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I stared in horror at Mason’s Jeep, still parked in front of my house. Oh, fuck. What was I about to walk in on?
I considered taking the short walk back to Sebastian’s, but even at one in the afternoon, the February air was too harsh to stay out in a moment longer.
So, tugging my coat tight, I steeled myself, walked up to the house, swung open the door, and stepped inside.
It was quiet. Suspiciously quiet. I didn’t trust that.
With careful, doubtful steps, I moved through the foyer and into the living room. I immediately clocked the mess. Clothing was strewn across the couch and floor, looking like they were tossed to the side in a rush. Suspicionsconfirmed.
A loud bang came from the kitchen. With a squeak, I turned my back to the sound, not wanting to catch a glimpse ofanything.
I heard a distinctly Drew-like curse, then nothing.
“Drew?” I called out tentatively.
“Riles?”
“Yeah. You decent?”
“Mostly.”
“Oh, thank the lord,” I breathed out and walked into the kitchen.
Drew, alone, was making sandwiches. He was also only wearing pajama pants and had some interesting marks across his chest. Ah-ha. Caught red-handed.
I couldn’t help myself; I applauded and let out a long wolf whistle.
“Oh, don’t even,” hegrumbled.
I pouted, but stopped, and hopped onto the kitchen counter to stare at him.
“That’s not much better.”
“Well, sucks to suck.” I flipped him off.
He rolled his eyes and went back to slathering mayo on some bread. I gestured for him to make me one as well.
We sat in silence as Drew slapped together ingredients. Before I had gotten traded to the Blizzards, I hadn’t seen him in personin months.
He was busy with work, and I was always training. Still, we always made time to talk. He would rant to me about his coworkers, and I would do the same. We were each other’s rocks and had been since that disastrous plane crash.
I was fifteen, just starting to work toward my NHL dream, and Drew was nineteen and in college when our parents’ plane went down. We were suddenly orphans, and the grief should have destroyed us. No one would have blamed us if it had, but Drewsaved us.
He transferred from Harvard to NYU and raised his little sister for years. Everyone told him I would have been better off with a distant relative or in foster care, but he refused to listen. Barely out of childhood himself, he was determined to keep the last of our family together, and I was eternally grateful to him.
“So, Mason said you went to Sebastian Kingston’s place to talk last night.”
“Mason said that, huh? And whereisMason this fine afternoon?” I asked slyly then internally celebrated when Drew tried to deflect.
“You slept with Kingston,” he accused.
“And you slept with Mason.”
We stared each other down, willing the other to admit what we both already knew.
The glare-off only lasted a few seconds before Drew sighed heavily and slapped the last of the sandwiches together. He’d made enough to feed an army. I pilfered one and stuffed it in my mouth. “Riles, I hate to break it to you, but I think we’reidiots.”
“Speak for yourself,” I said around a mouthful of turkey and rye. “You’re the one moving across the county.”
