Page 76 of My Brother's Teammates

Hell, I’m in trouble either way.

“Can I get you gentlemen something else to drink?” The waiter gestures to a small triangular menu sitting in the middle of the table. “We have a new twist on a bourbon Sazerac, a pomegranate gin fizz, and a few craft beers on special.”

“Water is good for me, thank you.” Harrison gives him a friendly smile, but it doesn’t meet his eyes.

The waiter looks at me expectantly, and while I could use a drink, it’ll be suspicious. “Me too.”

“Are you ready to order, or do you need a minute?”

“Do you mind giving us a few?” Another smile, but as soon as the waiter nods and turns away, it drops from Harrison’s face.

His expression is almost unreadable, the indifference something I’ve seen him wear many times during a game, but never when it came to me. It’s perfect when you’re facing down a rival on the ice, when you want to keep his chirps out of your mind and stay levelheaded.

Not so perfect when you’ve fucked things up so royally, you’re not sure if you can come back from it.

“So. Tell me about my sister.” He says this so calmly, so casually, without lifting his gaze from the laminated menu in his hand.

“I… uh…”

He lowers the menu, putting it on the table and folding his hands over it. The look he gives me is one laced with anger, resentment, and disappointment. It was the same look he gave his high school girlfriend when he found out she’d been cheating on him with the quarterback for months.

I open my mouth to respond, even though I don’t have a clue what to say, but before I can get a word out, a man with his young teen son stops by the table. The kid can’t be more than twelve or thirteen and is absolutely vibrating with excitement. His dad has a hand on his shoulder like he’s trying to keep him calm, while his own expression is somewhere between an apologetic smile and holy shit I’m meeting a celebrity.

They’re both wearing Phantom jerseys, so I’m guessing to them, we’re kind of a big deal. Well, until they turn around and show off their matching Fournier jerseys. I stand corrected, Harrison is a big deal.

Normally, I’d be a little pissy about it, but I’m sleeping with his sister, so if they want me to take a picture, donate blood, or just give them a pat on the back, I’m game.

“We’re both huge fans, Mr. Fournier.” The dad extends his hand for a handshake, which of course Harrison gives him, along with a fist bump for his son.

Sure enough, they ask me to take a picture of the three of them, which I oblige like the nice guy I am, and with one last wave and a round of thank yous to Harrison, they're gone. As soon as they’re seated back at their table, Harrison’s gaze narrows, and I’m a little less thankful they seated us toward the back of the restaurant.

Fuck. This was such a big mistake.

“We’ve been friends for a long time, Jace.” His dark blue eyes strip me down to the core, leaving me feeling raw and exposed. “You’re like a brother to me, and I don't want to lose that because you want to get your rocks off too close to home.” He pauses for a second and leans over the table. I feel about two inches tall. “Let me be clear. When I ask you about my sister, I want an honest answer. I want you to look me in the face and tell me the truth.”

I wipe my sweaty palms across my jeans, my foot shaking back and forth. The truth. That’s easy. Sweat drips down my back, and it’s like my entire body is being torn in two.

We’re frozen in place, staring each other down as the world continues spinning. People are laughing at the table behind us, oblivious to my plight. Silverware scrapes across the plates, glasses clink together, and somewhere on the other side of the restaurant, several plates crash to the ground. A few people clap, but not us.

The chair creaks as I shift under Harrison's heated glare. I hate that I drove this wedge between us, that we’re even in this position to begin with.

Harrison isn’t only my best friend, he’s one of the best people I know. He might be a fighter on the ice, but he genuinely cares about the people around him, and would do everything in his power to help someone if he could.

I should have pushed Charlotte to go to him when we found her that day at the apartment. He would’ve moved mountains to make sure her life was more palatable. She still would’ve lost her job, but she wouldn’t have needed to worry about money. She wouldn’t have had to depend on us.

When we met in middle school, he found a broken boy and made it his quest to fix me. He may not have succeeded in all aspects—no one can fix someone who doesn’t want to be put back together—but he made a difference. My parents’ death wasn’t something I liked to talk about, and it still isn’t… but he knew. He knew I blamed myself.

I had to go to that fucking school dance. If I’d have stayed home, they wouldn’t have needed to come and pick me up from school. They wouldn’t have been hit head-on by a drunk driver. And I sure as fuck wouldn’t have had the police show up to my school to tell me my parents were killed.

Harrison made me feel like I could breathe a little easier, and with a little therapy at the insistence of Grandma Birdie, I realized that the burden of guilt didn’t need to prevent me from living my life.

That guilt over my parents' death no longer keeps me up at night. It's not constantly in the back of my head.

But this, betraying my best friend of damn near a lifetime, this is eating me alive.

Harrison leans toward me, his eyes flashing with anger, but whatever venom he was going to spit my way dies as the waiter clears his throat beside us. “Are you ready to order?”

“Blue crab beignets.” He glances back down at the menu before he passes it off to our waiter, Lewis. “And the jambalaya.”

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