Page 138 of Top Shelf

He nods. “That was a dream I wasn’t willing to bench for them.”

I sigh. “But I don’t have a dream like that.”

“Don’t you?” he questions. Lucian and Silas are both watching me closely now.

“What do you mean?”

“We see the way you light up when you’re barking orders at the rink,” Ronan points out.

“Hell, even when you’re doing super boring admin work, you’ve got this little smile on your face,” Lucian chimes in.

Don’t tell us you didn’t love organizing the charity weekend and watching it all come to life.

“I did…” I hedge, looking between the three of them.

“So perhaps your problem isn’t so much that your dream conflicts with your parents’,” Ronan begins. “It’s that it’s the same.”

I simply blink at Ronan.

“You’re so used to rebelling against them that you can’t accept that when it comes to this one thing, what they want for you is the same thing you want too.”

“You think it’s my secret dream to take on the ownership of my family’s hockey team?”

“Maybe you don’t want to own it,” Lucian says with a shrug, “But you want to be a part of a team like that. Organizing schedules. Managing players. Participating in family days and charity events. The point is, you clearly enjoy working with a team, and I think you’re letting your parents prevent you from realizing that.”

Huh.

My brother essentially said the same thing last week.

“Wow, this painting session got heavy quick.” I laugh awkwardly, trying to make light of it all, but the truth is, their words go round on a loop in my head, making me question everything.

“Sorry,” Ronan quickly apologizes, grimacing.

I shake my head. “Don’t be.”

The truth is, he—they—have nothing to apologize for. They aren’t wrong. They’ve just got me thinking. Around them, I feel like my eyes are slowly being peeled open. I’m starting to see things in a new light. I’m healing. I’m finding myself. And I’m starting to question what I seriously want out of my life—even if that is the same as what my parents have been pushing.

Before I can say anything dangerously emotional, Lucian hops down from the ladder.

The drop cloth slides beneath his feet.

“Oh shit?—”

He crashes directly into Ronan.

The paint roller in Ronan’s hand smacks sideways.

And a thick streak of green paint splatters across my face.

I gasp, lips parting in shock. Silence descends as three male faces slowly turn toward me.

Lifting my hand, I swipe at the paint, taking in the green on my fingertips before looking up at them.

Lucian winces. “...Run?”

“Yeah, you better run.”

I grab the nearest paintbrush before he can escape. Lucian yelps as I swipe green paint across the closest body part I can get—his jaw and neck.