18. Gabriel
gabriel
. . .
The clang of lockers shutting echoes behind me as I walk out of the locker room, my bag slung over my shoulder. Sweat still clings to my skin, the burn of practice fresh in my muscles. I run a hand through my damp hair, catching sight of my boys just ahead. Atticus is laughing at something Felix said, probably something dumb, knowing him. Julio’s already got his helmet in hand, dark tattoos standing out against the sleeves of his shirt as he talks with Deacon.
It’s routine—practice, a little shit-talking, then the ride back to the soccer house. It’s comfortable. Predictable. And right now, predictable is what I need.
“Hey, G, you coming, or you planning to hang back and stare at us all day?” Atticus throws a grin over his shoulder, tossing his bag in the back of his car. With that white-blond hair and baby face, he looks more like a Slytherin reject than the PacNorth’s rising star goalie, but somehow, he still holds his own with our crew.
Felix follows his lead, brown hair tousled and messy, always with that laid-back vibe like he’s never stressed a day in his life.
I roll my eyes and give him a middle finger, dropping my own bag next to my Honda Cbr 1000, matte black and sleek as hell. The sound of it starting up is like a second heartbeat to me—steady, grounding.
Julio swings his leg over his bike, and Deacon and Atticus are still cracking jokes by the car, but I can’t seem to shake this feeling. There’s an itch between my shoulders. That inexplicable feeling someone else is out here.
That’s when I spot him.
Stepbrother number two.
Fuck.
He’s heading my way, his face set with purpose. My mood sours instantly, the easy camaraderie with the guys disappearing as quickly as it came. Great. The last thing I need right now is another unwanted chat with mine and Carlos’s replacements.
“See you back at the house?” Atticus calls out, the guys already starting to pile into the car or onto their bikes. Felix gives me a quick wave, and Julio shoots me a look like you good? before they rev their engines and pull out.
I nod, even though I'm low-key pissed they’re leaving me to deal with this alone.
Asher slows when he gets close, his expression somewhere between cautious and annoyed. Great. He doesn’t even want to be here either. So why are we doing this?
“Heard you talked to Adam the other night,” Asher starts, his voice low, careful, like he’s trying not to set me off. “He came home pretty torn up about it.”
My jaw clenches. Of course, he did. I shake my head, pushing down the anger rising up inside me. What, did he think I was going to roll out the welcome mat?
“We talked,” I confirm. “We’re cool.” I’m lying through my teeth. Inside, I’m pissed. These guys keep trying to drop into my life, but I’m not interested in being part of their shiny new family. I’ve got my own shit to deal with, and I sure as hell don’t need them complicating it. Is it too much to ask to be left the fuck alone?
I can tell from the way Asher’s jaw ticks that he doesn’t believe me. His arms cross, brown eyes locking on mine. There’s a challenge there, just beneath the surface. “Look, I’m not here to push for anything between us. We don’t need to be brothers or even friends. But Adam? He’s hurting. He knows he messed up, and he just wants to fix things with you.”
Fix things? There’s nothing to fix because there was nothing there to begin with. My chest tightens. Adam didn’t do anything wrong, he’s just another reminder that my real brother is gone.
I keep my face neutral, but inside, I’m fighting the urge to roll my eyes. “There’s nothing to fix,” I say, my voice sharper than I intended. “We’re good.”
Asher’s gaze hardens, an edge creeping into his tone. “Look, Gabriel. You had a brother before. I get it. I’m sorry he’s dead. But if you were in my shoes, you’d be doing the same thing. Adam is a good kid, man. He’s got a soft heart, and he won’t be able to let this go until he knows things are okay between you two.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, the words hitting harder than they should. Asher’s watching me closely, like he’s waiting for something to crack. And maybe it is. Maybe that mention of Carlos, my brother, my other half—it’s enough to make me pause.
“You don’t have to like him,” Asher continues, his voice softer now, less combative. “But can you at least try not to be an asshole? For him? He’s my kid brother. I’ve got to look out for him.”
I let out a long breath, my chest tight. He’s tugging on shit I don’t want to think about. Guilt twisting in a way that’s impossible to ignore. “Fine,” I say, finally meeting his gaze. “If I see Adam around, I’ll be cordial.”
It’s a weak concession, but it’s all I’ve got.
Asher nods, relief flashing in his eyes. “I appreciate it.”
I grunt. I’d love for this conversation to end here, but he’s still standing in front of me like he’s working up to say something else.
“So, uh.” He rubs the back of his neck, his expression sheepish. “I heard the Wolves have a game coming up.”
I nod. “Yeah. Next weekend against Suncrest U.” Where is he going with this?
His lips press together, and he shifts on his feet, clearly uncomfortable. “Would you mind if we … I don’t know, maybe, grabbed a beer after the game?”
Oh, fuck no. I open my mouth to shut that down, but he barrels on.
“You can bring some of your teammates,” he adds, his tone almost desperate now. “Doesn’t need to be anything weird. Just … casual. Adam just wants a chance to hang out. That’s all.”
I want to tell him to fuck off. To tell him and Adam both to leave me alone. But something in his eyes—something about the way he’s trying so damn hard for his brother—makes me pause.
He must see the hesitation because he’s quick to follow up. “You don’t have to commit right now. I’ll give you my number. If you decide it’s cool, just let me know. No pressure, yeah?”
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “Fine. Whatever.” I pull out my phone and punch in his number, more out of obligation than any real intent to use it.
“Cool.” He nods, clearly relieved. “We’ll see you at the game.”
He turns and walks away, leaving me standing there alone with the heaviness of a conversation I didn’t want to have.
I swing my leg over the bike, the weight of the helmet in my hand feeling heavier than usual. I don’t want to be a dick to these guys. But fuck, I don’t know how to let them in.