Chapter 32 Beers and Bros
Beers and Bros
brOOKS
The Barrel House greets me with its sticky floors, dim lights, and the unmistakable smell of spilled hops.
We like it here because the locals know us and don’t ask for autographs.
I spot Jonah in our usual corner booth, already nursing a beer, his expression unreadable.
He’s in Boise because his team plays mine tomorrow.
My chest tightens.
This isn’t just any beer with my oldest friend—this is the conversation that could either salvage what’s left of our friendship or burn it to the ground. I take a deep breath and remind myself that I’ve taken hits on the ice that hurt worse than this conversation might. Probably.
He sees me approaching and straightens up, his shoulders tensing. Not a great sign. But he doesn’t immediately get up and leave, which, given the circumstances, I’m counting as a win.
“Kingston,” he says.
“Holt.” I slide into the booth across from him. The vinyl seat squeaks.
The silence stretches between us, thick and uncomfortable. I resist the urge to fill it with excuses or explanations. Instead, I signal the bartender, a burly guy with a beard that could house wildlife.
“Your usual?” he calls over.
“Yeah, thanks,” I answer, grateful for the interruption.
Jonah stares at his half-empty glass, tracing a pattern in the condensation with his thumb. “So,” he says finally.
The bartender appears with my IPA, sliding it across the table. I wait until he’s gone before responding. I take a sip, the bitter hops matching the mood. “I owe you an explanation.”
“You owe Sydney an explanation,” Jonah corrects, his voice hard. “What you owe me is a time machine so I can go back and stop myself from ever introducing you two.”
That stings, but it’s fair. More than fair, considering what I’ve put Sydney through. What I’ve put all of us through.
A group of college guys erupts in laughter at the bar, the sound jarring. For a moment, I’m transported back to when Jonah and I were them—young, carefree, convinced we were invincible. Before shoulder injuries and family lies complicated everything.
“I meant my vow to you, Holt.” I sigh. “No sisters, no exes, no teammates’ girlfriends. The sacred bro code.” I take another sip of liquid courage. “I never thought I’d break it. Never wanted to. And then...”
“And then Maisie failed to mention she went into remission and coaxed you two into playing house,” Jonah finishes for me. “I know the whole fucked-up situation.”
I wince. “It sounds worse when you say it out loud.”
Jonah shakes his head, but there’s a hint of dark humor in his eyes now. “Your grandmother, man. She’s no joke.”
That startles a laugh out of me, the tension cracking a bit.
“It didn’t start real,” I say. “But it became real. So real that it terrified me.”
Before Jonah can respond, a server approaches our table—not our usual bartender, but a woman with bottle-blond hair and a smile that’s trying too hard. She leans forward, practically thrusting her cleavage at me.
“Can I get you boys anything else?” Her eyes never leave my face. “Another round? Some wings? My number?”
The last part comes with a wink.
“Just the check, thanks.” I don’t even glance at the paper she’s already sliding toward me.
She pouts but moves away, her exit as theatrical as her entrance. I push the paper with her number to the side, already forgotten.
Jonah stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. “Did you just... ignore a hot woman openly hitting on you?”
“I did.”
“The Brooks Kingston I know would’ve at least smiled back. Probably taken her number even if you never intended to use it.” His eyes narrow. “You all right?”
“Maybe I grew up.”
“Or maybe,” Jonah says slowly, studying my face, “you really do have feelings for my sister.”
“Remember that game against Seattle?” I change tactics. “Junior year, state semifinals?”
Jonah’s expression puzzles, a reluctant spark in his eyes. “When you took that slap shot to the chest protecting my weak side?”
I nod, unconsciously rubbing the spot where the puck left a bruise that lingered for weeks. “Doctor said I was lucky it didn’t crack my sternum.”
“Bonehead Brooks.” His tone softens. “Could’ve let it go; we were up by two, anyway.”
“Never let anything go when it comes to protecting my team.” I hold his gaze. “Or the people I care about.”
Jonah snorts, but it lacks the edge from earlier. “Is this your roundabout way of saying you care about my sister?”
“No.” I set my glass down. “This is my direct way of saying I’m in love with her.”
The words hang in the air, simple and true. I’ve never said them aloud before, but they feel right.
Jonah’s eyebrows shoot up, genuine surprise replacing anger. Then his expression shutters again. “Love? That’s a big word for someone who pushed her out the door the minute she mentioned LA.”
“I was protecting her.” I run a hand through my hair, frustrated. “From me, from my mess, from...”
“I know.” Jonah leans forward, his voice low and intense. “So was I, but here’s the problem. You’re both miserable without each other. I can see it. Hell, everyone can see it.”
“But there’s LA.”
Jonah rolls his eyes. “There’s no fucking LA—there never was. My sister didn’t even make it forty-eight hours there. That place represents everything she’s not.”
“Oh.” My heart lifts with hope. “Sydney...” I struggle to find words adequate to explain what she means to me. “She makes me want to be better. On and off the ice.”
It’s the easiest truth I know.
Understanding dawns in Jonah’s eyes. Another silence stretches between us, leaving only the sound clinking glasses, murmured conversations, and thrums of music.
Finally, Jonah calls me on my shit. “Then grow a pair and go tell her everything. That’s my sister, man. She deserves to know the truth and make her own choice.”
“You sure you mean that?”
“You’re Brooks Kingston. The guy who drove three hours in a snowstorm to pick me up when my car broke down. The guy who sat with my mom all night in the hospital when Dad had his heart attack.” He leans forward, his gaze intense. “Underneath the bullshit, you’re a good guy.”
The words hit me with force.
He continues. “I think my sister wants to be with the guy who makes her laugh. With that snort thing she does. The guy who blew her mind with some orgasmic coffee and taught her how to skate backward.” He pauses, his expression turning hard.
“But she can’t make that choice if you don’t tell her the truth.
All of it. No more secrets, no more noble self-sacrifice bullshit. ”
I nod slowly, the weight of his words settling into my bones. “You’re right.”
“Of course I’m right,” Jonah says, his usual cockiness returning. “I’m always right. Especially about my sister.”
“Nope, not even close.”
We both laugh, the sound easing the last of the tension between us.
When it fades, Jonah’s expression turns serious again, and so does mine.
The fear that’s been gnawing at me since this all started finally breaks free.
“So you want your sister to be with me, even if it means she ends up with a dying man?”
Jonah reaches across the table, gripping my shoulder. “Yeah. I do, brother.” His eyes gloss. “I’d rather see her with someone she loves and loves her back, even if it can’t last.”
I stare down at my hands, overwhelmed. Years of protective big brother instincts warring with the desire to see his sister and best friend happy. Even if it has to end long before it should.
I fight back emotion as I raise my glass. “To a new bro code?”
“To you and Syd.” Jonah clinks his empty glass against mine.