Chapter 19
TUCKER
Hockey is brutal today.
I almost wish I were fighting instead. Give me a huge, angry guy from Montreal with his fist in my teeth instead of this feeling of dragging my legs through sand.
Coach has us running defensive scenarios—breakouts, gap control, transition defense—and I'm going through the motions like a robot.
“T-Stag! What the hell was that?" Coach Thompson's voice booms across the ice. "You're supposed to be closing the gap, not giving them a highway to the net!"
I skate back to position, jaw clenched. Beside me, Alder shoots me a concerned look but doesn't say anything. He's been shooting me those looks all week.
It’s been a week since Sloane ran out of my apartment, and I’ve been staring at my phone like an idiot ever since. And it’s affecting my work.
"Again!" Coach blows his whistle. "And T-Stag, I need you present. Not whatever the hell that was."
We run the drill again. And again. And again. Mayhem glowers at me while Howie pukes in a trash can. By the time Coach finally blows the whistle for the end of practice, my legs are screaming and my lungs are burning, but my mind won't shut off.
The locker room is loud with the usual post-practice banter. Guys peeling off gear, talking about plans for the evening, the normalcy of it all feels alien.
"You coming to Howie's tonight?" Spinner asks, tossing his gloves into his bag. "He's got that new grill he won't shut up about."
"Pass," I mutter, unlacing my skates.
"Come on, man. You've been weird."
"I'm fine. Just exhausted.”
Across the room, Alder is packing up his gear, moving with deliberate slowness. Watching me. Always watching me. Gunnar is nearby, whispering on his phone—probably to his wife.
"I'm heading out," Gunnar says, pocketing his phone. "Em made dinner."
"Of course she did," Alder teases. “That’s what they’re calling it these days?”
"Don't be jealous." Gunnar grins. "You'll get there eventually."
Alder's ears redden slightly, and I know he's thinking about Lena. My twin and the team dentist finally came out as a couple during a huge press conference. I was too mired in my own shit to be there for him.
"Yeah, yeah." Alder shoulders his bag. "I'm heading to the dental office to help Lena with some paperwork."
"Paperwork. Right." Gunnar winks. "See you guys tomorrow."
I fiddle with my skate laces and shoulder pads while they file out with the rest of the team, until suddenly I'm alone in the locker room. The silence is deafening after all the noise, both inside and outside my head.
I should leave. Should go home. Should do literally anything productive.
Instead, I just sit there on the bench, staring at my phone. At the last message I sent Sloane three days ago—ignored.
"Fuck," I whisper to the empty room. Panic builds in my chest. I feel like I’m about to explode. I sense something in my bones howling.
I think about calling my dad for advice, but for some reason, I head for the showers, still in my base layers. The water is scalding, but I don't adjust it. I just stand there, letting it pound against my shoulders, my back, soaking through the fabric, clinging to my skin.
I press my forehead against the tile wall, water streaming down my face, and finally let go. The tears come hot and fast, mixing with the shower spray. My shoulders shake with the effort of staying quiet, but it's useless. A sob escapes, then another.
I'm losing her. I'm losing them. And I don't know how to fix it.
"I'm so fucked," I choke out. "I fucked everything up."
Suddenly, Alder's voice cuts through the sound of the water.
"Tuck?"
I straighten immediately, swiping at my face like that will hide anything. "I'm fine. Just—"
"You're crying in the shower." Alder appears in the doorway, his expression somewhere between concerned and determined. "Fully clothed. You want to tell me that's fine?"
"Go away, Alder."
"Not a chance." He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Talk to me, Fucker.”
"There's nothing to—"
"Bullshit." His voice is firm.
He turns off the water, and I stand there dripping, my base layers plastered to my skin. "I fucked up, man.”
He nods. “Okay. Tell me and we’ll fix it. That’s what we do, right?”
I shake my head, water droplets flying off me.
“Not this time.” My teeth start chattering, and my brother wraps me in his arms. I should care that I’m drenching him in a gross shower.
I should care that he’s probably come here fresh from banging his dentist, and now I’m a mess and interrupting his mojo.
But instead, I just cry into his shirt while he pats my back.
“Is this about Sloane?” He holds me at arm’s length and tilts his head til he can meet my eyes.
I shrug. “Yes and no. I…um.” I blow out a breath and close my eyes. I can’t even look at him when I say this. “She’s pregnant.”
He produces a noise somewhere in between a whoop and a question mark. “No. Way.”
“With twins.” I sink back onto the floor of the shower with a squelch as Alder starts to laugh maniacally.
“Twins!” He gestures between us. “We’ve got mutant sperm, don’t we? Where we only duplicate? Or something?” Alder sits beside me with a laugh. “But okay, this isn’t like cry in the shower bad. Babies are kind of awesome.”
I shake my head and tell him everything. About the dinner with our parents, about how they overwhelmed her with schedules and plans, about how she said she can't lose herself again like she did in her marriage.
"Fuck."
"Yeah."
Alder is quiet for a long moment, and I brace for judgment or lecture or I-told-you-so. Instead, he stands and pulls me up with him, both of us embracing in the shower stall, me still soaking wet.
He rests his forehead against mine and laughs quietly. “You’re a dad.”
I nod. “I’m going to be a dad.”
Alder slaps the tile, the sound echoing through the locker room. "You're going to be okay," he says quietly. "We'll figure this out."
The comfort of my twin—my other half—is almost too much. I hug him back, feeling some of the tension in my chest loosen.
"I don't know how to be a dad," I admit. "I don't know how to prove to Sloane that I'm not going to disappear or let her down. I don't know how to—"
"Hey." Alder pulls back, hands on my shoulders. "You're already doing it. Showing up. Trying. That's what matters."
"But she won't let me."
"Then you keep trying. Keep showing up. Even if she doesn't respond." He squeezes my shoulders. "That's what Stags do. We don't give up."
"When did you get so wise?"
"I've always been the smarter twin." He grins, then sobers. "But Tucker, you need to tell the team. Or at least talk to Coach. Before Grentley finds out another way."
"I know. I just—"
"Too late for that."
The voice comes from behind Alder, low and furious. We both turn to find Josh Grentley standing in the locker room doorway, his expression twisted with rage.
Grentley's hands are clenched into fists at his sides. “You fucked my wife, Stag?”
"Josh—" I start, but he's already moving.
He grabs Alder—mistaking him for me like everyone else does when we’re standing side by side—and yanks him backward. Alder stumbles, caught off guard.
"You son of a bitch!" Grentley roars. "You had to ruin everything, didn't you? Couldn't leave well enough alone!"
“Hey, man, that's not—" Alder tries to say, but Grentley's fist is already flying.
The punch connects with Alder's jaw with a sickening crack. My twin goes down hard, blood immediately streaming from his mouth.
"NO!" I launch myself at Grentley, tackling him away from Alder. We crash into the lockers, metal clanging. "That's not me, you fucking idiot! That's my brother!"
Grentley's eyes widen as he realizes his mistake, but he doesn't stop fighting. “I don’t care which of you goes down. You’re both assholes!” He screams and shouts, fists flying. I leave my twin bleeding on the ground so I can get a few hits in on this puckered-up asshole.
We're grappling, both slipping on the wet floor, when suddenly someone is pulling us apart.
"What the hell is going on?" Gunnar's voice booms through the locker room. He's got Grentley in a bear hug, dragging him backward. "Josh, what are you doing?"
"He got her pregnant!" Grentley struggles against Gunnar's hold. “Your piece of shit brother fucked my wife!”
Gunnar snorts. “I think I’d know if my brother was having a baby.”
I shoot a death glare at Gunnar and try to get to Alder, who's sitting on the floor, hand pressed to his mouth, blood seeping between his fingers.
“Tuck, I’m calling you later, man.” Gunnar grunts, barely maintaining his grip on Grentley. "Take Alder to Lena. Now!"
I don't argue. I drop beside Alder, hauling him to his feet. His face is already swelling, blood dripping down his chin.
"Come on," I say, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and dragging him toward the dental suite.
Behind us, I hear Grentley howling as Gunnar drags him toward the exit.
"This isn't over, Stag! You hear me? This isn't over! All of you Stags are going to pay for this!"
The threat follows us as I move my brother. I'm soaking wet, leaving a trail of water. Alder is bleeding, stumbling beside me. Everything is falling apart faster than I could have imagined.
I shoulder through the door to Lena’s office, startling her from whatever she was doing at her desk.
"Tucker? What—" She sees Alder and immediately springs into action. "What happened?"
"Grentley," I say, helping Alder into the dental chair. "He thought Alder was me. Punched him."
"Jesus." Lena's already putting on gloves, gently tilting Alder's head back. "Let me see, babe.”
Alder removes his hand from his mouth, revealing a mess of blood and—
"Tooth's out," Lena says grimly, examining his mouth. "Upper right lateral incisor. Damn it, Josh."
"We match now," Alder mumbles, trying for humor despite the pain. His words are slurred around the swelling.
I sink into the chair, my head in my hands. Everything is ruined. The team knows. Grentley attacked my brother. And Sloane—
Sloane is going to hear about this. Probably from Grentley himself.
"Tucker." Lena's voice is gentle. "I need you to call team medical. Alder needs proper treatment. And—" She hesitates. "You need to call your agent. This is going to get back to Coach Thompson."
I pull out my phone, shaking, and dial my dad.
"Hey, kiddo," he answers cheerfully. "What's up?"
"Dad." My voice cracks. "I need help. Everything just fell apart."
The cheerfulness vanishes instantly. "Where are you?"
“We’re at the practice facility, Ty,” Lena shouts above Alder’s groan of pain. Tooth stuff makes me queasy, and I try not to barf while explaining to my dad that I need him to call Brian for me. Hopefully, our agent isn’t on a flight somewhere.
"I'm on my way.” Dad’s voice is calm, like he’s used to managing colossal fuckups like this. "We'll figure this out."
But as I watch my twin spit blood into a basin, as I hear Grentley's threats still echoing in my head, as I think about Sloane finding out about this disaster, I'm not sure anything is going to be okay ever again.
I turn my head to the side and puke up bile all over the floor. My insides truly evacuate my body as I think about my career imploding, my brother’s ruined face, and the mother of my children who will now most certainly never speak to me again.
Alder reaches out with his non-bloody hand and squeezes my shoulder. Even injured, even caught in the middle of my mess, he's still trying to support me.
For the first time, I’m really not sure I deserve it.