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I squeeze my eyes shut and he tips my head up again. I can’t see him, but I can feel his breath breaking over my skin, feel the vibration of each word through my chest. How did I end up here? Panting over a man I’ve been telling myself to stay away from. Panting over a man I don’t even…
“I don’t talk about my brother to the press. We don’t give interviews.”
“You asked me to plan his grand gesture.” And there’s the crux of the issue. The man avoided me when I needed him but he had no problem asking for help when he needed me.
“I don’t talk about Erik, per his request.” A hand slips around my neck to cradle the back of my head. I want to lean into the touch, to let this man hold me up so I can take a fraction of the weight off my shoulders. “When I asked you to help get his message on camera, that was becauseherequested it.” A pause as he works my hair loose from its twist. “Erik was diagnosed with bone cancer right after we received our Junior invites, Tristan. He was the better player. Faster on the ice, better stick handling, he’d have gone pro for sure. We wanted to go together.”
“Like the Lundqvists?”
“More like the Sedin Twins.” Right, I’d forgotten the most famous NHL twins. “We wanted to play on the same team. The same line. Most people forget the Lundqvists are twins.”
“Well yeah, because we all just think Henrik is attractive and we forget about Joel.” I smile up at him.
“They’re identical.”
I shrug.“Maybe I like goalies.”
“You likeme,” he says, the words pouring into my soul. And fuck… I do.
“Erik went through multiple rounds of chemo and surgery and still lost his left leg right after we turned eighteen. Hockey had become my whole life, and it was the one thing he couldn’t go back to. So no, we don’t let the press get wind of how we could have been the sixth set of twins in the NHL if not for the tragedy of cancer. Erik and I could barely speak to each other for years. It was physically painful for him to attend games.” Vic swallows hard and we’re standing so close I can feel the motion of his throat. “It’s the same reason I couldn’t work with you this season until I had his okay. Things are better between us now. He and Quinn come to more games, but he still deserves his privacy if he wants it. I don’t get to take that from him. I won’t.”
My heart aches, a sickly pulse under my sternum. I’m the world’s biggest bitch. I’ve been holding a grudge over something he couldn’t control. It’s admirable—attractive—the way he holds this boundary to protect his family. For his brother. I understand loving your siblings. More than most.
“You could have just told me,” I can’t help the parting jab, because that’s the part that hurt. I wouldn’t have pushed if he’d justtoldme all of this. “You avoided me for days and then went on the road. You could have just said no. To me, or to Chris. He was so sure you’d say yes if I asked, and then I couldn’t even get you to talk to me.”
A deep laugh fills my tiny apartment, rolling over my ears like a rumble of thunder.
“Baby. Kitty cat. Tristan. That was the entire problem.” He tips our foreheads together again. “I can’t say no to you. I couldn’t then and I can’t now.”
“Well,” I sniff. “That sounds like ayouproblem. Might I suggest therapy if you struggle to hold boundaries and say no to people?”
Vic steps into my body again and my back comes up against my fridge. He’s almost taller than it.
“I don’t like to say no to people, not if I can help them, but I know how. I’ve said no about Erik before. It’syou, Tristan. I wasn’t sure I could say ‘no’ for my brother when the person asking was you.”
“Why?”
“You know why, baby.”
My heart is going to pound right out of my chest. My insides are liquifying as I try not to read into what he’s saying. Try to hold on to a modicum of distance. Where are the walls I had built between us? I painstakingly laid each brick aside and now they are nowhere to be found.
Because you were wrong,my brain says.You hated him because of how he handled one media request over a year ago, and now you know why. And it’s a good reason. You can’t help but—
I shut my brain up.
“You know,” I say, shifting my hips against his thighs. “I still have some regrets about Vegas.”
“I’m sorry—” I press my hand to his mouth, halting the apology in place.
“I don’t remember marrying you.” I trace his top lip with the tips of my fingers. He tries to nip them and I move away, sliding my palm along his cheek to tangle in the hair falling across his temples.
His eyes close, but it’s not the flutter of a man starved for physical contact. It almost looks like guilt. That won’t do.
“Tristan.” I can’t remember the last time someone said my name as much as he does. I like the way it sounds on his tongue. I want to hear more. “I have to tell you. We didn’t—”
I press my mouth to the line of his jaw, scraping his stubble with my teeth, and I roll my hips again. Vic sinks against me, pinning me to the refrigerator, and I can feel the hot, hard ridge of his erection pressed into my belly. He’s going to need to lift me for this to work, or we’ll need to move. He pulls away.
“Tristan. In Vegas… you were… I thought you were…” His mouth drags across my temple. “Fuck. I thought you were drunk. We didn’t… I would never…”
