Ethan (Hockey Bros #1)

Prologue

Eleven years ago

Ethan looked forward to this day every single year.

Well, not every single year.

When they’d lived in California—almost so long ago Ethan could barely remember the hazy edges of the memory—there’d only been ice when they went to the big building with all the rinks.

Otherwise, Ethan and his brothers had strapped on their rollerblades and tumbled around the cul-de-sac outside their house, getting scrapes and bruises despite all the padding that their mom insisted they wear.

But in Michigan, there was ice. Real ice. Outside even, freezing over the pond that lay just behind their house.

They always had to wait until Dad declared that the ice was safe. Mom had sat them all down, last year—or maybe the year before that—and reminded all of them that they weren’t allowed on the pond until Dad checked it. Made sure it was frozen solid.

Her voice and the look in her blue eyes had been serious enough that even Charlie had listened, though he’d whined every day after that, begging their dad to check it just one more time, hoping that it might be ready.

Avery had shoved him every time he’d complained about it, the two of them always getting into their own little fights, because they were bigger and they annoyingly listened too much to Mom when she’d told them, that same serious note in her voice, that Ethan was much smaller than them, and they needed to be careful around him.

Ethan had argued that he wasn’t that much smaller. He was a whole nine years old! Didn’t they know he was nearly as tall as Charlie now? Ethan hated being the baby. Hated being treated different just because Charlie was twelve and Avery was fourteen. It was unfair.

Ethan shoved all those thoughts away. Today was a good day. The best kind of day. An ice day!

Their dad had gone out this morning, after Charlie had pestered him all last night, on and on and on about how surely it was ready, now. It had been so cold, surely the pond was frozen over now.

Avery had told him he was being annoying, but that was the thing about Charlie. He never cared if he was being annoying. Or if Avery told him he was being annoying.

If Avery ever told Ethan he was annoying, his throat would get tight and he’d bury his head in his arm, not wanting to cry in front of his big brother. Not wanting him to see how much it hurt that he’d annoyed Avery.

But Charlie just laughed.

Which, really, was more annoying than the constant pestering or even Ethan’s tears.

Still, it was an ice day, and there was nothing bad that could ever happen on an ice day. Hockey was the best thing ever. It could never be bad, but it was always the best on the ice.

They all got ready in Avery’s room, because it was the biggest, and Ethan and Charlie shared, and their room was currently a disaster zone because Charlie was the messiest person in the whole world.

“Ugh,” Charlie said, as he wrangled a jersey over his coat. He hadn’t wanted to wear one—which was pretty much true all the time—only his Sidney Crosby sweater, which was basically his most prized possession. If any of them touched it, Charlie got really mad, every single time.

His arm was stuck in the sleeve, and he flailed around, trying to get the jersey on. Ethan thought it looked too small. But he wasn’t going to be the one to say so.

Charlie could be prickly, but he was prickliest about his Crosby sweater.

“You look stupid,” Avery told Charlie.

“Be nice, V,” Ethan whined, using the nickname Avery’s teammates liked to call him. “You’re gonna piss him off.”

“Hey,” Charlie retorted.

Ethan pulled on his Modano jersey. He liked the big star on the front, all sparkly. So much better than a stupid penguin or Avery’s big blue shark. Stars were cool.

Avery was nice, most of the time. He was nice now, reaching over and tugging at the sleeve of Charlie’s jersey, trying to loosen it up so Charlie could get it on. But he finally gave up, and Charlie gave a muffled whine under the fabric.

“I think it’s too small,” Avery said reluctantly. “Guess you grew since last winter. Finally.”

Charlie glared at him after he shrugged it off.

“Take your coat off,” Ethan suggested. He’d finally managed to get on his own jersey on over his coat, with no help from his brothers. He was officially big now.

“Yeah, if I do, Mom’s gonna kill me,” Charlie said, frowning.

“Guess you’re gonna have to ask for a new Crosby for Christmas,” Avery said. “You can wear my Kaner jersey, if you want.”

“I hate him,” Charlie complained.

“Better than just wearing your coat. How can we play if you’re not in a sweater?” Ethan wondered. “Or you could always wear one of your practice ones.”

Charlie made a face. “That’s not special. Not for the first day out on the pond.”

“Aw,” Avery said, reaching over to ruffle Ethan’s hair. Ethan was a second too late to dodge the noogie he tried to smush into his wild curls. “We can always play, Eth. Always.”

Charlie just rolled his eyes. “Fine, I’ll wear your Kaner. He’s fine, I guess.”

“Not as good as Modano,” Ethan piped up, because it was boring if he played peacemaker all the time. Besides, duh, the star was the coolest. Charlie’s and Avery’s jerseys weren’t sparkly.

“You’re both stupid. Jumbo Joe’s the best,” Avery said smugly.

Jumbo Joe had even signed Avery’s sweater, because their dad had worked with him in California, the signature on the number a little smudged now. Avery was so smug about it.

“I hate you,” Charlie declared, which he did about a hundred times a day.

Avery didn’t take it very seriously, not like Ethan might have. Instead, he switched his attention to Ethan, gaze skimming him head to toe, like he did sometimes.

Like he was making sure Ethan was okay. Well, Ethan was good. Ethan was big now, surely Avery could see that?

“Make sure you get your hat,” Avery told Ethan, giving him a little nod, like he was going to be okay.

Ethan grumbled under his breath as he grabbed his green beanie and pulled it over his curls.

“Hey, you could always wear my Chelios,” Avery told Charlie.

Everyone froze.

Avery’s Chelios jersey was his most prized possession. Chris Chelios was like Avery’s god or something. He worshipped him, the way that Charlie worshipped Sidney Crosby.

Ethan liked Mike Modano just fine, but what he really liked was the star on the jersey and the way it sparkled under the lights of the stadium when he scored a sick goal.

Ethan was going to score sick goals like that, someday.

Maybe he’d even have a sparkly star on the front of his sweater, too.

But of course, Charlie was going to be a jerk about this, too, even though it was a big deal that Avery had been willing to lend Charlie his Chelios jersey.

“Ugh, a d-man, really? So freaking boring,” Charlie said. The look on his face told Ethan that he was being mean about Chelios just to annoy Avery.

Avery made a face. “You’re just saying that to piss me off. I’m a d-man.”

“So?” Charlie said, shrugging. “Some of us can’t score.”

Charlie could be really annoying, sometimes.

“And some of us can do both,” Avery retorted. He shoved the bright red Kane jersey at Charlie. “Stop being a brat and put it on.”

“Yeah, he’s gonna score on you over and over now,” Ethan told Charlie as they finally tripped out of Avery’s room.

“Like he could,” Charlie said, even though Charlie wasn’t exactly a great two-way forward. A great forward, sure, and Ethan would have to be a lot younger to not hear how his parents were already talking about Charlie.

“He totally could,” Ethan said loyally. He thought Avery was the best player in the whole world, though he’d never tell Charlie that.

“Come on,” Avery said, leading them towards the door to the garage.

“You guys all have your coats on?” Mom called from the kitchen.

“Yeah!” Charlie yelled back.

“Avery?” Mom asked. “You made sure Ethan’s okay?”

Charlie made a face and Ethan echoed him.

“Mom,” Ethan whined as she appeared in front of them. “I’m fine! I’m not a little kid anymore!”

Charlie snickered under his breath and Ethan shoved an elbow into his side. Maybe Charlie and Avery had been told not to fight with Ethan, but Ethan could do anything he wanted to them.

It wasn’t perfect but Ethan was going to take advantage of it.

“Right, so big!” she echoed, grinning at him.

Her gaze sharpened as she took in Charlie, wearing the bright red Blackhawks jersey with its 88 on the back.

“No Crosby today?”

“It didn’t fit over my coat,” Charlie sulked. “Could I—”

“No,” she said firmly.

“Guess he finally grew some,” Avery said under his breath.

“I’m gonna kick your butt,” Charlie retorted with heat.

“Maybe you finally can now,” Avery said, grinning.

“I’m gonna—”

“Boys,” Mom interrupted gently. She turned to Avery. “Watch your brothers, okay?”

“Always do,” Avery said, suddenly very serious.

He always did. Was annoying about how careful he was about their gear. Yelled at Ethan every time he tried to take his hat off.

“Your gear’s in the garage, in the bin,” she said. Ruffled Charlie’s hair, who squirmed out of her grasp. “Guess you’re going to want a new Crosby for Christmas, huh?”

“But I wanted a new pair of gloves,” Charlie whined.

“Maybe Santa’ll bring you both,” she murmured, the corner of her mouth tilting up into a half smile.

Ethan wasn’t surprised. Charlie got whatever he wanted, just by existing and being really freaking good at hockey.

When they got out to the garage, Avery was already pulling gear out of the box. Skates and gloves and sticks and a bag of pucks.

Most of them were Sharks pucks, since that was where Dad worked, before he went to work for the US program.

The program that Avery was just on the verge of joining.

Charlie had been complaining about it plenty, how next year Avery would be playing “grown-up hockey.”

Ethan didn’t mind. Only thought that he was going to miss his big brother, as insufferable and bossy as he could be. Always thinking he knew best, even though he was only fourteen.

“Slowpoke,” Charlie whined, as he twirled his stick between his gloved hands. “Hurry up.”

“Mean,” Avery said, but in a nice kind of way.