Chapter 23 #2
Blaire’s mom had invited her parents; the entire Winthrop family crowded into the living room while Blaire floated down the stairs in that pale blue dress she’d saved her barista money for.
She’d looked radiant.
And then my careless brother went to eat pasta with his hockey teammates instead, solidifying his reputation in her mind as a massive scum bag.
“I’m not defending what he did,” I insist. “I think people can grow and learn from their mistakes.”
Even I don’t sound convinced.
I’m not clueless; I see how my brother behaves. All the parties and late nights. The women.
Zero committed relationships is not a great track record… My family has always assumed he’s going to be a bachelor forever and the only grandkids they’ll ever have will be from me.
Blaire studies my face for a long moment, like she’s deciding whether to keep digging or let the matter go.
On the ice, a whistle blows and the puck resets at center.
“Okay,” she says finally, lifting her beer. “Enough about your emotionally stunted brother. I refuse to let him hijack my good time.”
Relief loosens something in my chest, but I frown. “I’m sorry.”
“Babe, I came for drama—but the fun kind.” She nods pointedly toward the ice. “Oh look, someone is out of jail and back at it.”
My brother busts out of the penalty box and back onto the ice, skating at full speed toward the opposing team’s goal, defense mode locked in.
I remember when Declan was younger and had started learning to skate—we’d taken lessons together, and for a hot second I’d wanted to play hockey, too. Saturdays with frozen toes and our mom watching from the stands with a hot latte.
But he was older.
And bigger.
And fearless.
When I got knocked down, I could never get back up without help. When Declan fell, he popped right back up, already chasing the puck again.
And lord knows I sucked at it.
My parents weren’t willing to sink the time or money into something that was just a phase to spare my sensitive feelings—or so I could copy my brother. They saw something in him early. The drive. The passion.
The determination to win and be one of the greats.
He didn’t care about parties.
Or girls.
He didn’t skip the dance with Blaire because he wanted to humiliate her. I wish she knew that and wouldn’t hold it over his head. My dopey brother has a one-track mind, and she was not in the path of it.
I watch him skate, pride beating in my chest.
This is who he is.
This is what he wants.
Which makes me wonder: What would happen if he ever let his guard down long enough to actually feel something for someone?
* * *
Two hours later, the game ends in a narrow win and instead of spending the remainder of the evening at Aaron’s place the way I’d wanted to, Blaire and I are back at my apartment.
Shoes kicked off, adrenaline and stale beer still buzzing in my veins. We’re curled up on my couch with blankets and the takeaway we ordered on our way home.
I stab into the carton with my chopsticks, stuffing an undignified amount of noodles into my mouth, chewing as if I haven’t eaten in days.
“So,” Blaire says around her food. “Let’s unpack what we saw tonight.”
“I wish I knew.” It was difficult to watch.
“Like…” She continues eating, the smacking of food actually causing me to stare slack-jawed at her. “What do we think the actual problem is between Declan and Aaron—all jokes aside?”
Hmm.
Good question.
“Is this game related?” I pause. “They don’t play the same position, so that can’t be it.”
Blaire considers this. “It must be personal.”
I pinch more noodles onto my chopsticks. “Personal how?”
“That’s the part that doesn’t make sense.” She wipes her mouth with a napkin. Washes down her pad thai with a long chug of iced tea. “It has to be related to you. Maybe… Declan is jealous?”
I nod. “Yeah, that makes sense. He’s been acting weird—and I told you about our conversation this morning.” Come to think of it… “Remember when I dated Ethan for three months? Declan didn’t like him either, but he wasn’t a jerk about it.”
“Have you asked your mom about it?”
I nod again. “She said they spoke yesterday and he got all agitated. But then again, you know how my mom is. All she wants to do is pester him about ‘settling down with a nice girl and having babies.’” Blaire and I both pull faces. “I would be irritated, too.”
Blaire stops eating. “But being irritated at your mom is one thing. Squaring up to Aaron like they’re about to drop gloves is another.”
“True.” I stab my noodles aimlessly. “Maybe… he doesn’t like Aaron?”
She gives me a look. “Based on what? The fact that he’s tall? Intimidating? Smells expensive and goes down on you?”
That makes me blush.
“Declan is wired for control—he loves routine. Structure. Suddenly his teammate is dating his sister. That blurs lines. What if he’s worried you’re going to be a distraction for Aaron?”
Pfft. “Who his teammates date is none of his business.”
“He could see it as a liability,” she adds, raising her brows. “Think about it! If he’s this hyper-focused on winning, anything threatening the machine could feel like sabotage.”
Eh. “I mean, maybe?”
“What if Aaron said something to him?”
“Like?”
“Like maybe he told Declan to stay out of his damn relationship.”
I laugh at the thought of how that conversation might have gone down. Honestly, I can picture it in my mind a little bit too clearly.
Based on the silence in the room, we’re both imagining it.
“Ooh, ooh!” Blaire blurts out, tapping her chopsticks against her container. “Picture this: Declan pulls him aside, gives him the whole big-brother speech. ‘Don’t screw this up. Don’t hurt her, blah blah blah or I’ll kill you.’”
I groan. “I would die.”
“Also!” Blaire adds with authority. “There’s the possibility that Declan thinks Aaron’s not serious?”
Yes, that sounds more accurate than all the other theories combined.
My friend waves her chopstick around through the air. “Maybe he thinks Aaron is using you as a rebound? Or leading you on?”
I replay the conversations I had with my brother, where he implied I was na?ve—or not experienced enough to know what was happening in front of my face. As if I were too fragile and sweet for a guy like Aaron…
My face burns. “That has to be it.”
Blaire makes a face. “Ew. I hate that.”
“So do I.” I shove another bite of noodles into my mouth out of pure spite. “I am not some delicate woodland creature.”
“No, you are not. You’re way sexier than a woodland creature and with a way tighter ass.”
“Oh my god, stop it.”
“I’m just saying. You know exactly what you’re doing.”
Before I can fire back, there’s a knock at the door.
Three solid raps.
We freeze.
Blaire’s eyes get wide. “That was a testosterone-filled knock.”
“No,” I whisper. “That is not who we think it is.”
Another knock.
Blaire slowly swivels her head toward me. “If that is your brother, I am out of here so fast.”
My heart is pounding now. “It’s not Declan. He would text first.”
“Go get the door before he leaves!”
I set down my takeaway container.
Wipe my mouth on a napkin.
Smooth down the front of my Ice Wolves jersey.
The walk to the door feels approximately six miles long.
I glance through the peephole.
And stop breathing.
It’s Aaron, standing in front of my door wearing a black quarter zip and jeans, hair slicked back. Fresh from a shower in the locker room. He has one hand in his pocket and the other braced against my doorjamb.
Damn, he’s sexy…
“It’s Aaron,” I mouth to Blaire, who’s now perched on the edge of the couch, clutching a throw pillow.