Chapter 3
CARTER
“So then she asks me if I know any NBA players because she’s never really been big into ice,” my brother says from the bench beside me. He tugs his practice jersey over his head and tosses it into a laundry bin at the center of the room.
In every locker room, on every team we’ve played for, Theo and I have always been in neighboring stalls, our jerseys hanging side by side, the same last name printed across the back.
I can’t complain. I love the guy. But sometimes, I wonder what it might be like to sit opposite him instead.
To be friends with my teammates as an individual and not as part of a matched set.
Theo scoffs before continuing. “Like being a pro athlete means I’m supposed to have a bunch of other pro athletes programmed into my phone.”
I let out a chuckle and toss a ball of tape into the trash can at the center of the room. “What did you tell her?”
“That the sports world doesn’t work like that,” Theo says. “It’s not like we’re all in one big club.”
“Sure we are,” Fly says from across the room. “Haven’t you gotten your invite yet?”
“I got mine,” I say to Theo. “You didn’t? Sad. Probably because you can’t stop hitting the pole this season.”
“And yet, I’ve still scored more goals than you,” Theo says.
“One goal,” I say. “You’ve scored one more goal than me. And the season isn’t over yet.”
Theo smirks. “For either of us.” He stands and drops the last of his gear onto the bench of his stall.
Once we’ve all cleared out, the equipment managers will be by to collect everything and get it onto drying racks.
I have no idea how they manage to deal with how notoriously foul hockey gear smells, but I definitely think the equipment team are the unsung heroes of our sport.
“I’m going to shower,” Theo says. “Don’t talk about anything good without me.”
“Are you coming to the Cave tonight?” Fly asks his retreating form.
“We’ll be there,” Theo says as he walks away.
We. Like it’s a foregone conclusion if one of us goes, the other will too.
I lift my pads over my head, feeling a slight strain just above my left shoulder blade. I shift, trying to stretch out the muscle, and wonder why it irritates me that Theo answered for me.
It’s not that I mind going to the Cave. It’s a great bar with solid food and a chill vibe.
And it would honestly be weird if Fly invited one of us but not the other.
But the whole scene has been making me tired lately.
The pressure of trying to meet people. The expectations connected to my job.
The last few times we’ve gone out, I’ve found myself feeling lonely even though I’m sitting among friends in a room full of people.
Then there’s the stuff that comes with being a twin.
Most of the time, when women meet us both, it’s Theo they end up preferring. I’m the nice twin, but he’s more fun.
Except, not with Sarah.
When I met Miles’s sister at our team dinner last week, she didn’t seem at all interested in talking to Theo. Despite sitting with us both through all of dinner, it was me she talked to the most.
When I left her in the pantry, I almost asked for her number. And I’ve stopped myself from asking Miles if he’ll give it to me a dozen times since.
But she’s leaving, and that feels like a good reason not to start something.
Then again, I play professional hockey, which means I could also be leaving at any point. At least during trade season. If I never started anything because I might end up having to move, I’d be alone the rest of my life.
My efforts do little to lessen the ache shooting up my trap muscles, so I move into the treatment room and climb into the ice bath to soak before I shower. Theo will have to wait on me, but he’s used to it. We’ve been waiting on each other for years.
We don’t always ride to practice together, depending on what we have planned for the rest of the day, but my car is in the shop, so I caught a ride with him this morning.
Easy enough since we live in the same building in Midtown, on opposite sides of the top floor.
He’s got a great view of Grant Park, but I think I snagged the better apartment.
On a clear day, I can see all the way to Stone Mountain.
Theo and I aren’t the only set of brothers in the NHL. We aren’t even the only brothers on the same team. But as far as I know, we are the only twins.
Even if it seems lucky we landed on the same team, it’s not truly that surprising, considering our roles as defensemen.
We skate best when we’re skating together, so we’ve been a defensive pairing on every team we’ve played for.
First in junior hockey, then for the Appies, the minor league team where we landed after the draft, and now the Jaguars, our home for the last six years.
We’ve got two years left on our eight-year contract, and I think we’ll both extend if given the opportunity.
We like Atlanta. But more than that, we like playing together.
Theo is as much my best friend as he is my brother.
Still, I think, as I lower myself more fully into the frigid ice bath, it might do us some good to establish a little autonomy. We play on the same team. Live in the same building. Have all the same friends.
Across the therapy room, a door opens, and Nico, one of our trainers, steps inside. He looks at me and pauses. “Theo? Wait. No. Carter.”
“It’s been six years, Nico,” I say dryly. “It shouldn’t still be this hard.”
“It’s easier when you’re in street clothes,” Nico says. “In here, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to tell.”
Miles appears behind Nico, still wearing all his gear. “Carter’s hair is always shorter,” he says. “Plus his eyes are a lighter shade of blue. And he smiles more.”
Nico looks at the Jaguars’ team captain, his expression mirroring my own surprise. But Miles only shrugs. “What? You don’t get to be captain by ignoring the little things.”
“Fair point,” Nico says. He looks back at me. “Are you going to need anything else?”
I’m tempted to ask for a little bit of muscle work on my shoulder, but Theo will already have to wait for me, so I shake my head no instead. “Nah, I’m good. Just the soak for today.”
He nods, then looks over at Miles. “You? Anything hurting?”
Miles motions up and down his broad body.
“I feel as good as I look.” Nico rolls his eyes, but I can’t help but smile.
Miles’s swagger is a part of his charm, and his confidence is what makes him such a good captain.
He shifts his gaze over to me. “I do need you. You have time to talk after your shower?”
I sit up a little taller, sloshing the icy water around my shoulders. “Sure. You want Theo too?” Most of the time, team stuff relates to both of us as much as it relates to one of us, and I can’t really think of something Miles would need me for that doesn’t involve Theo.
But the captain shakes his head no. “Just you. Did you ride together? I can give you a ride home if you need it. This might take a minute.”
A knot of trepidation tightens right behind my ribs. The first stupid thought that pops into my head is that Miles knows I’ve been thinking about his sister.
Could he know?
I haven’t even told Theo I wanted to ask her out, though he’s observant enough, he might have picked up on it at the team dinner.
But what else could it be?
“A ride would be great,” I say. “I’ll tell Theo.”
Miles nods. “Good. Talk to you in a bit.”
I hurry through my shower a little faster than I might after a typical practice, not wanting to keep Miles waiting. As soon as I’m dressed, I shoot Theo a text—he’s probably in the dining room for our post-practice meal—to tell him not to wait for me after he’s finished.
He texts back a row of question marks, but I don’t have an explanation to give him, so I close out the thread and go in search of my captain.
I’m halfway down the hallway, heading toward the dining room, when he appears in the darkened doorway of Coach Kimzey’s office.
He’s dressed just like I am, in joggers and a navy Jaguars pullover.
He fills his out a little better. I’ve probably got an inch of height on Miles, but he’s a solid six inches broader than I am. He comes by his nickname naturally.
He tilts his head into the office. “Coach said we can talk in here.”
Another pulse of nerves pushes through me, Sarah’s brown eyes flashing through my mind. I really have no clue what he could want, but I can’t shake the feeling it has something to do with her.
Did he see me talking to her? Maybe he saw me go into the pantry and knew she was already inside?
“Is everything okay?” I ask as I follow him into the room.
To my surprise, he doesn’t turn on the light. The wall between the hallway and the office is made of frosted glass, so we aren’t completely in the dark, but unless someone was really looking, I doubt anyone passing by would notice us in here.
“Everything’s good,” Miles says. “Great. You want to sit?” He motions toward the leather couch and matching chair sitting at the back of the office.
This whole encounter feels so ominous, I can’t even pretend to relax and just go with it. “I think I want you to tell me what this is about,” I say instead, though I do sit, taking the seat on the couch perpendicular to his chair.
He runs a hand across his face. “I’m getting to it,” he says. “But you shouldn’t look so stressed. You aren’t in trouble.”
I hear Miles’s words well enough, but something about his demeanor makes me think I shouldn’t trust him. For a guy who handles the stress of high-intensity hockey games multiple times a week, he seems particularly nervous.
Maybe more nervous than I’ve ever seen him. Is he in trouble somehow? I read an article the other day about an NFL player who racked up enough gambling debt to wipe out two years’ worth of salary. I don’t think Miles is a gambler, but I guess a man can have his secrets.
“If I’m not in trouble, then why are you looking at me like you’re about to ask for one of my kidneys?”