7. Jack
Jack
Awarm, rough tongue swipes up the middle of my face, scraping against my nose. I wince, jarring back.
“What the fuck, Wally?” I shield myself with a lumpy throw pillow tucked against my chest, but Wally is a beast and pries it away, then attacks me with another slobbery kiss.
My brother’s laugh booms not far away in the kitchen.
“Fuck you too,” I groan.
“Leave him alone, bud.” Ethan follows up with a sharp whistle. My brother’s chocolate-brown lab turns, his feet padding against the wooden floor until I hear him circle, then drop down with a loud sigh.
I yank the blanket higher, but my feet stick out. “What am I doing on the couch?”
“Didn’t think you were picky about where you slept.”
“Cute.”
I crack an eyelid open as Ethan stands behind the counter of his new place and pops open a canister of coffee.
He rented a small beach house with Sloane not far from Main Street after the fire at the restaurant in August. Merritt’s Catch Lobster Co.
was a total loss, including the small apartment where Ethan had lived for the past twelve years.
Everything is fuzzy around the edges, and too fucking bright.
The creamy-white walls of the old craftsman glow from the warm September sun filtering in through the sheer curtains.
It smells like the house had been closed up for years.
All mothballs and cedar, and now the intense bite of Italian espresso Sloane insists is coffee and not pure jet fuel.
“I’ll drive you over to Mom and Dad’s later if you want to visit. Sure they’d love to see you. They’re worried. Nana too.”
“I don’t need babysitters.” I fall back against the couch, unable to sit up. My head is pounding, and there’s a sharp stabbing in my ribs. “It was worth it.”
“Almost cracking your head open on the ice?” Ethan braces his arms on the counter, glaring at me.
At least, I think he’s glaring. He’s blurry too.
“No, wiping that smug smile off Jason’s face.”
“Hmm,” my brother grunts. “He skated off the ice at least.”
It’s a subtle dig, the same disappointment that always leaks out between the two of us.
“Your glasses are in front of you on the coffee table. No contacts for a few days, you need to limit your screen use, and you shouldn’t be driving. I picked your meds up from the pharmacy last night at the hospital. You can have them after breakfast if the pain’s too much.”
I reach for my wire-rimmed glasses. I hate these things.
I’ve always have since I was forced to get them in fourth grade.
I like to think they were responsible for my sense of humor, but I’ve always been funny as shit.
Having Danny Bassot steal my lunch money for three months didn’t make much of a difference.
Well, until my oldest brother, Nolan, found out.
Guess that’s the advantage of being a middle child. I started the trouble, Nolan and Ethan finished it.
“What time is it?” Finally, I push myself to sit up, blink hard, and allow my eyes to adjust to the light.
“Probably too early for you,” he says. “Sorry, my body still thinks I need to be fifteen miles off the coast right now.”
That’s the difference between Ethan and me. My life is hockey, and his life has been taking care of everything else for everyone else.
After he lost his college hockey scholarship, things went to shit until he started helping our dad on the boat. After he straightened out, he slowly took over at our family restaurant for my parents. It’s hard not to notice how relieved he looks now that the restaurant’s gone.
Our older brother, Nolan, is out west fighting fires, and Annie, well, she’s just terrorizing all of Massachusetts. She finished up her fellowship on the Cape this summer. Now she’s back living in town and commuting to her last year of college, studying environmental science.
“Can’t believe you punched that asshole first.” My brother pours me a big enough mug of coffee that could take down a horse, which is exactly how much caffeine I prefer if I’m forced out of bed against my will.
“Why, you want a turn?”
He shrugs. “Nah, you did a pretty good job.”
I grin. “Worth the concussion.”
My brother doesn’t smile back.
“That’s not the way to start the season. Especially after last spring.”
I let that sit there between us for a second.
The room sways under my feet when I stand.
Everything is stiff, and I can’t tell if it’s from sleeping on the couch or just the shit I put my body through, but it’s annoying to be reminded I’m a mere mortal.
My mouth is dry from all the painkillers they fed me last night, which have annoyingly worn off.
I can feel every bruise, every cut, the deep ache in my ribs.
Nothing new. My body’s been at this for years.
Doesn’t ever make it any easier to deal with.
“I have a penthouse in Boston. Don’t need your couch.”
“Like you let us forget. Anyway, you heard the doctors last night. Figured you’d rather stay with me than sleep on Mom and Dad’s couch.” He slides the full coffee mug my way. “Drink up. I’ll make breakfast. What do you want?”
I wrap both hands around the mug and take a sip. Thank fuck for coffee.
My brother can cook anything under the sun, but my stomach rumbles for eggs, toast, and hash browns. Before I know it, he’s dicing potatoes and onions and peppers, throwing them into a sizzling pan.
I reach for my phone on the counter, immediately overwhelmed by texts from my teammates and a crowded inbox.
There’s an email from Heather. I read it twice. Summit Sports is interested in the rink project and wants to meet in January. But I’m stuck on the last paragraph: Image is a concern. They want a community-focused, family-friendly athlete for the deal. Can you stay out of trouble for ten weeks?
Can I? Sure. Do I want to? That’s another story.
I blow out a frustrated breath. I try a few different responses before finally replying with: I’ll deal with it.
Then, because I’m a masochist, I scroll further, and my heart sinks when I see myself tagged in an Instagram post that—by the growing number of likes—is about to be everywhere.
It’s of me sitting on the curb outside of the hospital, my head resting against Izzy’s shoulder.
She didn’t have to come, but she stayed anyway, letting me use her like a pillow as we waited for Ethan.
Everyone in the comments wants to know who the girl is.
And a few sharper eyes point out she’s the winner from the charity auction.
“Shit.” I hold up my phone for Ethan.
“She’s gonna hate that.” Ethan glances at the screen, then takes a snapping bite of pepper as he cleans up the counter. “Izzy doesn’t even like you.”
“I don’t think she likes anything.” Not sure why I say it. I barely know her. “But to be fair, you don’t either, and we put up with your grumpy ass.” I take another gulp of coffee, shoot off a quick text to my PR team for help with this mess, then one to Izzy.
Jack: Thanks for being my pillow.
It’s a dumb thing to say. Judging by how long it takes her to reply, maybe too dumb.
Izzy: How’s your head?
Jack: Still attached.
Izzy: Must be. You’re still annoying.
Jack: Been better.
Izzy: You should rest. Not that you’ll listen.
Jack: If you haven’t seen yet, everyone thinks you’re my girlfriend now.
Izzy: I’ve seen. Had to disable alerts. Phone wouldn’t stop buzzing with mentions.
Jack: Sorry.
Izzy: Really?
Jack: I’ll have my team take care of it.
Jack: Unless you want to be my girlfriend?
Izzy: Hard pass, thanks.
Jack: You didn’t even think about it.
Izzy: Didn’t have to.
“Who are you talking to?” Ethan shuts off the faucet and snaps a towel over his shoulder.
“No one.” I toss my phone down. “When are you going out on the boat?”
“After breakfast. Want to come?”
Since I’m not doing so great on the land, the ocean seems like a bad idea. “Maybe tomorrow.”
It feels different staying with Ethan when I know he shares this place with Sloane.
A note he wrote her is on the fridge, tucked under a lighthouse magnet.
Her books fill the built-ins. They drove down to New York City to grab the rest of their things a few weeks back.
There’s a vase of pink and yellow flowers on the table.
So many little reminders that my brother is in love and has a girlfriend.
If he had his way, they’d be married by now. He’s only ever loved Sloane.
He’s moving on like a lot of my teammates. They’re getting married and having whole-ass families. And I’m still the good time. The guy you want throwing the bachelor party.
“You need to be careful,” Ethan says suddenly. “You’re only going to be able to take so many hits before that catches up with you. And it sucks when it’s over.”
I know Ethan’s right. So is Coach.
Not that I’ll tell either of them.
“Have you heard from Nolan?”
Ethan slides my plate across the soapstone counter, and I waste no time stabbing my fork through the stack of pillowy potatoes.
“Texted last week. Said he’s fine.” Ethan reaches for his coffee, takes a sip, then sets down the ridiculous lobster mug. “I doubt that’s true.”
I’m not sure what to say to that, so I grin instead, pushing past the nagging concern for my oldest brother. “Nice mug.”
A dreamy smile spreads across his face, which normally, I’d think is the sign of a medical emergency where my brother is concerned, but I’ve seen him around Sloane enough to understand. They weren’t fooling anyone this summer, no matter how hard they tried.
“Sunny thought it was funny.” He shrugs.
“You seem happy,” I say at last around a forkful of eggs.
Ethan scratches the back of his neck, then finally meets my smirk. “Almost ready?” he asks instead.
I chuckle. That’s enough of an answer for me.
“Thanks for breakfast, Ethan.” I slide off the counter-height stool, wincing as my feet hit the wooden floor too hard. It’s a jolt to my body, like another hit to a fresh bruise. “I’ll head back to the city tonight.”