Page 121 of Here We Go Again

He leans over and kisses me. “Me too. But not as much as I love you.”

33

THEO

I walk Becca to the door, hesitant to let her go.

Hearing her say she felt like I was shutting her out sobered me right up. It’s not lost on me that my fear of losing her made me behave in a way that clearly did more harm than good.

I can’t let that happen again. I can’t let her doubt, even for a second, that she’s the most important thing in my life.

I pull her into a hug, bending down to press a kiss to her temple. “I’m sorry about today,” I say. “That I didn’t respond. I just … got in my head about everything. I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

She lifts a hand to my cheek. “I will never be disappointed over hockey. Whether you’re playing, not playing, winning, losing, moving. It’s just your job. I didn’t fall in love with you because of your job. Not before. Not this time either.”

“I know. But it feels like a lot to ask.”

She tilts her head, studying me in a way that makes me think she’s looking right into my heart. Her tone is gentle when she asks, “Why do you have such a hard time letting people love you?”

I open my mouth to respond, but I can’t seem to find any words.

“It’s not a lot to ask because it means getting to be with you,” Becca says. “Please trust that. You don’t have anything to prove here.”

Her words trigger a wash of relief, resonating in a way I don’t expect. Is that what I’m doing? Trying to prove myself?

Before I can say anything else, a knock sounds on the door. That has to be Carter.

Becca leans up and presses a quick kiss to my lips. “I’ll see you soon?”

I nod. “I’ll text when I’m on my way to your place.”

She steps out of the way, and I open the door to find my brother, hands pushed into the pockets of his sweats.

Becca steps through the door, giving Carter’s arm a quick squeeze on her way.

Then she’s heading to the elevator, and I’m alone with my brother.

I tilt my head toward the inside of my apartment. “Come on in.”

We’re silent until we’ve made it to the living room, where I sit on the couch and Carter drops onto the armchair, perpendicular to me. He leans forward and places a single penny onto the coffee table in front of us.

Years ago, when Carter was little, our dad jokingly offered him a penny for his thoughts. Except Carter took him literally and held out a hand, wanting payment for what was going on inside his head.

It became a thing for them. All those pennies. I didn’t care. I had plenty of other ways to connect with my dad. But then, after he died and I almost wrecked my entire career, my brother pulled away.

He’d always been there for me. Supported me. Kept me safe and focused. But I was drowning, and I was dragging him down with me. So Carter decided he couldn’t be my life preserver anymore. Then he stopped talking to me.

Until I tossed a penny on his bed, just like Dad used to do.

We finally talked—really talked—for the first time in months. Maybe since before Dad died. And I realized what I might lose if I didn’t stop taking advantage of my brother. A week later, I had two necklaces made, each with a penny hole-punched and threaded on a chain, for us to wear as a reminder.

We can’t stop talking to each other. We have to be honest like we were always honest with Dad.

I sigh and look at the penny. “I guess I should have expected it.”

“I don’t know where you are, man,” Carter says. “And I’ve been trying to give you space. Give you time to be with Becca. But you have to tell me what’s going on.”

I lean forward, elbows propped on my knees. And then I talk.