12. Russ
CHAPTER 12
RUSS
I know Emery is following me inside. I also know I can’t stop her. It’s a miracle she didn’t drag me away before dinner.
“So…” she says as soon as the door closes behind her.
I open the fridge and ignore her.
“Russell,” she chides after a minute.
I sigh. “It’s not what you think.”
“Really? Because as we’ve very recently discussed, I was raised in the NHL and my brother is thrice-divorced.”
“Thrice-married. Twice divorced, and let’s hope that’s where the stats end.” I finish setting the ramekins I carefully filled yesterday on a tray, and grab the kitchen blow torch I’m sorely tempted to use on myself right now. “You invited yourself along for this miserable weekend, Buzz. So now we’re in it. Whatever you think you’ve figured out, you’re wrong. And if you keep poking that bruise, you’re going to hurt an innocent woman. So leave it alone, do you hear me?”
“Oh.” She rocks back on her heels. “Oooooh.”
“Not oh. Not oooooh. Nothing.” I yank open the drawers, looking for the damn dessert spoons.
“I put them over here earlier,” Emery says, patting the island.
She parked herself next to them when she came in, knowing I’d eventually have to come and stand right in front of her, like a thirty-six-year-old schoolboy being called on the carpet for having an off-limits crush.
“This is more interesting than I thought,” she says softly. “You’re on the rebound from Shannon? ”
“I’m not having this conversation with you,” I grind out. Then I clatter the spoons onto the tray. “I love you like the sister I never had, but some things are not for you to find interesting. Understood?”
Her expression is undeterred as she looks up at me. “Are you okay, Rusty?”
I set my hands on her shoulders and lean in, holding her eye contact. “You saw the team this afternoon. We all want one thing, and one thing only—the Cup. That is the whole point of this weekend. That is what my entire focus will be when we report to training camp, and when the season begins. Anything else. Everything else is second to that, and anything that is in conflict with that goal is shoved into a box under the bed to consider when I retire.”
Slowly, she nods, understanding setting in. “Which won’t be that far away,” she teases. “Because you’re such an old man.”
I laugh weakly. “Yep.”
“I’ll get the door for you.” She grabs my hands off her shoulders and squeezes my fingers. “But for the record, I love you exactly like the big brothers I do have, and I would only want you all to be happy.”
It’s right on the tip of my tongue to tell her that I’m happy. Because of course I’m happy.
But the words don’t come out.