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“It wouldn’t be unprecedented. For anyone who didn’t see it, Wilson got five minutes for fighting and an additional two minutes for instigating the fight, but Holmes threw the first punch. Hardly seems fair.”

I clenched and unclenched my fists. Fair? “Wilson crossed the line. What he said…” I seethed.

“Which brings me to my next point. Who’s to decide what qualifies as a chirp versus something that’s crossed the line to the point of penalizing a player for instigating a fight?”

I gave my brother a look as if to say “Are you fucking kidding me?” Everyone knew Wilson’s comment was uncalled for, unprofessional, and just…wrong. It was absolutely despicable.

“Chirping is meant to be witty, sarcastic, or a personal dig at an opponent’s skill. Not a dig about someone’s family.”

“I agree,” Levi said in a placating tone. “Family is off-limits. But Wilson got his punishment on the ice in the form of a fight. Hell, he got a broken nose. That’s always been how these situations are handled—between the players. Not by the refs.”

I leaned forward, getting up in the screen. My nostrils were flaring; it was one of the most unflattering angles on the planet. People were probably going to make memes of this moment, and I didn’t fucking care. There was nothing more important than getting this point across. “He disrespected a former player. Someone who died.”

Derek hadn’t just been my friend. He’d been Frasier’s best friend and Bryn’s husband. Even now, two years later, it was still difficult to wrap my head around the fact that he was gone. It had all been so…shocking.

He’d been one of the best players in the league, on track to join the next Olympic team. And then, he’d died. Sudden cardiac death. No symptoms, no signs, no warnings.

“And he should apologize so we can move on,” Levi said, bringing me back to the present. “Speaking of moving on, let’s talk about the Boston game.”

I blinked a few times, stunned by my brother’s willingness to just “move on” and sweep this under the rug. Not that I should’ve been terribly surprised. I’d always been more confrontational, where he was typically more content to pretend everything was fine.

But I couldn’t pretend everything was fine, which was how I found myself saying, “No. I don’t think we should move on. I’m over the bro culture that has dominated this sport. I’m tired of being expected to ignore sexist and misogynistic comments. If anything, what Holmes and Kovalsky did makes me respect them even more.”

Because they’d stood up to Wilson. They hadn’t taken his shit. And they’d accepted the consequences for their actions, though we were still waiting to see how hard the league would come down on them.

“You’re not the only one. Maybe you should join their fan club.” To anyone else who didn’t know Levi, it would sound like he was teasing, but I knew my brother well enough to sense he was annoyed. My brother hated Carson Kovalsky.

Even though I could feel Cam’s eyes pinging between the two of us, watching, bracing for an explosion, I smirked. “Maybe I will.”

“Good.” Levi sounded like a petulant child. It was almost as if we were in elementary school again, fighting over a toy.

I narrowed my eyes at him, done with this bullshit. “Good.”

He held my gaze a moment, our eyes locked. He was pissed, and I was pissed. And neither of us was willing to back down. Determination and stubbornness were great qualities on the ice, not so much when it came to relationships.

“Can we talk about the Boston game now?” he asked.

When I agreed, I could feel Cam’s sigh of relief, even if it wasn’t audible. I was far from done with this topic, but I knew it was time to move on for the sake of our listeners. We finished our recap for the week before I transitioned to our final segment.

“If you’ve listened before, you know that we always name someone as our Hottie of the Week. Doesn’t have to be an athlete. Just has to be someone who is, or did, something hot as puck. Levi, you want to kick us off?”

He considered it a moment. “Okay, my Hottie for the Week was…well, I don’t know her name.”

“Oh boy.” I tried not to roll my eyes. I sure as hell hoped he wasn’t picking someone based on looks. That wasn’t what this was about. It was about attitude or actions, not appearance.

“No. No. No.” He held up his hand. “It was this lady who literally stopped traffic to help a mama duck and her ducklings cross the road.”

I held a hand to my chest, softening. “That’s really sweet.”

“Okay, sis. Who are you picking for your Hottie of the Week?”

I tapped a finger to my lips. “I’m going to pick Frasier Holmes and Carson Kovalsky.”

My brother glared at me, likely hating the fact that I’d not only mentioned the fight again, but worse still, I’d selected the man my brother despised, for my Hottie of the Week. I wasn’t trying to be petty, even if it came off that way. Carson and Frasier deserved the recognition.

“They fought back against misogyny and sexist comments this week,” I said, knowing I was treading a fine line. The tips of my brother’s ears were turning pink, for fuck’s sake. But I appreciated what Carson and Frasier had done more than they could possibly know. “And I’d love to see more of that from the NHL and its players.”

“So you’re saying you want to see more fighting,” Levi gritted out.