CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Three days later, Jesse woke in Connor’s bed to the sound of Connor snoring lightly. It wasn’t obnoxious, much softer than Matty Carlson had been. He’d practically made the Toronto plane shake with his snores when he slept on the flights. By comparison, this was like a kitten’s purr.
Kinda cute, actually.
A glance at the clock showed Jesse they had about ten minutes before the alarm went off and they had to dress for the game against Evanston, so he settled his head on the pillow again, allowing himself to drift. Connor’s arm was warm and heavy against his ribs and he smelled good.
Like the warm, spicy bodywash he used at home.
Jesse smiled sleepily when Connor began to stir a little, his hand reflexively tightening against Jesse’s abs, then loosening. He shifted closer, brushing his lips against the back of Jesse’s neck, making him shiver.
It wasn’t the start of something—Connor wasn’t into sex before a game and Jesse understood—but Connor still swept a hand up and down across Jesse’s abs, his palm warm, his lips even warmer as they trailed across Jesse’s spine.
Jesse shifted back until he could feel every inch of Connor’s body against his, winding their ankles together. He liked this new ritual they had, their pre-game nap together in Connor’s darkened bedroom. The house was quiet and still because Nolan had a game tonight too and the girls were at their grandparents’ place.
Connor pressed one final kiss to Jesse’s shoulder, then pulled away with a quiet sigh. He didn’t speak—he was always very quiet after his nap, at least until they got to the arena—and Jesse assumed it was part of his pre-game routine.
“God, I slept well,” Jesse said, sitting up and stretching. “Seemed like you did too. You were snoring.”
Connor shot him a faint smile as he walked over to the closet.
He didn’t say anything, but he never seemed to mind Jesse’s perpetual chatter either.
Jesse tugged sweats on over his underwear, then went in the bathroom to pee and brush his teeth. When he came out, Connor was dressed in a subtle gray and midnight blue check suit with a crisp white shirt and a midnight blue tie hung loose around his neck.
Jesse gave him a blatant appreciative up-and-down look and Connor flushed, gaze darting away to look at his reflection in the mirror and focus on knotting his tie.
He was so funny when he got bashful.
Jesse pressed against his back, kissed his warm cheek, then patted his chest before he left the room.
In his own bedroom, he picked out a suit, going for a dusty teal with a subtle windowpane pattern, white shirt, and black tie with small polka dots in shades of teal, salmon, lavender, and tan that reminded him of little sprinkles of confetti. A touch of something fun and whimsical to make Jesse smile.
Connor drove them to the arena, stopping on the way for Dunkin’ Donuts. Jesse was deeply unimpressed with the coffee chain—he was a Timmies’ guy, through and through—but it was part of Connor’s pre-game ritual and even Jesse wouldn’t mess with that.
Connor ordered his usual coffee and Jesse got hot water. They didn’t have the orange pekoe he used to order from Tim Hortons, so Jesse had taken to stocking his own. Connor had rolled his eyes when Jesse stashed some in his glove box but when Jesse had reminded him pre-game rituals were important, he’d nodded and added the “large hot water” to his order.
Now, he handed it off to Jesse, who dropped his tea bag into the cup and inhaled the fragrant steam. It amused him that Connor made the “no-talking” exception for his coffee order and nothing else, but after they pulled away from Dunkin’, Jesse resumed his earlier topic of conversation, undeterred by Connor’s silence.
“I am still dying to know more about Thad Racine,” Jesse said. “Can you believe Gavin gave him a job as assistant social media manager?”
Connor shrugged.
“I mean, total nepotism there, right? But it makes sense if the guy desperately needs a job. I’m sure a burglary charge makes it hard to get employment.”
Connor sipped his coffee.
“He’s good-looking though, no? Hot in a different way than Gavin.”
With a grunt, Connor side-eyed him.
“Oh, don’t get your boxers in a bunch,” Jesse said. “I’m not interested in either of them. I’m just pointing out they’re hot. You know people have thought about getting in the middle of a sandwich like that.”
The vaguely disgusted look Connor shot him told Jesse how he felt about that and he laughed. “I’m not saying I do. They’re brothers so that would be a little weird. Although I dunno. Maybe that’s something to think about. You’ve got three brothers …”
Connor’s eyes bugged out and he made a strangled noise, tugging at the knot in his tie.
“You know how I love getting double-teamed,” Jesse said cheerfully, watching the vein in Connor’s temple pulse. His face was getting a little red too. “Finn’s not really my type. Patrick’s hot in a beefy, bare-knuckle-boxer sort of way, but I guess if I had to pick, I’d go for Kelly. And he is gay, so there’s that.”
Jesse took a sip of his tea.
Connor was practically purple now and his knuckles were turning white on the steering wheel. God, he was so easy to wind up.
In between sips of orange pekoe Jesse kept prattling on, winding Connor tighter and tighter, but it wasn’t until they screeched into the garage attached to the arena that Connor exploded. He threw the SUV into park, unbuckled the seat belt—the clasp hitting the window with a metallic clang as he flung it away—then whirled to face Jesse.
“Cut it out. You’re a ridiculous, annoying chaos demon but you’re my ridiculous, annoying chaos demon and no one else is touching you. Especially not my brothers.”
He hauled Jesse in by the tie and kissed him, his tongue delving between Jesse’s lips like he was gasping for oxygen and Jesse was the last source on earth. Jesse happily kissed him back before he remembered where they were.
He pressed a hand to Connor’s chest and pushed him away. “Easy. We don’t want someone from the team to see this,” he pointed out.
Connor sighed, shaking his head like he was coming out of some weird stupor as he slumped against the window. “True,” he rasped. “But I mean it.”
Jesse smiled and patted his chest, then straightened his tie. “I know you do. Now, c’mon. We’ve got a game to get ready for, Captain Growly.”
From the moment Connor went out for warmups, he felt off .
Or maybe he’d felt off since he called Jesse his and kissed him. Connor’s face felt hot at the memory even now. Jesse hadn’t gotten weird about it, but he’d … ignored it. And now Connor’s skin felt too tight and itchy and his skates weren’t laced right and he … he just needed a re-do.
But of course, Kelly was waiting for him at the red line.
“Yo,” he said, thwacking Connor’s shin pads. “Good to see you.”
Connor rolled his eyes at his younger brother. “Good to see you too.”
“Sounds like Finn and Pat are organizing something at O’Neill’s pub tonight. You’re coming right?”
Connor shrugged because this was the first he’d heard of it. “I guess. Just family or can the team come?”
“Team can come. I don’t know if they’ll wanna after we beat your ass but …”
“Fuck off,” Connor said with a laugh. “We’re gonna destroy you guys tonight.”
“Sure.” Kelly gave him a deeply skeptical look. “Your defense is like Swiss cheese.”
“Yeah, but we’ve got Jesse ,” Connor said.
“It’s gonna take more than that. We’ve got Hajek in net, plus Theriault and me.” With another thwack, Kelly took off.
Connor glared at Kelly’s back as he picked up speed, shooting a few pucks at their goalie, Hajek, who batted them away.
Hajek was good, Connor would give him that.
And Gabriel Theriault was, unfortunately, a top-notch defenseman. More offensive than defensive on the blue line but he still wasn’t afraid of blocking shots and applying the kind of forechecking pressure that made scoring hellaciously difficult.
Kelly was no slouch either. Much as it galled Connor to admit, his brother was getting to be very good. Kelly wasn’t as offensively inclined as his D-partner but he was phenomenally good at disrupting the opposing team’s offense.
Neither Evanston nor Boston were doing great this season but they were well matched. It was gonna be an interesting night, that was for sure.
After warmups, while guys prepared for the first period, Connor tried not to stare at Jesse as he got into game mode. He’d been a chatty monster on the drive over but now he was quiet. He sat in his stall with his earbuds in, chin tucked into his goalie pads and jersey like a turtle.
Connor had a good handle on Jesse’s pre-game routines by now and one part of it involved yoga and standing on his head. Jesse swore it improved blood flow to the brain and helped him play better but it mostly made Connor laugh every time he saw it.
Jesse and Kady did hand-eye coordination work too, but this shit? Connor didn’t have a clue what played on Jesse’s earbuds. Music? Meditation? Audio porn? Hell if Connor knew. With Jesse, it could honestly be anything.
But whatever it was, it seemed to work, so no one dared disturb him.
The other guys …
Well, it was a crapshoot. Graham had been in charge of the music but Tanner had been up with the team for about two games before he took over.
Connor and some of the other vets might have argued at the audacity of the newbie taking the reins, but the truth was, they’d been in dire need of a good locker room DJ since Smitty left and Graham had been a poor substitute last season.
Now, music thumped on the speakers as Tanner yammered to his stall-mate. Crawford was a talker too, so he was jawing to whatever rookie was willing to listen.
Anker Henriksen and Mouse talked quietly, while Arkady sat quietly beside Jesse, dressed in backup gear and beaming every time someone looked in his direction, like he was just happy to be here.
Some of the new guys who hadn’t yet established a name for themselves looked quietly terrified, while the rest talked quietly among themselves.
Hoyt and a couple of other members of the coaching staff had popped their heads in before warmups but Hoyt rarely made speeches except for big games.
Connor liked to say a few words though so he rose to his feet. Tanner hit Pause on the music, Arkady elbowed Jesse in the pads until he glanced up, and the chatter of voices quieted, everyone staring expectantly at him.
“Alright,” Connor said with an easy grin he didn’t feel. “We’re up against my brother and his band of merry idiots. Evanston’s had a rough few seasons but the last thing I wanna do is get too comfortable. I know it’s early in the season but they’re ahead of us in the standings and I don’t need to remind you how hard we had to scramble last year to get a playoff spot. Keep it simple, keep it clean”—he shot a pointed look at Crawford who gave him a ‘who me?’ look—”and for fuck’s sake, keep an eye on Theriault. He’s the trigger man on their power play unit and his shot is lethal.”
Crawford snarled, showing off the gap between his teeth. The chiclets had gone flying during an off-ice altercation between the two of them a few seasons ago. While Theriault had calmed down considerably since then, there was a low-simmering grudge between the players even now and Connor knew there was always the possibility of it flaring to life again.
From what Connor knew, Crawford had more than deserved the punch he’d gotten but that didn’t mean they could afford to spend much time in the penalty box. Boston’s penalty kill unit was terrible and Evanston would happily take advantage.
“Let’s do this!” he shouted, realizing his team was still staring expectantly at him.
With a shout, guys rose to their feet and Jesse shot him a quick wink before he settled the mask on his head and clomped into the hallway to take the ice.
From the faceoff, Evanston controlled the play, and less than thirty seconds into the first period, Connor found himself racing to catch up with Shane Hurst as he barreled toward the Boston net, flanked by his wingers.
A clean snipe past Jesse’s elbow and the puck was in the net, giving Evanston the 1-0 lead. Connor swore.
Jesse looked irritated, but he quickly settled himself again.
Connor skated up and tapped his elbow. “You got this,” he said lowly.
Jesse gave him a short, sharp nod.
They settled into a rhythm, up and down the ice, and the Otters kept up the pressure. But despite some good quality chances on Evanston’s part, Jesse made save after save, keeping them from scoring another goal.
When they reached the halfway point in the first period, Connor was on the bench, watching intently as the Harriers’ second line went out.
Graham got a good shot on the Otters’ net but the puck deflected wide and Connor held his breath when Graham wheeled around the goal. He took another swipe at the puck, shooting it to Anker Henriksen, who snapped it in, Hajek’s diving save coming too late to prevent the Boston goal.
“Fuck!” Connor said, relieved. He pounded on the thigh of the guy next to him, belatedly realizing it was Mickey Krause, whose eyes widened.
Poor kid, the nickname kinda fit him.
He had the potential to be a good player but was, well, quite frankly, a bit mousey. Connor was honestly surprised the kid didn’t squeak when someone bumped him out on the ice.
They ended the first period tied at 1-1 and they were barely a minute and a half into the second period when Evanston scored again, a quick snap from the faceoff from Hurst back to Theriault, who got off a shot from the blue line that slid right past Jesse’s blocker.
Connor winced at the way Jesse’s shoulders slumped, obvious even under his bulky pads as he sat there on his knees, staring down at the ice. Clearly blaming himself for missing it, despite the fact that few goalies would have—or even could have—made that save. But after a moment, Jesse stood, wiggling to shake it off, then skated a short little lap around his net before he got back into position.
Connor knew the feeling. He hadn’t gotten a single shot on goal tonight yet.
Thankfully, Boston managed to score again, this time on a shot from Krause.
“Good job, Mouse!” Connor shouted when Mickey took a seat next to him on the bench. He patted Mickey’s thigh again, relieved to have the game tied up at 2-2, and the kid gave him a weak smile.
Connor felt even better halfway through the second period when Graham Pennington got a short snapper into Evanston’s net, firing it in so fast Hajek had no time to react.
But Evanston retaliated a few minutes later, with Trevor Underhill getting a quick, hard shot in.
“C’mon, guys,” Connor shouted at his defensemen who were supposed to be helping Jesse out. “I need you to fucking defend the goddamn net!”
The game was going exactly like he’d expected. Quick back and forths, the score alternating with every goal that went in.
With three minutes left in the period, Anker got another goal on the power play.
At full strength again, Evanston quickly retaliated with a goal but Jesse immediately started hollering about interference and Hoyt raised a coach’s challenge. Connor went over the boards to deal with it.
“O’Shea was in my fucking paint,” Jesse argued when Connor skated up to him and the linesman. “I couldn’t defend my net!”
“I got shoved!” Kelly protested.
Connor snorted at his brother. “Right. And you accidentally tripped and landed on my goalie’s blocker.”
Looking irritated, the linesman waved both of them off. “The goal looked good to me. Unless your coach challenges it, we’re not reviewing the play.”
Connor scowled as the guy skated away to talk to the other linesman and the refs. Thankfully, Hoyt did call a coach’s challenge, so while the officials reviewed the play, Connor glanced over at Jesse. “How are you holding up?”
Jesse shrugged, sliding his mask back. His face was pink and sweaty, his hair matted to his forehead. “Fine. Your brother is annoying though.”
“Which one?” Connor muttered.
Jesse cackled. “The one playing.” He squirted some water in his mouth.
Connor managed a half-hearted smile. “They’re all annoying, if you ask me. Hey, by the way, do you wanna come to O’Neill’s tonight? I guess we’re doing a thing there.”
“Who? Your family?”
“Yeah.”
Jesse shot him a sidelong glance. “Why are you inviting me then?”
Connor shrugged. “Well, you’re practically family now. But the team is invited too.”
“Ahh. Sure. I’ll go if you want me to.”
“Why wouldn’t I want you to?” Connor asked, baffled. Everything was better when Jesse was around. Especially when he was dealing with his annoying family. They tended to focus on Jesse instead of pestering him .
But before Jesse could reply, the ref’s mic clicked on and the arena went silent. “After a review of the goal, it was determined there was no goaltender interference. The goal stands. Two-minute penalty to Boston for delay of game.”
“What the fuck?” Connor called out over the boos of the crowd, pissed that not only had it been ruled as a good goal, but they were getting the penalty for losing the challenge. “That’s bullshit!”
Jesse smacked his blocker on the ice, scowling.
But there was nothing to be done about it and Connor set up to take the next faceoff.
Despite a breakaway attempt and Connor’s best efforts, it was Evanston who scored next, a shot from Hurst at the blue line, and a tip in from Kelly that sailed neatly over Jesse’s shoulder.
Boston left the ice with the score at 5-4 in favor of Evanston when the second period ended.
Of course, the team’s reporters wanted an intermission interview with Connor. Annoyed, he mopped at his face, hot and sweaty and breathing hard as they shone bright lights in his eyes and thrust a microphone in his face.
“This is one of the closest games we’ve seen between Boston and Evanston in a while,” Jocelyn Yang said, smiling at him, all perfect white teeth and glossy black hair. “Why do you think that is?”
“Well, I think we’re pretty evenly matched,” Connor said because hello , that was fucking obvious. “And we’re both playing hard.”
“Do you think part of that is because your brother is on the team?” Jocelyn asked.
God, they did love their family rivalry angle.
“Well, it does add to it,” Connor admitted. “Kelly’s a great defenseman and he’s been a big piece of Evanston’s rebuild.”
“What do you think it’ll take for Boston to get a win tonight?”
More goals for us than them ? Connor thought, but tempted as he was to answer that way, he couldn’t . Not without getting himself in trouble with Tyson Short—their PR director. Not to mention Hoyt and Racine.
“I think we need to control the pace from the beginning, get the puck to the net more, and keep out of the penalty box,” he said aloud.
After a few more bullshit questions and some equally stupid answers on his part, Jocelyn finally let him go.
Connor spent the remainder of the time hydrating, checking on his teammates, and preparing for the next period.
“Okay,” he said, rising to his feet with a minute left until they needed to get out on the ice again. “I like a lot of what I’ve seen so far. We’re getting good chances and we need to keep it up. Play clean, stay out of the box, and let’s score a few more goals.”
The guys cheered.
“Oh, and before I forget, O’Neill’s Pub tonight. We’ve got a family thing.” He waved vaguely. “And there will probably be some Otters players there tonight. So let’s make them cry into their beer. Especially my brother.”
The team laughed.
“If we win, drinks are on that guy!” Jesse called out, pointing at Connor with two finger guns.
Another cheer went up and Connor scowled but nodded, because after that, he’d look like an asshole if he said no.
Across the room, Jesse’s eyes sparkled as he raked his damp hair off his forehead. The little shit, he knew exactly what he’d done.
The team rose to their feet, trooping out into the hall. Connor tapped shin pads and chest protectors as guys filed past him. He liked that Jesse was first out on the ice and he was last. It made him feel like they had this team taken care of from top to bottom.
Graham was a great guy, a great alternate, but he was quiet and fairly reserved. He was a good locker room guy because he was someone players could go to if they needed to talk. He did a good job arguing politely with refs without getting himself in trouble like Connor had done a few times in his career, a little too hot-headed when he got fired up.
But Graham wasn’t an energy guy. Crawford could be, but he wasn’t always consistent with it and he wasn’t really a role model.
Jesse filled that energy role well.
The third period was a grind. Both teams tore up and down the ice but their goaltenders were dialed in and the score remained 5-4, Evanston tenaciously holding on to their lead, Boston lagging behind in shots.
With three and a half minutes left in the third, Connor drove hard toward the Otters’ net, the puck on his stick, breathing hard when he got a shot off. Hajek lunged, diving to protect his goal, and the puck ricocheted off his pads, flying uselessly away where it was picked up by an Evanston player, none of Boston’s skaters anywhere near to catch the rebound.
A shift later, Anker fired the puck across the slot and over to Tanner, who tipped it in over Hajek’s pads, tucking it into the net. The goal horn sounded and the Boston players on the ice collided in a celly, happy to have to tied up the game at 5-5.
“Good play, good play,” Connor called out, holding out his glove when Tanner skated past, beaming.
But with just over a minute left in the game, Evanston poured the pressure on, peppering Jesse’s goal with shots.
Connor went out for his shift, desperate to keep the game from going into overtime, but the play remained in their defensive zone and when several players tangled in front of the net, Gabriel Theriault fired the puck at Jesse. Despite his best efforts to bat it out of the way, it slipped into the back of the net, just like the previous one.
Crawford’s frustration boiled over and he shoved at Theriault, causing him to topple back, and bump into Kelly, who went down on top of Jesse, who tried to shove him off. It quickly devolved into a mess of shoving and arguing.
“Stop fucking touching my goalie,” Connor roared, diving into the fray, striking out at anyone wearing the teal uniform with a snarling River Otter on front.
Connor got dragged out by a linesman, helmet askew and glove missing, and got sent to the box for his troubles.
He dabbed at his split lip with a towel as he stewed beside Crawford in the penalty box, pointedly ignoring heavily accented Quebecois chirps from Gabriel Theriault on the other side of the glass, gesturing emphatically, his hair a damp, tangled mess of dark strands clinging to his cheeks.
Unfortunately, the uneven penalties left the players on the ice at four on three and Evanston played keep-away with the puck for the remainder of the penalty.
When the game horn sounded, Evanston had won 6-5.
Connor glared at Kelly across the red line as they skated toward their respective tunnels.
Kelly grinned, calling out, “See you at O’Neill’s, losers!” with a wave of his stick.
Connor gritted his teeth.
Ugh . Brothers were the worst.