Chapter Twenty
Brother Knows Best
Winnie
“The Bachelor is trash, and you know it.”
My brother Jake stabs a fry into his ketchup with more aggression than necessary. “It’s not trash. It’s a cultural phenomenon.”
“It’s manufactured drama designed to exploit emotionally vulnerable people for ratings.”
“That’s what makes it good.” He grins.
I throw a napkin at him. He catches it, still grinning.
This is our thing—lunch once a month at the same diner we’ve been frequenting since he started his MBA program in the city. Greasy burgers, endless fries, and arguments about television that would make our mother roll her eyes.
Jake is two years younger than me but acts like he’s two years older. He’s got Dad’s dark hair and Mom’s stubborn streak, and he’s been trying to give me life advice since he was twelve. Most of it is terrible. Some of it, annoyingly, is not.
“Love Island is superior in every way,” I continue. “At least they’re honest about what they’re doing.”
“Love Island is just hot people in swimsuits making bad decisions.”
“Exactly. No pretense. No fake proposals. Just chaos.”
“You’re impossible.” He shoves three fries into his mouth at once. Classy. “So, how’s the new job? You haven’t complained about it in like two weeks, which is either really good or really bad.”
“It’s good, actually.” I can’t help the smile spreading across my face. “Really good. The guys are finally taking my sessions seriously. My metrics are improving. My boss is happy.”
“That’s great, Win.” He means it. For all his teasing, Jake’s always been my biggest supporter. “What changed?”
I hesitate. This is the part I’ve been avoiding.
“There’s this guy,” I say.
Jake’s fry freezes halfway to his mouth. “A guy.”
“It’s not—it’s complicated.”
“It’s always complicated with you.” He sets the fry down, giving me his full attention. “Tell me.”
So I tell him—not everything, not the fake dating arrangement, but the broad strokes. Banks. The team’s enforcer. How he stepped in when the guys were being inappropriate. How we’ve been spending time together and how everyone miraculously backed off.
“He’s actually really sweet,” I find myself saying. “Under all the gruff exterior. He’s polite. Respectful. Maddeningly slow, actually—he hasn’t tried anything.” I laugh a little. “I practically had to drag him into my hotel room just to eat burgers and watch TV.”
I expect Jake to laugh, to make some joke about my taste in men improving. Banks is very brother-approved.
He doesn’t laugh.
“Winnie.” His voice is careful. Measured. “This guy is a professional athlete.”
“Yeah.”
“And you’ve known him how long?”
“A few weeks. Maybe a month.”
Jake leans back in his chair, arms crossed—the body language of a man who’s about to say something I don’t want to hear.
“What?” I ask.
“I don’t like it.”
I blink. “What do you mean you don’t like it? You don’t even know him.”
“Exactly. I don’t know him. And neither do you.” He holds up a hand before I can interrupt. “A few weeks, Win. You’ve known him a few weeks. And he’s a professional athlete. You know what those guys are like.”
“No, I don’t. Enlighten me.”
“They think they’re a big deal. They travel constantly. They’ve got women throwing themselves at them in every city. They’re used to getting whatever they want, whenever they want it.” He shakes his head. “I’m not saying he’s a bad guy. I’m saying be careful.”
“I am being careful.”
“Are you? Because it sounds like you’re already halfway gone for this dude.”
I open my mouth to argue, then close it. Am I halfway gone? I don’t know anymore. The lines have gotten so blurry.
“He’s different,” I say, but even I can hear how weak it sounds.
“They’re all different in the beginning.” Jake’s expression softens slightly. “Look, I’m not trying to be an asshole. I just… I watched what Derek did to you. How long it took you to put yourself back together. I don’t want to see my sister end up as someone’s flavor of the week.”
“Banks isn’t like Derek.”
“You don’t know that. You don’t know anything about his history, his past relationships, his—” He makes a vague gesture.
“Who knows where he’s been, Win. These guys, they have options.
Lots of options. Just… use protection, okay?
And don’t let yourself get too attached until you know what you’re actually dealing with. ”
The words land like stones in my stomach.
I want to argue. I want to defend Banks, to list all the ways he’s proven himself to be decent and good, nothing like what Jake is describing.
But the truth is, I don’t know. Not really. I don’t know anything about his past relationships. I don’t know if he’s had girlfriends, hookups, or one-night stands in every city on the road. He told me it’s been a while since anyone touched him, but what does “a while” mean? A few months? A year?
He’s twenty-nine years old. He’s been in the NHL for over a decade. The idea that he’s been celibate that whole time is laughable.
So what has he been doing?
“Win?” Jake is watching me, concerned now. “You okay?”
“Fine.” I force a smile. “You’re right. I’ll be careful.”
“I’m not trying to rain on your parade—”
“No, I know. You’re being a good brother.” I reach across the table and squeeze his hand. “Annoyingly overprotective, but good.”
“It’s my job.” He squeezes back. “So when are you going out with this guy next?”
“Actually…” I take a breath. “There’s a charity gala tomorrow night. He asked me to go with him.”
Jake’s eyebrows rise. “A gala. Like, formal?”
“Like, very formal. The whole team will be there. Press, probably. It’s a big deal.”
“And you said yes?”
“I said yes.”
He’s quiet for a moment, processing. “That’s pretty public for something that’s only been going on a few weeks.”
“I know.”
“You’re sure about this?”
“I’m sure,” I say, even though new worries are now rattling around in my head.
Jake nods slowly. “Okay. Just… keep your eyes open, alright? Don’t let the fancy events and the charm blind you to any red flags.”
“Banks doesn’t do charm. He barely does complete sentences.”
“You know what I mean.”
I do. That’s the problem.
We finish lunch with lighter conversation—his classes, our parents’ upcoming anniversary, and whether Mom is ever going to stop asking when we’re giving her grandchildren. But underneath the banter, Jake’s words keep circling.
Who knows where he’s been.
Flavor of the week.
Use protection.
Banks isn’t good at the relationship stuff. He told me that himself—he hasn’t been in a relationship in years. So what has he been doing instead? Hookups? One-night stands? A different woman in every city, easy and uncomplicated and gone by morning?
I have no reason to assume he’s a saint. No reason to believe I’m special. No reason to think that whatever’s happening between us could grow into something real.
The doubt settles in my chest like a cold stone.
By the time I hug Jake goodbye on the sidewalk, I’ve convinced myself I need to be more careful, rational. Smart.