Chapter 6
Six
Colt
“And then I sniped him, bro. Seriously sniped him.”
Blake laughs and I can tell by the way it sounds that he’s having a rough day.
Health-wise.
Not mentally.
Blake, for all that my little brother has endured in his life—hospital stays, double-digit surgeries, so fucking many doctors’ appointments and procedures and medications—isn’t often unwell mentally.
He’s the strongest person I know.
And I don’t mean that he’s just hiding his thoughts and feelings and struggles behind a veneer of fake, toxic positivity.
I mean he was born with a shit hand, can’t go out and act like us normal, healthy folk, but he still manages to live a life that’s far more complete than the nonsense I’ve been pretending to live.
On the road half the year.
Living and breathing hockey the rest of it.
Alone when I’m not with the team.
Things have gotten a little better since I was traded to the Sierra—mostly because Knox and Lake and the others make it impossible to keep my distance.
But I’m not exactly living what anyone would call a full life.
Blake, on the other hand, can’t leave the house all that often (and even more rarely for something that isn’t a doctor’s appointment) has a packed social calendar with friends all over the world.
Call of Duty with his friends in Berlin.
Wavelength with his friends in Australia.
The newest Roblox game with his friends in Brazil.
Video games and chatting online keep him sane, but it’s not all Blake does. He’s on the board of the children’s charity I founded when I got my first big contract in the league, he fosters kittens, and he does social media for a variety of brands.
See? A full life.
Certainly more so than me with my sticks and pucks and skates.
“Why were you sniping again?”
He sighs the put-out sigh that only younger siblings can do. “Because he was being a dickhead with Sara.”
“And who is Sara?” I can’t help but ask, drawing out her name to about ten syllables.
He pauses and I picture him glaring at the phone. Then he sighs again. “You’re annoying.”
“And you’ve got it bad,” I tease.
“Bro—”
“You know I can always get another ticket to the team’s celebration,” I offer. “And you can impress her with your hockey prowess and behind-the-scenes privileges.”
“Yeah, right,” he mock grumbles. “Last thing I need is one of those playboys you call teammates catching her eye.”
“True. You definitely can’t compete with that kind of sex appeal.”
Silence.
Then, “You know if you weren’t my brother, I’d…”
“Wish you could have my abs?”
He snorts. “God, you’re an asshole sometimes,” he says, but he’s laughing.
“Sure am,” I say and I’m laughing too.
I pull to a stop in front of the practice facility and throw the transmission into park. “I’m serious about the extra ticket though.”
“I’ll ask her.” He coughs slightly, and I know it’s because of the fluid around his heart. “But she might have to work.”
Yup. Maybe it’s cliché, but Sara and Blake met in the cafeteria of the hospital.
She’s a nurse in one of the departments.
And my brother is charming when he’s not giving me shit.
It’s a match that means he’s fallen hard enough I hope she doesn’t break his heart.
Though, she seems just as smitten.
Now if I can just get my mom to unclench enough so Blake can take her on an actual date…
Maybe this event will be that chance, especially since they’re all coming out.
“Well, either way,” I tell him. “The ticket will be there waiting for her. And her flight would be on me.”
“Th—”
“Who may have to work?”
It’s a shrill question.
And not from Blake.
“Mom,” he begins. “Colt’s on the phone—”
“Who Blake Madden?” she presses.
“Sara.” He sighs when she makes a sharp sound but doesn’t back down. “Remember how we’re going to the celebration the Sierra are putting on for Colt’s five hundredth game in the league? Colt said he could get an extra ticket for Sara.”
I can’t believe it’s been that long.
Can’t believe that in all of those games, Blake has only been able to convince our parents (well, really, our mom because our dad is more interested in his phone than anything to do with either of us) to allow him to come to a half-dozen of them.
“A celebration with the Sierra?!” she exclaims. “Absolutely not, Blake.”
“Mom! You promised!”
“And what if you get sick? There are twenty thousand people at those games!”
“I’ve already arranged for you guys to have a suite,” I interject. “Blake won’t have to sit out in the arena.”
Silence.
“And none of you have to participate in any of the events if you don’t want to. Though Doc is aware of Blake’s conditions and took them into account. Most of the events will be outside and the inside ones will have handwashing stations and masks available.”
More silence.
Then, “It’s too dangerous. You know if your brother picks up a bug, he can get seriously ill. Do you want Blake to get sick?” Her voice blasts through the speakers, hard and accusing. “Do you want him to die?”
“Mom,” Blake begins, exasperation heavy in his tone. “I’m—”
“You know your doctor advised that you avoid crowds, especially after the last time. Your lungs are scarred from your medications and we’re going into flu season.”
“So, I’ll wear a mask.” He coughs, his breaths sounding shallower, faster. “And wash my hands.”
Because he’s frustrated.
Because he’s having a bad day.
“I can’t not live my life—” He breaks off, his cough wetter, raspier. “I—” He tries to keep talking, but my mom is talking too, talking over him, all that shrill overpowering him, especially since he’s fighting against the coughing, the shortness of breath.
And I can’t listen any longer.
Can’t be the cause of this shit.
Not again.
“It’s fine,” I say quietly. Then again, more loudly. “Mom,” I finally interject sharply, shouting to be heard over her cacophony of words. “It’s fine. There are always more games. We’ll find one that works better.”
“Only if he’s careful and not sick and—”
“Enough, Mom,” Blake snaps. “I’m going.”
“Blake, it’s cool,” I say.
“It’s not,” he growls.
A sniff has my stomach clenching, my teeth grinding together. “I just worry about you, is all,” our mom says and I know the tears are getting ready to come. Christ. “I just love my baby boy.”
I absorb that blow as I always do.
The singular baby boy.
Because I’m the afterthought.
“Mom—” Blake begins.
“I need to get to the pharmacy and pick up your prescriptions.”
“I have them scheduled for delivery—”
“It’s always better if I go in person. You know they get it wrong half the time…” she says, her voice fading as she presumably leaves for the pharmacy.
The quiet falls again.
“C…olt,” Blake says and fuck, just hearing him trying to push out my name kills.
“It’s good,” I tell him. “Promise. We’ll find another way to impress Sara.”
“I—” he rasps. “You know Mom just—”
I can’t do this right now.
“I need to go, bud. It’s almost time for practice and I don’t want to be late.”
“You…know I love…you?”
“Yeah,” I say, closing my eyes for a second. “You know I love you?” A beat. “Even though you’re a fucking pain in the ass?”
“Same, bro. Same.” He laughs and it still sounds rough.
But at least the pity is gone from his voice when we say our goodbyes.