At least, I think he’s glaring. He’s blurry too.
“No, wiping that smug smile off Jason’s face.”
“Hmm,” my brother grunts. “He skated off the ice at least.”
It’s a subtle dig, the same disappointment that always leaks out between the two of us.
“Your glasses are in front of you on the coffee table. No contacts for a few days, you need to limit your screen use, and you shouldn’t be driving. I picked your meds up from the pharmacy last night at the hospital. You can have them after breakfast if the pain’s too much.”
I reach for my wire-rimmed glasses. I hate these things. I’ve always have since I was forced to get them in fourth grade. I like to think they were responsible for my sense of humor, but I’ve always been funny as shit. Having Danny Bassot steal my lunch money for three months didn’t make much of a difference. Well, until my oldest brother, Nolan, found out.
Guess that’s the advantage of being a middle child. I started the trouble, Nolan and Ethan finished it.
“Whattime is it?” Finally, I push myself to sit up, blink hard, and allow my eyes to adjust to the light.
“Probably too early for you,” he says. “Sorry, my body still thinks I need to be fifteen miles off the coast right now.”
That’s the difference between Ethan and me. My life is hockey, and his life has been taking care of everything else for everyone else.
After he lost his college hockey scholarship, things went to shit until he started helping our dad on the boat. After he straightened out, he slowly took over at our family restaurant for my parents. It’s hard not to notice how relieved he looks now that the restaurant’s gone.
Our older brother, Nolan, is out west fighting fires, and Annie, well, she’s just terrorizing all of Massachusetts. She finished up her fellowship on the Cape this summer. Now she’s back living in town and commuting to her last year of college, studying environmental science.
“Can’t believe you punched that asshole first.” My brother pours me a big enough mug of coffee that could take down a horse, which is exactly how much caffeine I prefer if I’m forced out of bed against my will.
“Why, you want a turn?”
He shrugs. “Nah, you did a pretty good job.”
I grin. “Worth the concussion.”
My brother doesn’t smile back.
“That’s not the way to start the season. Especially after last spring.”
I let that sit there between us for a second.
The room sways under my feet when I stand. Everything is stiff, and I can’t tell if it’s from sleeping on the couch or just the shit I put my body through, but it’s annoying to be reminded I’m a mere mortal. My mouth is dry from all the painkillers they fed me last night, which have annoyingly worn off. I can feel every bruise,every cut, the deep ache in my ribs. Nothing new. My body’s been at this for years. Doesn’t ever make it any easier to deal with.
“I have a penthouse in Boston. Don’t need your couch.”
“Like you let us forget. Anyway, you heard the doctors last night. Figured you’d rather stay with me than sleep on Mom and Dad’s couch.” He slides the full coffee mug my way. “Drink up. I’ll make breakfast. What do you want?”
I wrap both hands around the mug and take a sip. Thank fuck for coffee.
My brother can cook anything under the sun, but my stomach rumbles for eggs, toast, and hash browns. Before I know it, he’s dicing potatoes and onions and peppers, throwing them into a sizzling pan.
I reach for my phone on the counter, immediately overwhelmed by texts from my teammates and a crowded inbox.
There’s an email from Heather. I read it twice. Summit Sports is interested in the rink project and wants to meet in January. But I’m stuck on the last paragraph:Image is a concern. They want a community-focused, family-friendly athlete for the deal. Can you stay out of trouble for ten weeks?
Can I? Sure. Do I want to? That’s another story.
I blow out a frustrated breath. I try a few different responses before finally replying with:I’ll deal with it.
Then, because I’m a masochist, I scroll further, and my heart sinks when I see myself tagged in an Instagram post that—by the growing number of likes—is about to be everywhere.
It’s of me sitting on the curb outside of the hospital, my head resting against Izzy’s shoulder. She didn’t have to come, but she stayed anyway, letting me use her like a pillow as we waited for Ethan. Everyone in the comments wants to know who the girl is. And a few sharper eyes point out she’s the winner from the charity auction.
