, but Samuel can keep everyone else away. Because my shit mood, mixed with pain and discomfort, is making me a terrible bitch of a person. And I don’t want to interact with anyone when I’m like this.

Except for Banshee. She might be the only person who could make me smile right now. Literally nothing would make me happier than seeing her walk through my door.

I was shocked-as-hell when I saw her at the game tonight. I’d hoped she’d be there, but I didn’t think that hope had a snowball’s chance in Hell of coming true. But like always, she surprised me. And like always, my eyes were drawn straight to her. It’s like our souls are magnetically charged to find each other. Sometimes we get turned around, and we repel in opposite directions, but when we get set right again - nothing can keep us apart.

I wanted to climb the boards and go to her. I needed to know what she was thinking. What her being at my game meant. But since I couldn’t do that, I had to just embrace the relief I felt at seeing her. I could worry about the rest later. I had a game to play.

But now it’s later, and the game is over. So on top of all this physical shit I’m dealing with, I’m back to worrying about Meg. About us. About our future.

The door opens, letting in a shaft of light from the hallway. Even though it’s night, the shades are drawn, and the lights are off with the exception of a dim lamp in the far corner. My head is already killing me, and I know that bright lights will make it so much worse, so I wait until I hear the door shut before I open my eyes.

Expecting one of the nurses, I’m surprised to find Mom standing at the foot of my bed.

She looks at my brother, “Samuel, go get me some coffee.”

Samuel glances between Mom and me, but doesn’t move.

“Mom,” I say, “if you're here to tell me that I’m dying, Samuel can stay.”

Mom huffs out a breath, then narrows her eyes on me. “Who’s the redhead?”

“What?!”

Without thinking, I start to jolt up into a sitting position, and pain radiates from my head and groin.

I groan and curse, laying still and shutting my eyes against the throbbing.

“Language… ” my mom admonishes, no leeway given for my injuries.

“Are you talking about Meghan?” Samuel asks.

“Oh good,” she snarks, “I see both your brother and sister know who this girl is, but your poor mother hasn’t even heard of her.”

I crack my eyes open. Mom’s hands are fisted on her hips, and she looks more angry than hurt.

“What are you talking about?” I grit out the question. “Is Meghan here?”

“She was.”

“Was? What do you mean was?” my volume rises, sending a bolt of electricity through my brain.

Samuel puts a hand on my arm. “Bro, calm down. Causing yourself more pain is not going to help anyone.”

I take a slow breath. “Mom, what happened?”

She watches me for a moment before replying. “Well, a few moments ago, this stunning little red-haired woman appeared in the hallway, over where you’ve sent us all to wait.” Mom’s clearly still bitter about me wanting only Samuel in my room. “I saw that the girl was wearing a Sleet shirt, but I didn’t think anything of it. Then Anna spotted her and called out to her by name. The girl was clearly upset, and I was able to deduce that she was here for you. Obviously, I wanted to introduce myself, but the conversation between Anna and this Meghan looked tense enough that I stayed where I was.”

“What do you mean she looked upset?” I keep my voice level.

My mom sighs like I’m an idiot for not knowing what happened. “I mean the poor thing had puffy eyes, tear tracks down her face, and she was biting her lip hard enough that I’m surprised it didn’t draw blood. The dear looked about two heartbeats away from a nervous breakdown.”

My throat feels tight. I’m relieved that she came to me. That she wanted to see me. But I hate that I caused her to worry. And I dread where this story is going.

I force a swallow before I speak again. “Where is she now?”

“Anna told her that you didn’t want to see anyone, so she left.”

“Banshee,” I whisper, feeling a noose tighten around my heart.

The room is silent for a moment before Mom continues. “I don’t know what’s going on, since no one talks to me, but I’ll tell you what I saw. I saw a beautiful young woman who looked absolutely devastated. That look, the look of worry on her face, you only have that look for someone you love. That sweet girl loves you. And if you love her too, and since you have a matching look on your face I’m guessing you do, then you need to fix this. Whatever you did, fix it. Love counts for a lot, but it also takes care and cultivation. You can’t treat her like one of your usual ladies.” Her glare tells me just how disappointed she is, even though she has no idea what happened. Then she pats my foot and shocks the shit out me by saying, “Don’t fuck this up.”

Samuel and I just stare at her. Never in my life have I heard Mom use the F word.

Mom nods once before pulling the door open and stepping out.

A moment before the door closes behind her, Samuel shouts out - “Language!”

I wince, then chuckle, then wince again.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I feel a tear trail down my cheek. I’m not sure if it’s from the pain in my head, or the pain in my chest.

I’ve put my Banshee through so much in the short time that we’ve known each other. I don’t know what she’s thinking right now, but I’m sure it’s nothing good. She doesn’t deserve all this heartache. And I don’t deserve her. But I don’t care. Nothing will stop me from getting what I want. And I want a filthy-mouthed redhead.