4. CONNOR
FOUR
CONNOR
It’s amazing to me that my life could go from being a hotshot defenseman in the NHL with the world at my feet, random girls in my bed, and almost winning the conference finals last year to what it is now: a hot fucking mess.
I wish I could blame Parker Duchene for all of it, but I can’t. My life was going to hell by the end of the summer, long before preseason started and he showed up.
I went from thinking my little brothers looked up to and admired me to having Easton be willing to do anything to get away from me. I thought Easton loved hanging around me, that we were more like best friends than brothers, but no, he wanted me out of the picture so he could steal my best friend. Not be my best friend.
Losing Easton’s and my relationship has almost been like stripping away part of my identity, and with Parker now in my life, reminding me of what a shitty person I was back in high school, I can’t help but think they’re both right about me.
I’m an overbearing, overprotective asshole, and it’s no wonder more people don’t resent me. Or maybe they do and I’m blissfully unaware of it. I was when Easton felt that way .
And this is why I’ve decided to move out. To give him space.
Not only do I live in the same row of town houses Easton does, only a few doors away, but I’m put out on the ice a lot when his line is out there, and I even infiltrated his Queer Collective group even though I’m not queer.
Now that it’s been pointed out to me, I’m amazed Easton hasn’t stabbed me with one of his skates.
“What do you think?” the Realtor asks after showing me the third house for the day.
The first two were good, but this one is amazing. It’s a four-million-dollar Georgian-style mansion in Cherry Hills that’s all brick. It has six bedrooms and a pool house, and I’m the only one living in it. But hey, maybe I can pick some poor woman to become my wife, give birth to my kids, and then I’ll have someone else to pressure and be overbearing with.
Ugh. I hate that’s where my brain goes now.
“Connor?” the Realtor says, like I hadn’t heard her. Because I still haven’t answered her.
“It’s the one,” I say. It’s more than the other two I’ve looked at today, but I’ve been living with cheap rent, or cheapish rent for a professional hockey player anyway, and I’m frugal with my money. I can afford this place … so long as Parker Duchene doesn’t put me on waivers. It would be possible to get picked up by another team, considering my stats, but that same way of thinking that drove Easton crazy reminds me that if someone with my kind of stats is put on waivers, the rumor mill will start. And after Easton publicly punched me in front of the media during training camp, that would only add fuel to the fire.
I can see it now—the media narrative: If Connor Kikishkin can’t even get along with his brother, how is he supposed to be a team player?
“Shall I put in an offer?” she asks.
I really have to think about that because it’s a risk. But if Parker was going to push for me to get fired, he would’ve done it already. He’s had plenty of chances, especially after the locker room incident.
Not my brightest or finest moment.
I’ve been on edge, waiting for the call or backlash to come because it was obvious he didn’t accept my apology. But it hasn’t happened. Which, in a way, makes me more annoyed.
I don’t know what it is about him that makes me so … so … Ergh, I don’t even know what I am toward him. I hate the guy for pulling all these weird emotions out of me. But I also can’t hate him because I know what he went through in high school and feel somewhat responsible, even if I maintain, with his last name, he was going to be called Douche no matter what.
The smart business brain I got from Mom tells me not to buy this house. It’s not out of my means, but something cheaper would be less risky. Yet, the lost part of me, the part that has thought it’s been doing the right thing all this time when I haven’t been, tells me to do something for me for once.
My whole life has been about everyone else. Looking after my brothers, keeping our parents happy, paying off their debt with my first big NHL contract. If I’m going to rediscover who I really am, what I want, and think about the man I want to become, I need to follow that voice in my head that says to jump in. Fuck the overly analytical guy who has strategy in every move I make.
“Put in the offer,” I say.
All I can say is thank fuck I’m at the top of my game. Every game we have, be it away or at home, I’m on edge that Parker Duchene is about to walk in and blow everything up for me. He showed up at an away game to tell Easton he refuses to trade him. I wouldn’t put it past the guy to show up across the other side of the country to watch my face as he says he’s sending me to the AHL.
If I don’t give him a reason to put me on waivers or send me down, he’s stuck with me. That’s my working theory anyway. Unless he wants to trade me, in which case, bring it on because I’d like to be out of his orbit as much as he would like me to disappear from his. I could let Easton move into my house and start again fresh somewhere else.
I’m thankful I thrive under pressure when it comes to hockey. The other team scores? I’m there pushing to follow it up with one of our own. We’re down three goals? I set up Easton to get a hat trick and refuse to allow any more pucks to go near our goalie.
On the ice, I’m still a god. Off it? I’m realizing how messy I can be.
With my new mortgage and moving house, I’m learning who I am deep down. I’m that overly analytical guy who’s opposed to risk, so buying that house on a whim? Not my most comfortable position to be in.
I’m not sure I’m even going to be able to enjoy living there. I thought Knox would move with me, but with him reffing in the AHL and NHL, he’s constantly traveling, so he decided to move in with my brother instead so they could have valuable couple time when they’re both in Denver. So I have this massive house, hardly any furniture, and no one to take this step with.
Every time a new piece of furniture is delivered, I can’t help thinking, “I bet Parker would love to watch that get repossessed after he fires me.” Or “I wonder if Parker is waiting for me to be happy again before he makes his next move.”
And then every time I walk into this arena, run my hand over the cement walls of the back corridor—a ritual I started once and have to do before every game on my way in—I’m sure Parker is about to jump out of nowhere and take everything I’ve worked for away from me .
I don’t understand why he’s here, why he bought the team, or why I let him get under my skin the way he does.
He makes me uncomfortable.
Not because he’s gay—hello, gay brother and bi best friend—but because … fuck, I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because he reminds me of a time when I wasn’t as calculated as I am now. He’s seen me at my weakest, at my worst, and he even brings it out in me.
All I know is the two times I’ve seen him close to my brother, I’ve hated it. More than I have with anyone else going near Easton. Which is another thing that reminds me of how Easton is right. I have been too involved in his life.
But even knowing that, there’s something I still don’t like about Parker being near Easton.
Make it make sense because my brain sure as hell can’t.
Have I been raised with the notion that Easton is mine to give away, like a father figure offering their daughter to be married off in exchange for a dowry? Am I that possessive over my own brother? I wouldn’t have said so, but the way Easton makes me feel when he says shit like I’m too “overbearing” makes me think I am.
Breaking that habit is harder than I thought it would be, but I’ve been trying.
I almost reach the locker room when I see Parker. He’s at the end of the corridor, talking with Coach Macklin. His smile is a lot more genuine than the smarmy smirk he sent my way while I tried to apologize to him, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say his genuine smile proves he has a heart instead of the evil black sludge I know to be in its place.
That sludge is called bitterness, and it’s my fault it’s there.
He sees me coming, and I almost want to turn on my heel and run away like a child who’s guilty of stealing a cookie and is avoiding consequences, but now that he’s locked eyes with me, I won’t give him the satisfaction .
I will, however, pick up my pace and try to get inside the locker room—to safety—before he can stop me.
I’m not so lucky.
“Kikishkin,” Coach Macklin calls out.
Fuck. I want to keep walking and pretend I didn’t hear him, but that won’t work. It never does with him.
I turn to both of them, and Coach waves me over.
“What’s up?” I ask as I drag my feet in their direction.
“There’s a charity benefit being held this weekend, and Mr. Duchene bought us two tables to fill. Because it’s the day before our next home game, I don’t want to offer up too many players because these things have open bars.”
My lips hitch. “Don’t trust us enough to refrain?”
“You, I do. And Easton because of the leash you have on him.”
I wince. Even Coach can see I’ve been too involved in Easton’s life?
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Parker cock his head at my reaction, so I try to school my face into something more passive than the shame currently written all over it. He hasn’t said anything, and I’m sure when he went to Macklin to ask for players to fill seats, I was the last person he wanted at the benefit, but of course, I’m going to say yes. The polite and image-conscious business brain makes me.
“Easton and I will be there,” I say.
“And your parents,” Coach says.
“Parents?” The thought of Parker in the same vicinity as my parents scares me because … well, what if he tattles on me about what I did to him in high school? I don’t want my parents to be disappointed in me.
“Your friend Knox too,” Parker says. “He’s Easton’s boyfriend, isn’t he?”
I nod.
“That’s five seats of the last ten,” Coach says and rubs his chin .
“I can bring a date,” I say and then immediately regret it. Because I don’t ask women to charity events. I don’t date. I hook up. There’s a big difference. Dating implies I have the time or effort to commit to a relationship when I really don’t.
I also don’t have the skill to weed out who wants me for me and not for my money.
Parker frowns, and I’m curious to know why me bringing a date frustrates him when he’s the one looking for butts to fill seats at short notice.
“Great. So then we only need two of the married players to bring their wives to fill the other four seats. The ones who are smart enough to know that if they drink, they’ll be hungover, and I won’t hesitate to make them healthy scratches if they look like a newborn foal on the ice at our morning skate.”
“Can’t wait,” I say through gritted teeth. I go to turn and walk into the locker room when I realize something. “What’s the charity for? You never said.”
Parker sends that evil smirk my way once again. “The Bully Initiative. It’s a fundraiser to raise awareness about school bullying and set up helplines and school programs to teach people how to handle that kind of situation.”
I regret asking because now I know why I was singled out and why Parker would want my parents, my brother, and my best friend to come too. I have no doubt he’s planning to embarrass me.
When I walked in here today, my biggest fear was being put on waivers. Now, that’s all I wish for.