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“Anger management therapy?”
He stares down at me with harsh eyes and his torn lips twist into a bitter smile. “I’m the Angry Thorn, aren’t I? The hothead. The unpredictable player. Who knows what I’d do if left unchecked.”
“But that’s not all of who you are. Yes, you have your moments but —”
“To them I am.”
“Who are they?”
This is the question he doesn’t reply to but he doesn’t need to.
I already know.
“Your brothers,” I whisper.
Anger ripples through his features before he says, his voice low, “Well, they do know me better than anyone else.”
They don’t.
They absolutely do not know him better than most.
I don’t think anyone knows him. Not the real him at least.
Not the layers and layers that make him who he is.
That’s what Callie said tonight, didn’t she?
That no one has ever understood him, understood what’s inside of him.
“Why did you punch him?” I ask, my hands on his chest now, stroking his hot and smooth flesh, trying to soothe him.
His brows bunch together. “What?”
“Why did you punch him? This guy,” I explain. “What did he do?”
His eyes look back and forth between mine. “No one’s ever asked me that.”
And oh my God, I could start crying right here.
I could start bawling my eyes out at how sad and lonely and fucking heartbreaking that statement sounds. How it completely shatters my heart and seals my belief that no one, absolutely no one, knows who he is.
My arms go up and clutch his shoulders then, my fingers dig into his skin and my body automatically comes even closer to his, my curves molding themselves around his unforgiving parts so I can touch him everywhere.
So I can seep into him and give him peace.
“I’m asking,” I whisper, craning my neck up and looking at him intently.
His arms do the same, going around my waist, fisting my dress. “Because he was running his mouth. And not for the first time.”
“Running his mouth about what?”
His grip on my dress tightens and he takes a few seconds before he answers, “The truth.”
I bring my hands even higher and grip the side of his neck, pressing my thumb over his pulse. Like he does mine. Not in a dominating way, no. But in my way, my gentle way, trying to calm his heartbeats as I ask, “What truth?”
He licks his torn lips. “About how I never could’ve made it on the team. Not without my brother’s help.”
“What?”
“I was the last draft pick,” he says, his eyes intent and staring. “If Shep hadn’t stepped in, I never would’ve made it onto the team, let alone any team. I never would’ve scored an agent and such a highly regarded one at that. Shep was the one who convinced everybody at New York FC to let me come aboard. He gave them reassurances, guarantees. He vouched for me and told them that even though my reputation precedes me and I’m considered a wildcard, I’m his brother. I’m talented and hard-working and I’d never let them down.”
Shaking his head, he continues, “I hated that. I fucking hated how he had to come to my rescue. How he had to save me yet again. Save his hothead of a younger brother. Just like he used to back when we were kids. Not only that, Stellan stepped in too. He vouched for me as well. He told them that as the Assistant Coach he’d keep me in line. He’d make sure that I behaved. And then Conrad came on. The star coach everyone’s always wanted on their team and of course, management was pretty fucking happy not only to snag him but also because he knew how to handle me. He knew what to do, what rules to make, how to fucking push me to do my best and keep me reined in. Which is why they went to him when I fucked up.”
He chuckles harshly. “They went to him when they didn’t know how to save their asses after what I’d done. And instead of having my back, my own brother threw me under the bus. It was his idea to have me benched. To send me to therapy. To fucking treat me like a liability. Like he’s always done.”
The air around us has changed.
It feels heavy and swollen.
Like before a thunderstorm.
And I realize two things in this moment.
One, that I haven’t felt this in a long time. This change in the air that he causes, that his anger causes. I didn’t even feel it back at my brother’s and Callie’s house. And I think it’s because he’s been so at peace for the past weeks. He’s been calm and happy even.
And second, his anger isn’t anger at all.
His anger that he’s so famous for, that he’s known for far and wide — so much so that yes, his reputation does precede him — isn’t anger in the first place.
