Chapter 18
Eighteen
Colt
The last week has felt like a God damn eternity.
Living with Briar but not being able to touch her, be with her the way I want to, is a whole other level of torture.
What makes it harder is the gap between me and the boys.
Banks is fine, just busy with the team. Royal is okay too, but I feel the emotional distance between us because, no matter how we try to mask it, it’s not the same.
I’m not the same and none of them are the same, so it was stupid of me to come back hoping it would be.
Things will shift back into some semblance of normal—whatever the fuck that is.
It’s just going to take time and I’ve already lost so much, it’s hard to have patience.
But I need to. Both because my family is important and because I’m not giving up on Briar.
She might be dating West but there isn’t a whole lot going on right now.
No sleepovers, no trips, no sweet, romantic phone calls. Nothing.
Not that I’m privy to her private conversations, but she’s either home or at work.
A lot. And I know for sure she’s not sleeping at his place.
If I were him, and she were mine, there isn’t a chance in hell I’d be keeping a polite distance while she lives with another guy.
No, there’s more going on here and I’m not giving up until I’ve proven to her that I’m the man she’s always wanted me to be.
Tonight, we’re going to a Vipers game.
All of us.
Frankie has been talking about it non-stop. Uncle Atlas’s private box. How Auntie Lily and Auntie Jade sometimes sing the National Anthem. How baby Maisie gets to go too, with special little headphones to protect her from the noise. It’s adorable, if not a little exhausting.
“She’s at that age,” Briar murmurs as we get to the arena and park in a VIP section. Frankie has barely stopped talking long enough to take a breath or let us answer her questions.
“All day?” I ask with a faint grimace.
She chuckles. “Sometimes.”
I nod. “You think we could buy her something to eat?”
She laughs. “That will work for about ninety seconds.”
I scoop Frankie up as we walk toward the entrance, a little annoyed that she’s wearing West’s jersey, but that’s the least of my worries.
According to Briar, she has five jerseys, and she rotates through them, including two of Banks’s, a generic away jersey, and West’s.
Must be nice to be four and have friends and family who are professional hockey players.
“There’s Uncle Banks!” she yells as we walk down to the ice.
Banks grins in her direction, nudges West and another guy on the team, Magnus Forsberg, and they head for the glass.
West scoops up a puck, points to Frankie and tosses it over the glass.
I lift her higher so she can grab it, and she holds it to her chest like she just reached the pot of gold at the end of the fucking rainbow.
“Yay!” She wiggles in my arms, pressing one hand against the glass and grinning at West, who grins back.
Fuck. Me.
I hate every second of this, but I have to tamp down the anger and jealousy and frustration and allow my daughter to revel in the attention—and the love. I don’t care who it comes from, love is love, and all kids need it in spades. God knows, I didn’t have a single iota of it after I lost my dad.
After a few minutes of the guys making faces at her and joking around, we finally head toward the elevators that lead to the private boxes. Briar has to show a special pass just to get on, and an attendant takes us up there.
It’s quieter up here, yet no less exciting, and the moment we get to Atlas’s box Frankie wriggles out of my arms and runs to him.
“Uncle Atlas—look!” She holds up her puck and Atlas leans down to scoop her up.
“That’s cool,” he says solemnly. “I’m pretty sure I don’t have one of those. Not even Uncle Banks’s.”
She frowns, and then holds it out. “Would you like it?” she asks softly. “Uncle West can give me another one.”
“Oh, baby, no. That one is yours.” His face softens and he presses a kiss on her forehead. “If I really wanted one, I’d ask Uncle Banks.”
She wraps her arms around his neck. “But I want you to have one too!”
“That’s sweet, honey.” He hugs her tightly, his eyes closed, as if this little girl is the only thing in the world that matters.
I don’t miss the irony because she should be the only thing in the world that matters—especially to me.
Obviously, her mother is in a class of her own, but Frankie is my kid.
My daughter. A baby I never dreamed of but always wanted.
The plan in my head had been to get through training while giving Briar that year to establish herself professionally.
Then we would get married, and I’d be able to give her the general details of my job.
So she wouldn’t worry. Well, so she wouldn’t worry as much.
You’re always going to worry when your significant other has a dangerous job.
At some point, when both of us were somewhat settled in our careers, we’d talk about a baby. Or three or four. I was a sad, miserable only child, physically and verbally abused by both my mother and the subsequent string of stepfathers.
There was no one to protect me or have my back until I met the guys in college.
I wanted what I had with the guys for my future kids.
Now I have one, but she calls me Colt instead of Daddy. Not even Uncle Colt, just Colt. Like I’m one of her mother’s random friends. And it stings.
I’m working on it, though.
And I won’t give up until they both love me.
But the only jersey I want to see my kid in is Banks’s.
“Hey.” Atlas nods in my direction once Frankie runs over to see Maisie.
“Hi.” I want to crack a joke or say something about how much I love seeing his relationship with Frankie, but I’m suddenly tongue-tied. He’s one of my best friends in the world and I don’t know how to talk to him anymore. He wasn’t a billionaire the last time I saw him.
“How are you feeling?” he asks politely.
God, this really sucks. This is the equivalent of talking about the weather.
“I’m better,” I say. “It’s been slow going. I have to see a nephrologist on Tuesday, so he can test my kidney function.”
I was hoping for a smidge of sympathy, and it worked—I see the concern in his eyes.
“It was that bad?” He pauses and then slowly lifts his hands in an almost helpless gesture, which is so out of character for him. “I guess I don’t know what happened to you.”
I nod. “You could have asked.”
His eyes meet mine and—finally—I see the smallest hint of regret.
Maybe we’re getting somewhere.
“I could have,” he says. “But you threw a double whammy at us.”
“I didn’t mean to. To be fair, I had no idea Frankie existed.
I thought my superiors were forwarding my mail while I was in training.
And it wasn’t until I got back last month that I found out I’d been declared dead.
If there was any possible way for me to get in touch, I would have. You have to believe that, Atlas.”
There it is, me laying it on the line with as much brutal honesty as I can muster up.
He stands there, studying my face, as if trying to wrap his head around it.
“You were in Russia,” he says after a moment.
“Siberia.”
He grimaces. “Jesus.”
“Four years. Daily beatings. Torture. Minimal food. Cold and hungry every day.” I take a breath.
“I don’t want sympathy—I just want you to understand that there isn’t a force on this earth that would have willingly taken me away from Briar and the rest of you.
I fought like hell to survive so I could get back to all of you. ”
Another long, calculating beat of silence.
He stares, and I stare back.
I’ve never been afraid of my brothers, and after what I’ve been through, there isn’t much that scares me. About the only thing that strikes fear in my heart is the thought of losing my family. Briar. Frankie. The boys.
Everything else, even a deadly glare from the shrewdest businessman in the world, is nothing but a glancing blow.
“I need time,” he says finally, putting his hands in his pockets. “To get right with…everything. You and Briar—”
“I love her now and I loved her then,” I respond bluntly.
“I fought it. She fought it. We did our best to play by the unwritten rules you guys set up. But we couldn’t.
And just before I left, we laid everything on the line.
I was going to marry her, man. There was no bullshit hooking up going on.
She was never a conquest or a notch in my bedpost. Briar and me—it was the real deal.
” I glance over to where she’s laughing with Aspen and Lily, and for a moment neither of us speaks.
“She’s with West,” he says. “For the first time since… well, since you died, she’s finally happy. Don’t come in here, mess that up, and then go chasing whatever high you were after five years ago.”
I shake my head firmly. “That’s done. I quit and I’m not going back. You have my word, Atlas. I’ll never hurt her—or any of you—again.” I extend my hand—and wait.
He looks down at it hesitantly.
Then, ever so slowly, he puts his hand in mine. “I still need a little time.”
“I understand.”
“Welcome home, brother.”
Fuck, but that feels good.