Breakaway

22. Pope

Chapter 22

Pope

I feel dead on my feet by the end of practice, but I somehow manage to put all my shit in a box in my head and lock it away for practice. Unfortunately, that leaves me emotionally exhausted when I take a seat in front of my stall and the box in my head unloads all at once. I have to put my head in my shaking hands for a moment as the sensation of being overwhelmed consumes me. It’s hard to breathe. If anyone is looking at me, I hope they think it’s because of my exertion on the ice. The last thing I fucking need right now is someone realizing I’m about to have a panic attack.

That’s what this is, right? A panic attack? It feels like panic. It feels like my head is too full and my chest is too tight. It feels like the air I’m bringing in is wrong somehow, like my lungs have decided to switch brands without consulting nature to make sure it can accommodate. Like the world isn’t safe for me anymore.

I have to get it together.

Anyone could see me right now. I’m hyperventilating, I can feel myself doing it. It’ll be obvious something is wrong.

What if Coach finds me and tells the Devils’ coach I’m fucked up? What if Hayden finds me and he figures out the secret?

Fuck, my parents are here. What if they see me? What if I can’t shake this off before they appear? What if they figure out my secret? What if, after a decade of fighting, I finally lose? Would my dad survive the blow to his heart?

“Pope?” A hand clamps down on the back of my neck, giving it a light squeeze. “Buddy, woah, fucking breathe.”

I suck in a sharp breath, feeling dizzy either from the previous lack of oxygen or the sudden rush of it. My head spins. The shaking in my hands gets worse.

“Pope,” Jules murmurs, a second hand appearing, this time on my shoulder. I can feel his presence looming over me like he’s hiding me from the rest of the room. “Breathe, man. Come on. You can do it. Just fucking breathe, eh?”

I breathe again and again until my body calms enough for me to realize just how dangerous a situation I’m in. My body considers panicking again, but I’m dead-tired after the first round. I don’t have it in me.

“Sorry.” I wipe a hand down my face before finally looking at Jules. His brows are pulled together with concern. Fuck . “I’m good. Sorry. I’m good, I’m fine.”

He huffs. “Dude, I play dumb for people’s entertainment, but I’m actually pretty fucking smart. You’re not good or fine, brosy. Haven’t been since you moved into my apartment.”

I don’t know what it is. If it’s the talk from Coach or the exhaustion or the lingering panic or maybe even the realization that I have no hope of surviving this day if I do it alone and he’s my safest ally, but whatever it is, I drop my guard and tell my roommate—my friend, maybe even my best friend—“No. I haven’t been.”

“Okay.” Jules puts his hands on his hips, nodding. He looks like he’s ready to take charge. It makes me want to smile, but my body is too wiped out to do it. “We aren’t going to be able to fix that right now, I’m assuming. So what do you need from me at this moment? What can I do, man?”

“Just—buy me time. I need time.” I suck in another breath. It feels good in my chest, some of the ache leaving. “I’m gonna shower and pull myself together. I can shake this off. I’ve had to do it before. But my parents and Hayden, I—I just need some time.”

He grins. “Buying time. Consider it handled. I’ve got your back, brosy.”

I’m about halfway through my shower when I realize I’ve possibly made a huge mistake. I may not have told Jules my secret in its entirety, but I showed him enough. Especially considering he really isn’t as dumb as he acts, just like he said.

Thankfully, the panic I feel at this realization is more manageable. It’s less of a debilitating panic and more of a get shit done panic. I’m dressed and entering the main hallway in less than five minutes, my damp hair tucked under my ball cap. Jules isn’t waiting for me right outside with my parents like I expected, but I can hear his deep laughter coming from the direction of the ice. I head that way, working on my expression as I walk.

By the time I find them standing with Coach at the end of the tunnel that leads to the ice, my smile is firmly fixed into place.

My mom lights up when she sees me. My dad, Jules, and Coach turn toward me right after. I laugh as she drags me into a tight hug like she didn’t just see me a few hours ago. I wrap an arm around her waist, holding her close as I inhale the scent of home on her. “Hey, Mom.”

“Hey! We saw the end of your practice. I swear, every time I see you on ice, you’re better than ever. How do you do that?”

Keenly aware of Coach just a foot away, I pick my words carefully. “I’ve been trying. The play at this level is harder than I expected, but I’m working my ass off, promise.”

“I know you are.” She pats my cheek. I pull away with an embarrassed groan that would make a teenager proud. “Now, I want a tour and to meet your friends. I already got to talk to your coach.”

I look over her shoulder and jokingly wince. “Whatever she said, don’t believe her.”

“Oh, shut up!” she teases, hitting me in the chest.

“It was all good things,” Coach promises. “And I told her how proud she should be of you.”

And here I go again, on this emotional fucking rollercoaster of a day. “Thank you, Coach.”

“Friends!” my mom urges. “I want to meet your friends!”

“Some might have already left, but let’s see who we can track down,” Jules says. “I know for a fact Kirkland is still around. He’s the slowest motherf—” he stops himself when my mom gives him a look, his cheeks turning pink. “Sorry, ma’am.”

“Wow. I’ve been trying to perfect a look like that for years.” Coach shakes his head, releasing a low, impressed whistle. “You’re going to have to teach me that, Mrs. Pope.”

I shake my head, but I’m laughing. “Please don’t. It’s bad enough from one of you.”

“Come on.” Jules drapes an arm around my shoulders and turns us back toward the locker room. “Let’s go find people to introduce her to before they start collaborating against us.”

“At least call in there and make sure everyone is decent!” Coach yells at our backs. “Your poor mother doesn’t need to be exposed to any of that.”

“I mean, I’d survive,” my mom mumbles, making my dad chuckle, Jules shoot her a wink, and me groan again. Once we’re a few more steps from Coach though, she adds, “Can we see Hayden, too?”

The tightness in my chest returns as I’m reminded of tonight’s schedule. My emotional rollercoaster isn’t even near done yet. And it’s only going to get harder with Hayden added in. He’s always been way too good at seeing through my bullshit. Unlike with everyone else, I’m going to have to put the act of my damn life on for him to buy it.

Can’t I just go back to last night, the two of us naked, all fucked out and happy, gorging on pizza and laughing?

Noticing my smile faded, I fix it into something bright and put some excitement in my voice. “Yeah, of course we can see Hayden.”

Jules handles most of the tour, always happy for an excuse to talk and showboat. It helps matters since everyone is friends with him, making it not as weird when he introduces my parents to people in such a friendly manner. I’m pretty sure most of the guys would have looked at me like I had grown a second head if I’d acted all buddy-buddy with them.

We make our way through the players’ lounge—encountering most of our third and fourth lines watching tape, our backup goalie eating a small feast, and Lafferty taking a nap that we don’t dare wake him from. We find Kirkland in the shooting room where he gives Jules endless shit for not being in there with him before talking my parents’ ears off in a way that makes me sound like I’m actually a part of their dynamic duo.

After that, we show them the dressing room. My mom dissolves into a fit of happiness at the sight of my stall, filling her phone with pictures taken from multiple angles of the small space before insisting I stand in front of it, then sit in it, then Jules join me in front of it, then my dad, then Jules takes a picture of me, her, and Dad, then a selfie with all four of us, then a picture of just me and her. Then she sees Jules’s stall and jumps into a whole new photoshoot, Jules of course eating it up with sly grins and a ridiculous amount of peace signs.

By the time we reach the AT room, I’m almost relieved. My face hurts from all the smiling and my energy is zapped from trying to think of things to say and do that would exude happiness. The relief is short-lived though because Hayden has always been the best at seeing through me. Today, with my parents here, Hayden isn’t a sanctuary. He’s an obstacle.

“A secret,” my mom murmurs just behind me. I realize I’ve stopped in the doorway, blocking the rest of them from entering as I stand frozen. “We remember, honey.”

I swallow hard and nod, knowing it’s safer to pretend that’s the issue. “Okay.”

Hayden is working with Bear as we walk in, seeming to be testing his wrist to make sure it’s still healing well despite Bear’s insistence on playing with it. He doesn’t look over at us, his sole focus on his patient, but the other guys in the room all immediately lock onto us newcomers. Knut calls out from where he’s stretching out on the corner mat while Wilson waves from an ice bath. Mikhail Petrov, our slightly-clueless, but hardworking Russian we just picked up a few days ago, pauses stuffing a protein bar into his mouth to slur a hello.

It could be worse, as far as pretend friends go. With how well things went with Kirkland and the others not giving away that I’ve barely said more than ten words to them since arriving here, I might actually pull this whole charade off.

It helps that Knut is friendly to anyone he comes across, Wilson takes his role as captain too seriously to ever miss an opportunity to bond, and Petrov doesn’t know English well enough to say a bad thing about me even if he wanted to.

By the time we’ve made our way through Knut and Petrov, Hayden has finished up with Bear. I can feel his eyes on us as he pretends to clean up. Catching him spray his stomach instead of the table because he’s so distracted is enough to have me smiling for real.

“I appreciate you waiting until I was done being tortured,” Wilson jokes as he shakes my parents hands. “No one wants to make nice while in an ice bath.”

Hayden uses that as his excuse to interrupt. “Pope knows that better than anyone. You’re a grump in those, aren’t you?”

“Pope’s always a grump,” Jules teases. It’s just him being his usual self—and it’s not like he’s wrong—but I still feel the words like a hit to my gut. I immediately look over at my parents, analyzing their faces. They’re both laughing. Thank God.

“Try getting him to drink tart cherry juice and you’ll see a whole new level,” Hayden warns everyone.

Wilson makes a face. “No offense, Hayden, but we all hate that shit.”

“Thank you!” I give Hayden a cheeky grin. “See? No one likes it.”

“See how much I care?” Hayden asks as he reaches over to grab a bottle from the drink shelf. Wait— ah, shit . Two bottles. He grabs two .

He hands one to Wilson, who takes it with a pout but no verbal complaint, then offers the other to me. It’s unfair how he raises his brow when I hesitate. Unfair because it works , but also unfair because it makes my damn cock hard and my parents are standing right there.

I snatch the bottle and shift on my feet, hoping to get my cock to settle in my shorts.

“Wow, you’re whipped,” Jules teases once Wilson has walked away in defeat with his juice.

My face burns.

As punishment, I grab another bottle and shove it into Jules’s chest. He’s not brave enough to argue.

“Are we ready to go?” my mom asks.

All aboard the emotional rollercoaster everyone—next stop, a fucking restaurant.

We use Jules as a guide for a good place to eat since he’s been in the area longest. He brings us to a homestyle restaurant downtown. It’s a cool little place with local pictures and historical bits of information scattered on the walls among lake-related decor. We’re seated at a table beneath a chandelier made of what looks to be sea glass, our wall decor focused on a shipwreck from 1975. The dramatic side of me can’t help but see the irony. Maybe this isn’t an emotional rollercoaster. Maybe it’s a damn shipwreck.

Everyone gather around to watch a live showing of The Wreck of Ethan Pope.

At least Hayden is next to me, my parents across from us and Jules seated at the end of the table. His hand just above my knee is warm and grounding as my mind spins up all the ways this meal could end in disaster. Goddamn, I’m already so fucking exhausted.

Jules helps too, not so much with my mental state but by stimulating the conversation. If there’s one thing Jules can kick ass at besides a wicked backhand, it’s entertaining people. He walks my parents through a colorful story of his childhood through college, making my mom laugh so hard she snorts when he tells an anecdote about his first professional hockey practice going awry. Then he’s pulling stories from them, wanting to know about their jobs and egging my dad on as he complains about the asshole next door who he has an unspoken battle with every year for best Christmas decorations—think Betty Lou Who and Martha May, but make one a devoted Republican and the other an unapologetic Democrat.

Eventually, it turns to Hayden.

“What are your holiday plans?” my mom asks, which I don’t mind too much, considering I wouldn’t mind knowing that either.

Hayden—who has looked delighted by everything he’s heard so far—swallows the food in his mouth before giving my mom his answer. “I’ll be sticking around here for Thanksgiving, since we have a game on Friday. I promised my mom I’d be home for Christmas, though. She basically lives for the holiday. She’s one of the organizers of the winter market in the French Quarter now that she’s retired. She’s been doing a booth there since I was young, selling holiday decorations. She’s actually been honored in a few magazines for her fanals.”

He digs in his pocket for his phone, pulling it out and tapping on it for a few seconds before showing the table a picture of what seems to be a ridiculously intricate lantern-house. My mom gasps. “Oh, that’s lovely!”

“Isn’t it?” He grins, all proud and excited, and I fall a little more in love with him. “She and my dad live off their retirement, but her decorations fund all of their travels. She spends all year making them. My dad jokes he’s her personal assistant and errand boy.”

My dad laughs. “Well, is he?”

“Oh, totally. It took her years, but he’s fully trained now. He’s even trusted to go to the craft store for her now. He never gets the wrong thing anymore.”

“That’s what Pope needs,” Jules teases. “Lots of years of practice at the grocery store.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m getting better.”

“Exactly. Practice .”

“It’s not his fault,” my dad defends, giving me a sympathetic look before wrapping an arm around my mom. “Grace took one look at the shopping carriage Pope and I had filled with junk and all but demanded she cook us dinner—all before I even knew her name.”

“There were more cookies and frozen pizzas than anything else,” she defends. “And the carriage was full .”

I feel Hayden’s hand twitch beneath mine. I don’t realize why until it’s too late. “I’m sorry, I hadn’t realized—so, you’re Pope’s stepmom, then?”

Quiet falls over the table for a long moment. I swallow hard, but the sudden tightness in my throat doesn’t seem to be willing to go away.

I can feel both of my parents looking at me. I can’t get myself to look back.

“We’re very new,” I say, trying not to sound defensive. “We hadn’t really gotten to the family talk yet.”

“I’m sorry,” Hayden says quickly. “I shouldn’t have asked. That was rude of me to just—”

“It’s alright,” my dad says, cutting Hayden off. “It’s nothing any of us are ashamed of. As Pope said, he just hadn’t gotten around to explaining.”

Actually, I had sort of hoped I’d get away without ever telling him, considering it’s a huge fucking piece of my puzzle.

“Hayden’s mom battled severe depression most of her life.” No. Oh, no. Dad, don’t— “She did the best she could.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Hayden says softly.

Jules nods. “I’m sorry too.”

My dad thanks them both, smiling as he does.

I can feel Hayden looking at me now. Jules too. And my mom.

And now my dad.

They’re waiting for me to say something, that much is obvious. Fucking hell, I don’t talk about this. Ever.

“Mom— Grace— and my dad met when I was eight.” I can hear the and? that every person at the table seems to be thinking. “She’s as much of a mom to me as anything. She’s only my stepmom on paper.”

That much is easy to say at least. It’s the truth. Grace is my mom. My second mom, yes, but that doesn’t make her any lesser.

At least she chose to stay with you, the mean, dark voice of my depression whispers in my head.

I haven’t had intrusive thoughts like that in a while.

Fuck, this is getting bad.

“Well, I’m very glad they found you then, Grace,” Hayden says. His hand on me tightens. I think it’s supposed to be comforting or reassuring, but it just reminds me of the pressure building in my chest. Reminds me that he has another clue—the biggest fucking clue—to my secret now.

Mom smiles. “I’m glad, too. Otherwise they’d still probably be living on Oreos and frozen pizza.”

Her teasing manages to lighten the mood, making everyone laugh and relax.

Everyone but me.

If it was possible to disappear if you wished for it hard enough, I’d be gone. A ship overtaken by waves in a storm. People could buy tickets to go diving to my wreckage as a tourist destination. Look at the guy who could have had it all—an idiot who ruined his dreams, let down his loved ones, and couldn’t survive an awkward meal. See where he’s buried at sea among his many secrets. Find the spaghetti he never finished for a prize from the gift shop!

“So what you’re saying is, there’s a way for me to cure my loneliness and buy a cart full of junk food all at once?” Jules jokes. “I’m in. Pope, I call shopping for the rest of the season. You can just handle the cooking from now on.”

My dad guffaws, putting a hand to his chest. “Oh, man. Have you had him cook for you yet?”

“No, actually.” Jules tilts his head. “Not a good idea?”

“That’s putting it mildly.”

“Hey!” I say defensively. “I… hold my own.”

“Hold your own drink on the opposite side of the room,” my mom corrects, though she’s giving me her sympathetic, loving smile she always gives when my dad is jerking my chain. “We can’t forget what happened last Thanksgiving, right?”

I groan. “Mom, don’t tell that story.”

She puts her hands up. “I won’t, I won’t.”

“Oh, come on!” Jules begs at the same time Hayden says, “Well, now, wait a minute!”

They all laugh.

I fix my face into a smile and make a similar sound to laughter.

I’m so very tired.

Can we leave yet? I look around at everyone’s plates. They’re about halfway done. I look down at mine, wincing. Maybe I can pretend my stomach hurts? That could be an excuse for the food and an excuse to get away from them all sooner so I can lie down before the game.

“Oh, shoot! Speaking of Thanksgiving, I should have brought my apple pie for you, honey! This will be your first one without it!”

I shake my head. “It would have made a mess, mom.”

“True. Well, I could have at least brought the recipe. Maybe I can make it at your place before I leave!”

“We’re leaving in the morning, babe,” my dad reminds her with a patient smile. “But he’ll be okay without it.”

My mom sighs, then lights right back up as she’s hit with a new idea. “Oh, I’ll send you the recipe when I get home and you can make it!”

“Ethan?” my dad, Hayden, and Jules all say incredulously.

Rude .

My mom laughs, which is ruder . “No, no. I suppose not.”

“Maybe I could make it?” Hayden asks. His hand on my leg shifts a little, almost like he’s unsure. I look over to find that his smile is nervous. Damn, that’s adorable. “I doubt it’d be as good as you make it, ma’am, but I can hold my own. It’d be nice for Ethan to have a little bit of home for the holiday.”

Ah, man.

Emotional rollercoaster-shipwreck of Ethan Pope, here we go again.

I put my hand over his and squeeze it. “I’ll help.”

“ Watch ,” my dad says with a ridiculous fake cough.

“ Watch ,” I correct with a roll of my eyes. “And keep you company.”

Hayden grins at me, his usually dark brown eyes bright in the chandelier’s light. “I’d love that.”

I’d love it too. I really would.

I just wish I could feel that way, instead of only knowing it logically.

God, I’m so fucking sick of being depressed.

I always thought I’d kick ass the first time my parents came to watch me play in the pros.

I most definitely do not kick ass. I don’t fall apart like I have in past games, but I don’t do anything impressive either. I’m mostly just a body out on the ice, getting in the way of the opposing team and tipping the puck in the general direction of my teammates. We scrape by with a win, mostly due to Knut shutting the other team out. We all give him the attention he’s due at the end of the game until he mumbles a flustered, “Enough, enough,” and scurries off to the locker room to steep in his pleased embarrassment.

It’s almost enough to have me smiling.

At least my parents expect me to be exhausted after a game, not blinking an eye at me when I appear with a tired smile and heavy-lidded eyes. They congratulate me on the win as I walk them out to their car, not even mentioning that I didn’t play very well before telling me I should go home. They need to get rest for their early flight, anyway. I try not to act relieved as I hug them both, twice each, and let my mom pepper my face with kisses.

“You’ll be home for Christmas?” she asks, despite the tickets already being purchased months ago.

“I’ll be home for Christmas. Promise.”

“And you’ll bring Hayden,” she adds, fixing the strings of my hoodie like that’ll make the statement less bossy. “And Jules, if he’d like.”

I don’t point out that she didn’t say if he’d like for Hayden, as if she expects me to just kidnap the man. There’s a good chance that’s exactly what she expects. “I’ll do my best.”

“You always do.” She gives me a final squeeze before stepping away with tear-filled eyes. “I really am proud of you, Ethan.”

“And now you’ve got her crying,” my dad says fondly. He gives me another hug too. He acts tough, but his eyes are definitely damp. “Go home and get some sleep. We love you, son.”

“Love you guys.”

It’s too cold outside to wait without the keys to Jules’s car, but the thought of going back into the arena to track him down feels daunting. Especially since there’s a very good chance he’s getting his shoulder looked at by the one man I should really avoid after today. That man has been starving his desire to know my secrets for weeks, ever since I made him promise to stop, and today my parents fed him platefuls. He’s going to be a hound with a scent now, I can just feel it.

I pull my phone out, debating the merits of texting Jules that I got another ride and just walking the few blocks home. It’s not like I’d freeze, it’d just be a little chilly.

Or, like, a lot chilly.

But not frozen.

Except I have a text waiting for me.

Hayden: Wait for me tonight?

Last night, the words would have ignited a fire in my gut. In my cock.

Tonight, they make my lips twitch toward a smile, but the rest of me is so goddamn exhausted I can barely imagine myself walking back in there to do as he asked.

“Yo, Pope.”

I look up to find Jules and Kirkland standing together a few feet away, their heads turned in curiosity. They look exactly like the peas in a pod that they are.

“I’m giving Kirkland a lift. You coming?”

I glance at the doors behind them, wavering a bit on my feet. I picture Hayden’s disappointed face when he realizes I’m not spending the night with him.

Then I picture his curious face when he lies beside me in bed tonight and peppers me with questions.

“Pope, man, you good?” Kirkland asks with an awkward laugh.

“Yeah. Yes. Fine.” I flinch, remembering that Jules is now as aware about my false fines as Hayden is. Maybe even more so, since I’ve never made admissions to Hayden in the same way I did earlier today with Jules.

I glance at Jules.

He raises an eyebrow.

Fuck my life—I’m surrounded by all-too-knowing, caring assholes.

“Let’s just go.”

Jules hesitates, but then climbs into the vehicle. I take the back seat, not in the mood for their music and chatter. I can feel Jules glancing at me in the rearview, his worry palpable, but I ignore him.

When we get to the apartment building, I’m about to get out when Jules says, “Not you, Pope.”

Kirkland pauses, glancing over his shoulder at me with a frown before turning a questioning look on Jules. Jules nods toward the building with his chin. “Go on. Don’t be nosey.”

With an eye roll and a grumbled, “Not nosey,” Kirkland heaves his bag over his shoulder and climbs out. I look out my window as the seconds tick by, ignoring when the door slams closed. My heart is a jackhammer in my chest. I knew I shouldn’t have let him in. I’m such a fucking idiot.

Instead of talking to me like I expected, the car lurches forward. I finally look into the rearview mirror, finding his attention on the road. I almost don’t have the energy to ask, but my curiosity wins. “Where are you going?”

“To Hayden’s.” He flicks his gaze up to the mirror for just a second, but it’s long enough for me to see this isn’t up for discussion. This is happening.

“Do you even know where he lives?”

“Yup.” He pulls up to a stop sign, the roads completely deserted this time of night. His eyes find mine in the mirror again. “You need him, Pope. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I know that much. So, I’m hand-delivering you to him.”

“He’s not even home yet.”

“I’ll wait.”

I groan. “You don’t have to fucking wait . I don’t need to be babysat.”

“Man.” He shakes his head, taking his foot off the brake and starting to drive again. “Like I said, I don’t know what’s going on, but I know I’m sure as fuck not leaving you alone right now. You’re not okay—you said it yourself.”

“I—” don’t have an argument for that…

“That’s what I thought.” He turns onto Hayden’s road, squinting at the buildings like he maybe doesn’t actually know where Hayden lives. Whoever divulged the information to him must not have given him quality details.

I’m almost a dick, but I don’t have the energy it would take. “It’s two more down.”

“I know,” he says, though it’s clear he did not in fact know.

We park, but he doesn’t move to get out like before. I almost make a joke about us having a third surprise destination, but when he fully turns to look me in the eye, all humor dissolves.

“Pope, bro, we’re family, you hear me? You and me, man. I don’t care if you get pulled or I get pulled or one of us is traded. I don’t care that you can be a grumpy asshole and suck at grocery shopping and sometimes sleep so long I’m seriously considering you’re secretly a vampire. I’m here for you. Always.”

My eyes burn, my throat squeezing tight. I curl my hands together in my lap to hide that they’re shaking.

He knows.

Maybe not exactly, but he fucking knows.

And he’s saying it’s okay—he’s saying he’s here for me, just like I know Hayden probably would.

“Don’t tell Kirkland,” is all I can say, which is another example of me being a fucking asshole because a heartfelt speech like that deserved something more in return.

But my secret is all I have left. It’s the last thing I’m clinging to.

“I love that kid, man, but I’m a steel fucking trap when shit is serious. Gossiping about who went home with someone from the bar or who hit the tequila too hard and pissed himself is one thing. This is another.” He rubs a hand across his jawline, his eyes falling to the side. “I promised myself I’d never ask you about training camp. I won’t now. But if that’s related to what’s going on now, I’m still here for you, okay? Whatever happened, whatever is happening now, doesn’t change anything.”

I just stare at him, not understanding. “But… why?”

“Other than the fact that it’s just the decent fucking thing to do?” He looks at me again. There’s something different about him. About his eyes. Sad, I realize. He’s sad . Fuck, I didn’t know Jules had that particular emotion in him. He’s practically the spokesperson for happy-go-lucky. “I’ve been there, Pope. Maybe not where you are, not exactly, but close enough. And my brother being there for me is the only reason I survived it.”

“Fuck, man, that’s—I’m really sorry.”

“It’s alright. I’m in a good place now. Really good, most days.” He shrugs, giving me one of his easy smiles. “Which means I’m in a good enough place to help you out. And when we get you into a better place, you can pay it forward with someone else one day.”

I manage a smile then, the idea that I might one day be healthy enough mentally to help someone else lighting a surprising spark inside me. I never really pictured getting better. I’ve always just been focused on survival. What would my life be like if I got the help I need?

I shove the wistful thoughts down before they can take hold. The what-ifs don’t matter because I’ll never risk it. Even now, this conversation, is probably too far.

“I’m sorry I’ve been an asshole.”

He smirks. “It’s all good. Trust me, if you stick around long enough you’ll see I have an asshole side, too.”

“I’ll be around for good,” I say with another small smile. “No matter where our careers send us—that’s what you said, right?”

His smirk twists into a full-on grin. “Yeah, man. Fuck yeah. You and me, brother.”

“You and me.”

“Now come on. You think Hayden’s the kind of guy to leave his apartment unlocked?”

I snort, shaking my head. “Not a chance. But I’m a nosey fucker who watched him do his code when he brought me here, so we can get in anyway.”

“Nosey fuckers for the win.” He turns the car off and starts getting out. “Leave your bag. I’ll bring it home for you.”

I join him near the bumper before grabbing his jacket by the extra fabric at the elbow. He pauses, raising an eyebrow.

“I just—” I swallow, my mind feeling thick with too many thoughts and wary exhaustion. I could lie down right here and sleep for a week. But this is important. He’s been a good bro—the fucking best, really—and he deserves this. “Thank you.”

His grin returns as he slings his arm around my shoulders and steals my hat off my head to place it lopsided on his own. “Anytime, brosy. Any-fucking-time.”