Chapter 12 Rush
RUSH
My cheeks are equally warm and dry as I glide over the ice and head for the bench.
My brother looks tense. Honestly, he’s looked pretty tense ever since he showed up for practice today, and I know I’m partly to blame.
He hasn’t said much to me, but he’s been skating and slapping the puck something fierce today.
Like me, Freddie got his honorary nickname from his quick-hitting tendencies as much as his speed-skating. Together, on the ice, we’re a dynamic duo—Rush and Flash—because we know how to back one another up. We play off one another well, always have.
But not even I can keep up with Flash today out on the ice.
Though, to be fair, I know it’s not just the whole finding me with my brother’s ex thing that’s got his jockstrap in a twist. It’s the whole cheating thing.
Freddie never outright told the family what happened with Vicki—his ex-fiancée—but the signs were all there.
You don’t call off an engagement out of the blue unless something major happens.
While the rest of the family got some press version of “It was a mutual decision,” I heard the chatter among the other players in the neighboring leagues.
Plus, I saw Vicki with that idiot Kreuss at Hot Shots with his hand on her ass and her tongue down his throat barely three days after they broke up. Rebound or not, it was pretty clear she wasn’t all that broken up about my brother calling off their engagement.
Over the years, Freddie has let things slip. Usually when he’s drunk, which isn’t very often. My older brother rarely drinks, but when he does, it’s usually one or two and that’s it.
Unless it’s the anniversary of their engagement.
That’s the one day a year he gets totally shit-faced, and I know he thinks Tommy and I don’t notice, but we do.
We just know it’s best to leave Freddie alone because that’s just how he is.
He and Tommy are a lot alike in that way—they keep everything in and take it out on the ice.
Or in Tommy’s case, on the field since he’s the only Sterling who can’t ice skate.
Me? I wear my fucking heart on my sleeve and I’m not ashamed of it. Holding shit in like Tommy Boy and Flash? That’s like shoving a Mentos in a can of Coke and putting the lid on.
Eventually, I’ll explode, and shit won’t be pretty.
I drop to the bench next to my brother, reaching for my water bottle, watching as Chris and some of our other teammates finish up their drills.
“You’re a fucking menace out there today,” I say between squirting water into my mouth, trying to catch my breath.
“No different than usual,” he says, but I can hear the bitterness in his voice.
“If this is about earlier, about Nora and I—”
Freddie tenses, his shoulders tightening at the mere mention of her name. “Not everything is about you, Russ.”
Liar.
“So it’s about Nora, then.”
Freddie glares at me.
“What? I said Nora and I, and you said it wasn’t about me, so…” I squirt some water on my head, running my hands through my hair as I try to cool off a bit.
No matter what any asshole tells you, hauling ass across the ice with all this equipment is a fucking workout in itself.
“Russ,” he breathes. “Just…let it go.”
He licks his lips, staring straight ahead through the plexiglass, watching Chris shoot the puck directly into the net. I know that look—the avoidant one. He wants to get back out there, probably to avoid this conversation, but I feel like we need to have it.
Not just this conversation about me and Nora, but about our kiss.
I know it was a mistake, but I can’t stop thinking it wasn’t. Yeah, we were drunk, but she knew who I was. She knew I wasn’t Brett, and maybe she kissed me to get back at him or something, to prove a point. Which would mean I was nothing but a prop or an object to settle the score.
And that alone should piss me off, but it doesn’t.
The thought of being used by Nora—for anything—only makes my stupid cock twitch.
My memories aren’t the clearest, but I can remember some things. Primarily how I came in my fucking pants from making out with her, like I was a damn virgin who’d just discovered first base.
Because it wasn’t just a drunk mistake for me.
It was a year’s worth of pent-up frustration and fantasy. It was feelings I knew I shouldn’t have, stowed away so I wouldn’t cause problems for myself, Nora, or my brothers.
It was me, shedding my good boy decision and giving in to what I wanted.
Nora.
And though the memories are hazy at best, I swear she kissed me back. Drunk or not, she kissed me back. She said my name. That has to mean something, right?
“I don’t know if I can let it go, Fred,” I say honestly, and he groans, hanging his head.
“Fucking hell, Russ,” he bites out. “You need to. Not just for your sake, but for hers too.” He shakes his head. “For everyone.”
“Why?” I press. “Why should I lie about how I feel? She’s not with him anymore, man. They broke up. Because he cheated on her. She’s a free woman. She can make her own decisions about—”
“The body isn’t even cold yet, Rush,” Freddie snaps. “You’re playing with fire, and if you keep pushing the envelope with Nora, you’re going to get burned.”
I watch the way his shoulders hunch, his jaw set.
“Why don’t you tell me what you’re really pissed about?” I say. “Because I know it ain’t the fact that I kissed Nora last night.”
Freddie glares at me. “You kissed her?”
I square my shoulders proudly. “Yeah. So what if I did?”
True to his nickname, I don’t even see him coming. His hand wraps around my throat almost instantly, and I nearly stumble back as he pushes me against the plexiglass.
“You kissed her?”
I look him in the eye, noting the darkness rimmed there. It’s not anger or frustration I see, but something else.
Jealousy.
But what the fuck would Freddie have to be jealous about? Why would he be jealous because I kissed Nora?
And then I feel the tremble of his hand as he tightens his grip, and I remember the way he looked at her this morning. Offering her a ride. Breakfast.
Maybe I’m not the only one in the Eleanor Brighton fan club. Maybe Freddie’s just as interested in the little minx as I am, which is both equally shocking and strangely comforting.
“Yeah, I did. And she kissed me back.”
Freddie grinds his jaw as his hand shakes, and I claw at his fist. Then I hear the team skating toward us.
“Put me down and we can talk about this,” I say.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” Freddies says, but he lets go, nearly throwing me on the ground. I slide down to the concrete, coughing to clear my airway.
“Everything okay over here?” Chris asks.
“Just peachy,” I say as Freddie gets up, heading back to the ice.
“We’re just finishing up,” Chris says. “Going to hit up the club after this. You want to join?” He offers me a hand and helps me to my feet.
“You know I’m in,” I say as I let out a cough.
“You guys go,” Freddie says. “I think I’m going to do some more laps.”
Freddie nods at me as he heads off for the ice, and Chris and I head for the showers.
I stare at the drink in my hands. It seems no matter how many of these damn rum and Cokes I drink, I can’t seem to shake the memory of what happened last night, with Nora. Or what happened earlier, at practice with my brother.
It’s not like Freddie to get worked up over…well…anything, if I’m being honest. The last time I saw him this agitated was after he found out his ex-fiancée was pregnant with that idiot Kreuss from the Badgers, and that was years ago.
I know cheating is a trigger for the guy, and I would’ve just attributed that to the reason he’s pissed had it not been for that fucking look he gave me or his hand around my throat when I told him I kissed Nora.
I know from that one look that he was jealous.
Of the fact that I kissed her.
Because Freddie likes her too. Even if he doesn’t say it out loud.
Suddenly I find myself pouring over every family event and dinner we’ve ever been to, wracking my brain for those signs. Did I miss something, somewhere? I don’t fucking know.
I pull out my phone, staring at it as the rum settles in my stomach.
I haven’t spoken to Nora since she left, mostly because I just haven’t had the time.
It’s the beginning of the season, and as such, most of my day is spent working out and getting back into the swing of playing.
I love the off-season, if only because I get to hang out with my friends and my brothers more often.
Well, mostly Freddie and Tommy because Brett and I have never been close, and I don’t see that getting any better now that I have a real reason to hate him.
Seriously, what kind of asshole cheats on their girlfriend, and not just any girlfriend, but one as perfect as Nora?
I know I should text her. Call her, maybe.
We should probably talk about what happened if only to smooth things over, because the last thing I need is for her to think I took advantage of her or something. I don’t want her to think all of us Sterlings are creeps or assholes like Brett.
I bring up her thread, my finger hovering over the text bar. The last text she sent me was last year when she asked for my address for some picnic thing we had at my house.
The sight hurts my damn heart more than it should. Because I realize that as into Nora as I am—and I am very into her and her bright eyes, her luscious curves, and her sweet-as-pie demeanor—we haven’t really hung out much outside of family stuff.
Part of me wants to ask her out, even though I know I shouldn’t.
I hate to admit that Freddie is right—my feelings are dangerous. Single or not, I should be respectful of the fact that she just got out of a relationship, with my brother no less.
But brothers be damned, I can’t help but feel this pull, this magnetic draw to Nora.
I’m not drunk enough to ignore my conscience tonight, though. I drain my drink as I slide my phone back in my pocket.