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He was. Not about what Dad did or said on the road when he was single; he’d indicated as much over the years. “The timing, the location, the gall. There’s being a dog back in the day…and then there’s this…”
Zee gave him a look like Mikah was still getting it wrong. “None of that shit’s okay. I’ve known for years. Mom too. Mom just looks away. I’ll never be like Dad.”
They’d never shared identical sentiments before. Had they? Mikah took the other seat. “I’ll never be like Dad.”
“You get around.”
He wasn’t married. Mikah tightened his fingers. “Don’t start with me.”
“Hey, I like Piper. I hope you stick it out.”
“I don’t like Francesca. I hope you don’t.” Mikah braced himself, ready if his brother took a swing. He could use a good fight. Maybe not on the thirty-fourth floor, but they could take it inside.
The punch never came. Mikah looked at his brother.
Zee, for the first time ever, looked defeated. “Prick. I won’t be like Dad. Breaking his vows.”
Oh shit, he’d guessed correctly earlier. Zee wasn’t happy. How could he be? Francesca was toxic. Mikah’s shoulders drooped, and the need to fight eased away. “You’re not married.”
“Soon enough.” Zee ran his hand through his dark hair, messing up the controlled styling, making him look younger.
“If you’re not happy, call off the wedding. After you’ve made the vow, I’m going to sound different. But don’t be Mom.” He’d never be Mom either.
“I didn’t find a girl like Mom, who dropped her career and takes Dad’s crap.”
No. He’d found Dr. Francesca Gunderssen. “You get to have dealbreakers.” That sounded like something Piper would say. Shouldn’t he have known his brother was miserable? His brother was Mom, going to walk into misery and live in it for the long haul. Zee needed a push. “Leaderboard dragging you down?”
“Hate that shit.”
He did too. Mikah gripped the hard arms of the patio chair. “Me too. But, you know, I’m usually the one on the other end. Stupidly thought Dad would shell out some praise tonight. Instead, he…” Mikah dropped it.
“Yeah.” Zee was staring at his ring finger as if imagining a wedding band tightening into position, ending all options. “Hate the news pitting us against each other. Francesca loves it. She quotes that crap as an incentive to push me. Like I’m not pushing myself already.”
He didn’t get Zee. His brother strove to be the best on the ice but settled in his love life. “I caught last week’s game. Why didn’t you take that shot during the third period? I know you. If you have even a five percent chance of making the point, you take the swing.” This was familiar territory, though usually Dad led the list of their game mistakes to let them know how they could have improved the outcome.
Zee shook his head. “Not when my move will cost the team the game.”
“It wouldn’t have. I watched to the end.”
“Mom and Dad were supposed to come, Francesca too. They didn’t show. Korbelinski’s parents were there. I thought, you know, why not give him the assist.”
“How’d giving up the point...” Mikah couldn’t say feel, but he didn’t know the word for what he was asking.
“Good. Until Francesca went off on my decision after the game. Had me watch the replay. Followed by a call from Dad. Then the leaderboards. If they do that shit to the twins…”
Damn. His chest hurt. He’d been thinking the same. “I follow the numbers. I’ve got to stop caring so much about the rankings when they’re just comparing me and you. What matters is that we’re at the top of our game, we’re outranking our peers, not whether or not you took three shots and I took one. We’re both still winning.”
Zee nodded.
Was he agreeing with him about the news? Or Francesca too? A hearty swig of alcohol burned off his verbal reservations. “You’re committing to the wrong woman. To not be Dad. And I’m not committing to the right woman. To not be Dad.” That truth shook him. Mikah finished his drink. His body felt like it did after a high adrenaline shootout: shaky, nauseated.
“Shit. You been talking to a therapist?” Zee switched to a fake Austrian accent like he was Sigmund Freud. “Two adult-ass men, making decisions because of their father’s actions.”
Mikah did listen to Dad’s advice about hockey, because Dad had been the best. It’d be stupid not to listen. But did Dad’s off-the-ice skills translate to finding the best life? Dad had killer homes, awesome toys. Happiness? What did that look like? Banging a random dancer in the back room? His gut churned. His mind flashed to Piper’s smiles, and his heart eased. The feel of her soft skin under his large hands. The way her body curved toward his and reacted to his touch. Her humor. Her kindness. Her loyalty. On a scale of all the good things, she had risen to the top as the best part of his best days. Not unlike what that jackass Warren had said. Damn. And he’d walked out on her. “Fuck. I need to go after Piper.”
“Yep.” Zee tensed his shoulders. “Fuck. I have to break up with Francesca.”
“Yep.” Mikah rose, put his hand on his brother’s shoulder, and gave a squeeze. His brother had some rough days ahead. Mikah had no easy road either. He couldn’t just wing this. He’d screwed up, and who knew what would fall from his mouth tonight if he contacted Piper right now.
