2. CONNOR
TWO
CONNOR
Ever had that dream where you’re back in high school and everyone is laughing at you, but you don’t know why until you look down and you’re naked?
I wish I was living that dream.
The man standing before the entire team is familiar yet almost unrecognizable, and his words sound like they’re coming from underwater.
Something, something, introduce. Love hockey. Twenty billion something. New owner.
Our franchise was sold? To Douche? The Douche from high school?
He’s not actually a douche. That’s just what everyone called him because of his last name.
Memories of those days flood through my mind, racing on a loop and throwing me back to being king of the school and watching as my teammates … Shit.
If the ground could open up and swallow me whole right about now, I’d appreciate it, but that doesn’t happen. Neither does our owner disappear when I try to blink him away.
I still remember that day clearly: the one where I saw Parker Duchene and my brother hunched over a schedule, heads close together. Smiling. Being … friendly. Overly friendly.
I don’t know what came over me. I didn’t know then, and I still don’t know now. The closest I can get is figuring that while Easton wasn’t out at that point, I knew he was gay, and I had to protect his future hockey career by getting in between him and the guy standing too close. Easton hadn’t even confirmed his sexuality to me at that point, but I saw something I really shouldn’t have on his laptop one day when mine had died, which was the giant tip he wasn’t straight. Exactly like the one the dude in the porn on his screen had. One of the dudes anyway. Biggest mushroom tip head I’ve ever seen. Not that I’d ever taken notice of other dicks before then. I didn’t say anything because I thought he should be the one to come out when he was ready. That, and all I could think about was what coming out would do for his career.
It’s not like there weren’t out guys in the league back then. Caleb Sorensen and Ollie Stromberg were well-known for being the first, but it was no secret that their careers weren’t exactly smooth and scandal-free. Easton had the potential to be one of the greats.
No one could know about my brother, and I wouldn’t let this scrawny, nerdy kid ruin Easton’s life.
Even though that’s the logical reason for what I did, something about it doesn’t ring true in my gut. I can’t pinpoint what it is, never could, but something came over me that day that told me I needed to separate them, so I did. I’ve had regret and confusion ever since.
I won’t deny what I did was wrong. It was so wrong. I might play rough on the ice, but violence off it is never the answer, and I threatened it. I used it. I shoved this kid against a locker and told him to stay away from my brother.
And now, he’s here.
The only question is why ?
Am I really that self-absorbed to think he bought our team out of spite?
I want to say no, but …
Surely we’ve both grown in the last ten years. We’re grown-ass men now, not stupid teenagers.
He finishes his speech, which I couldn’t hear any of, and beside me, Easton asks, “Do we go say hi?”
I’d rather run in the opposite direction and keep running if I’m honest, but no. I’m going to be mature and take the high road. “I-I guess so.” Look at me with all that confidence in my shaky voice.
I’ve got this.
Yet, as we approach him, I almost chicken out. My palms sweat, my heart beats erratically, and after my brother reintroduces himself, I pluck up the courage to reach out my hand to the dark-haired, bright-blue-eyed boy who’s no longer a boy. He’s … Fuck, I don’t know what he is.
“Hey.” I stumble over what to say. “Good to see you again. Parker.” I must sound like a damn robot.
The team’s new owner cocks his head as if he’s confused, but his eyes hold nothing but contempt. “I’m sorry, have we met?”
I’m stunned speechless. That’s how he’s going to play it? Hey, fine by me. The less apologizing I have to do, the better. I’m still in the middle of groveling to Easton and my best friend, Knox, for being overprotective of both of them to the point they didn’t think they could be together because of me. I don’t need more penance added to my list of failures as a decent human being.
Parker hasn’t lost his cold stare as he says, “If you don’t mind, I’d prefer my players to call me Mr. Duchene.”
My gut sinks because he’s obviously still bitter about high school. He can pretend he doesn’t remember me all he wants, but that’s not what he’s doing. He’s here to be petty and probably vengeful, so the only thing I can do is grin and bear whatever he throws at me. Because if I lose it in front of him? I can say goodbye to the NHL and everything I’ve worked toward forever.
We, as players, rarely saw the last owner, and this will be no different. All I have to do is stay away from Parker Duchene, and everything will be fine. Great, even. Hey, if we win the Stanley Cup this year, maybe he’ll give me a pass for my past actions.
One could hope.
Stay away from Parker, I said. It will be easy, I said.
Then why in the fuck is he here every fucking day? Taunting me. Making me think he has it out for me when he’s still pretending he doesn’t even remember me. Every time I’m on this practice ice, it’s as if I can feel him staring at my back. Yet, every time I turn toward him, his eyes are elsewhere. He either has a sixth sense for when I’m about to look, or the threat of being confronted about one of the darkest moments in my life has me paranoid as shit.
The thing is, in high school, I was too busy focusing on hockey and protecting my younger brothers to have time to be a bully, but I can acknowledge that being the most popular guy in high school meant I didn’t need to do anything to be part of the problem. Because I never stepped in. My teammates, the ones who weren’t counting on being drafted or going pro … they did it for me. They saw me attack Parker? That meant he was fair game. I saw them do it to him? I didn’t stop them.
And the sad truth is, I’m sure I had convinced myself that what I did was right because I was protecting Easton. My whole life, I was brought up to believe that was my only job: to protect Easton and Lachie with everything I have so that we could all make it to the NHL. With our parents working so much, all the responsibility fell to me, and I’d thought I was doing exactly what I was supposed to.
I achieved it all, but I’m starting to think I gave up a huge piece of me to do so. My empathy? My impulse control? That part of my soul that makes someone a good person?
It would explain why things with me and Easton are so rocky lately.
Easton asked for a trade to another team just to get away from me. After everything I’ve done for him, he says it’s been too much. I’ve been overbearing, too interfering, and while we’re getting better again and he’s starting to live his own life, it’s hard to switch that side of me off. He wants me to leave him alone, and yet, when I watch him leave the ice to head toward the locker room, I can’t help that pang of protectiveness that stabs at me when Parker follows.
It’s the same pang I felt all those years ago. Like this deep part of me doesn’t want Parker near him.
I know Easton is way too invested in Knox to screw it up. He was willing to throw our whole brotherhood away for the chance to be with my best friend, so I don’t need to follow them because Easton is a big boy. He can handle this.
And yet, I swear with all my being that before Parker disappears into the corridor, he turns and looks right at me. Challenging me.
I don’t trust that guy, and even though Easton has told me to back off and not be that overbearing brother he hates so much, my feet don’t listen to me as they head in the same direction.
My brain tells me to leave it and to turn around to let Easton handle him, but when I turn the corner into the locker room and see Parker Duchene basically cornering my brother at his cubby, a blind rage clouds my vision.
If he was baiting me, it worked because in the next second, I’m on him so fast even I don’t know what is happening. But I do know I’ve fucked up. I’ve played right into Parker Duchene’s hands.
Here I am, repeating past behaviors, with him shoved up against a wall. Doing exactly what my brother has asked me to stop doing. Why can’t I help myself?
The death of my professional hockey career flashes through my mind while my forearm pins the new team’s owner, and it would be one thing if this was the only time I’ve done this, but it’s not.
With a smug look on his face, he says, “I see nothing’s changed since high school.”
That only confirms what I thought: he was lying.
Easton tries to pull me off Parker, but just like back then, I only have one thought running through my head.
What the fuck does he want with my brother, and what were they doing in here alone, standing so close? But most importantly, why do I hate it so much? Easton’s had flings before. I’ve had nothing against those guys. But Parker?
I see him and want to scream that my brother is a taken man and he should back the hell off.
In fact, in the haze of rage, I’m sure I say that out loud.
“For fuck’s sake.” Easton finally pulls me off Douche. “You’re doing it again. Back off, and stop being an overprotective shithead.”
He’s right, of course, but that doesn’t make me feel any better about fucking up. Again.
Apparently, there’s a huge difference between being a supportive brother and being hateable. And all I’ve been feeling from Easton lately is hate.
I’m too much and interfere where I shouldn’t. I’m too obsessed with his and Lachie’s lives that I don’t have one of my own.
That’s the part that gets to me the most. Because he’s absolutely right. Between hockey and keeping my brothers from creating tabloid-worthy stories, I don’t have a life outside of my best friend, Knox.
And now that he and East are frustratingly dancing around the relationship they both went behind my back to have, I don’t even have Knox.
I have … hockey, a temper, and the occasional hookup with any girl who shows interest. Because I don’t have time to think of having anything serious with another person. Only … now I do. I have time and the mental capacity to do what I want.
And I have no idea what that is.
Do I want a wife and kids? Yes.
But I also wanted to have a long hockey career, and now, thanks to my outburst, that’s obviously gone out the window.
I keep ruining everything.
With nothing to lose, I ask, “What are you even doing here, Douche?”
“Real mature.”
Surprising the hell out of me, East actually has my back. He gets in between us and glares in Parker’s direction. “I could be wrong, but it sounds a hell of a lot like you bought this team so you can mess with Connor over some stupid nickname you were given when you were both young.”
“I’m not here to fuck with him. I’m here to make his life a living hell.” He straightens his jacket and walks out of the locker room, leaving me to deal with the reality that my past is here to bite me in the ass, and now it’s not my brothers who need protecting.
It’s me.
One restless night of sleep later, I wake up to my alarm with the urge to vomit.
I messed everything up yesterday, all because I couldn’t control whatever that broken thing inside me is that makes me lash out when it comes to my brothers.
Mom and Dad worked their asses off to get us where we are. Dad worked two jobs, Mom worked full-time as a corporate lawyer, and so I was the one left to make sure Easton’s and Lachie’s homework was done, that their hockey gear was washed, and that they weren’t being picked on by anyone at school or on their hockey teams.
When I was drafted and got a major signing bonus, I paid off all of our parents’ debts, and they became my agents. Then Easton’s, and now Lachie’s. Mom knows contract law, and Dad knows hockey.
And I … know nothing outside of what I’ve done for the last fifteen years. I’m only twenty-six, and I feel like I’m a fifty-year-old parent with dependents who rely on me.
I’m single. I should be having the time of my life.
But I’m not.
I’m realizing I don’t know who I am when fifty percent of my identity has been stripped away.
Easton and Lachie are adults. They don’t need me. Knox doesn’t need me.
No one does, and it sucks. Because I like being needed. It’s a drug.
I probably shouldn’t mention that. Especially not to a team therapist or anyone in the mental health industry because that can’t be normal, can it?
Besides, my need to feel needed is the least of my worries.
We have a game today, and I have to walk into that arena and face whatever consequences Douche is going to give me. Whether it be official or personal. Because after admitting he bought the team to make my life a living hell, I have no doubt that he’s going to follow through on that promise.
What’s he going to do? Give me no ice time? Force Coach Macklin to make me a healthy scratch all season? Run me over with the Zamboni and call it an accident? Anything is possible .
My only hope of maybe moving forward from all this is if I go to the arena early, track down Parker, and beg for forgiveness. For yesterday and high school.
Groveling? It’s so not me.
Then again, have I ever really had to do it?
No.
I force myself out of bed and get ready to head into the practice rink again this morning for a warm-up skate. I find Knox in our living room, either wallowing over Easton or freaking out about reffing his first NHL game tonight. I want to perk him up and say he’ll be great, give him some reassurance, but nothing is positive and bright in my eyes, so I won’t be much help.
“I made you your protein shake,” Knox says and lifts one of his own.
“You’re the best.” Even my genuine words don’t sound shiny and happy. I glance over at him, at the bags under his eyes, and I wonder if he got the same amount of sleep that I did. “You worried about tonight?”
“I know you’ve already said no to this, but can you please lose so I’m not accused of favoritism?”
I laugh. “I’ll try my best.”
With how much my head is not in the game and totally focused on the nerd from high school who’s vowed to get his revenge, I might not even need to promise that. How can I concentrate on my career when I know someone is out there trying to destroy it?
If Parker wants to make my life a living hell, he’s already succeeding. Hockey is all I have left, and if he takes it away from me …
I can’t even think about that.
“What about you?” Knox asks. “How do you think tonight’s going to go?”
“If I’m even playing? Not well.”
“Do you really think Parker will pull you? ”
“At this point, I’m expecting to walk in there and get put on waivers. He said he was here to make my life a living hell, and what better way than to take the one thing I have left?”
“The one thing?” Knox asks. It only takes a second for him to realize what I’m saying before he slumps. “You haven’t lost East. Or me. Just because things are weird because I fell for your brother but can’t be with him because of conflict of interest on the ice and he’s mad at me and— Ugh, I’m not getting into it again. But just because all of that is happening, it doesn’t mean you don’t have us anymore. You have both of us. That will never change no matter what is happening between me and him.”
He says that, but it doesn’t feel that way at all.
I pick up the shake he made me and then grab my gear bag near the door. “I’ll see you tonight. Hopefully. If not from the ice, then I’ll be in the stands.”
If I’m not squashed by that Zamboni.