Chapter 34
THIRTY-FOUR
Brandon
“Good practice today, guys,” Coach Chris says as he wraps things up. “Go get showered, then be ready to get on the bus. We leave for the hotel in an hour.”
“Yes, Coach,” we all say in unison before we begin to skate off the ice.
This was the perfect way to begin preparation for this final round. We flew into Buffalo this morning and have just finished up a quick practice on their ice to get a feel for it before the first game of the Stanley Cup Finals tomorrow.
“I’m glad we got here early,” O’Shea says. “I hate arriving in a city just to immediately hit the bed.”
“Me too,” Roysy says. He bumps his shoulder against O’Shea’s. “You want to grab a bite to eat? There’s that killer steak house near the hotel.”
“Yeah. Sounds good,” O’Shea says. He turns to look at me and Ryan. “You two in? Or do you have some kind of special date night planned?”
“I wish,” I say. Dinner with the boys sounds much better than what I have planned.
“To which part?” Roysy asks. “Dinner with us? Or are you telling me the romance is now dead between the two of you after confessing your secret to us?” He leans forward conspiratorially into my personal space.
I push him, almost knocking him off of his skates. “Fuck off,” I laugh. “And neither. I’m having dinner with my brother tonight.”
Both O’Shea and Roysy look affronted, each pulling their own look of horror.
“You can’t fraternize with the enemy,” Roysy says.
O’Shea frowns and shakes his head. “That’s against playoff code.”
“Not if he poisons his brother,” Ivanov says as he skates past. “Then it is good plan.”
I give him a pointed look. “I’m not poisoning my brother. You’re just going to have to figure out how to beat him fair and square.”
“Don’t worry so much,” Ryan says, clapping him on the shoulder. “Ander isn’t even that good.”
“He’s not not good,” I mutter under my breath.
Ryan turns to face me. “Let Ivanov worry about your brother. You have another problem you need to be concerned about.”
“Yeah,” Roysy says, knocking me with his shoulder again, trying to throw me off balance. “Get ready for Gavin Marshal’s special welcome package.”
O’Shea steps off the ice. “I hope you have some frozen peas.”
“You’re gonna need them!” Roysy yells as he follows.
I shake my head. Honestly, I’d happily take a hit from Gavin if it would get me out of having to have dinner with Ander tonight.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” Ryan asks.
“Nah,” I tell him. “Go have fun with those guys. I’ll handle Ander by myself.”
“You sure?”
I nod my head yes, then take a quick look around. We’re the only two remaining on the ice. I grab the front of his jersey and pull him in for a quick peck on the lips. “You’ve signed yourself up for a potential lifetime of dinners with my brother. Save yourself the discomfort of this one.”
“Alright,” he says. “But text me if you change your mind. I’ll come meet you.”
I already know he would if I asked him to.
And as much as I’d like for him to come to this dinner, I also want to protect him a little bit.
Not that he needs protection from Ander, or anyone for that matter, but after what happened with my mom and dad, I’d like to save him from another potential breakdown.
It’s not his fault. I get it. And frankly I’m impressed he lasted as long as he did without having one.
I’d be a complete mess if I’d had his childhood.
My family is great; yes, they annoy the ever-living shit out of me, but that doesn’t stop them from being the best people in the world. Including my brother.
So an hour and a half later when I’m knocking on the door of his condo, I can’t help but smile when he swings the door open and bursts out of it to give me a hug.
“Yo!” he exclaims, laughing. “It’s fucking good to see you! I can’t believe you’ve been in the league for three whole months now and I have yet to properly congratulate you in person.”
“It’s kind of hard to meet when we’re both playing,” I say when he places me back down on my feet.
He ruffles my hair with his hand. “You need a fucking haircut.”
“Yeah,” I huff. “I’ve been told.”
“No need to get pissy,” he says, grinning like a goof. “Maybe I’m only asking you to cut it so we can beat you.”
I glare at him. “You don’t need me to cut my hair for that.”
He slings his arm around my shoulders and ushers me into his place. “Oh, don’t let your team hear you say that! Where’s your fighting spirit?”
“Trust me, I have plenty of fight in me.”
“Don’t I know it,” he says as the door shuts behind us. “I saw that brawl you all got into in Minnesota.” He lightly taps my chin with his fist. “Nice job.”
“Thanks,” I say, feeling proud of myself, even though I had very little to do with that fight besides taking the first hit. But whatever. I’ll take what I can get from the man who plays on a team with the king of penalty minutes.
“Where’s Ryan?” Ander asks, leading me into his kitchen. He gestures for me to take a seat at one of the stools by the island. I sit and place my phone on the counter while he pulls a tray of cooked salmon from the oven. It looks and smells delicious. My mouth waters.
“He’s out to dinner with some of the other guys.”
“Text him. Tell him to ditch them and get over here. I’d love to see him.”
“If you’re so eager to see him, you text him,” I argue as Ander grabs a salad out of the fridge as well as two beers. One each.
“Fine. I will!”
I roll my eyes and only realize a second too late that he’s grabbed my phone off the counter instead of his.
It falls out of his hands immediately after his eyes scan the screen and lands on the floor with the loudest thud I’ve ever heard. He’s standing frozen in shock, staring at his now-empty hands.
I swallow. I know exactly what he saw. Intimately, as a matter of fact. One of the last texts Ryan sent me, back when I still lived with the Foleys, was a picture of his dick.
“Wow,” Ander says slowly and brings one hand to his neck where he begins to rub. “So…”
“Yeah…” I say just as slowly.
“I wasn’t expecting that.” He lifts his gaze to look at me. “Congrats. I mean, that’s not my thing, but like… good for you.”
“Can we forget this happened?” I ask while I pray for a meteor to slam into Buffalo, New York. Preferably on top of this building.
“Fuck, no,” Ander laughs, breaking the tension as his mouth pulls into a wide grin. “This is great news! I’m so happy for you two.”
He is genuinely beaming, and his eyes are watery. I can’t help but smile. That may not have been how I wanted to tell him, but this is exactly the reaction I was banking on getting.
He holds his beer bottle up between us in cheers. I tap the neck with mine. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s eat. I want to hear everything about what you’ve been going through these last three months. Because starting tomorrow, you and I are enemies for the next seven games.”