Page 4 of Ice, Love, & Other Penalties

I burrow deeper under the covers, squeezing my eyes shut and willing sleep to reclaim me for those last precious pre-dawn hours. But the phone continues buzzing relentlessly atop my nightstand, intent on jangling my already-frayed nerves.

“Meow,” David Meowie complains, settling right atop my pillow and head.

Rigby begins nudging my stomach simultaneously, as if the buzzing signals it’s clearly time to wake up and feed them.

“One pest at a time,” I grumble, extracting David Meowie and placing him gently on the bed. Rigby continues prodding persistently. With an irritated sigh, I flop an arm out, fingers fumbling across the nightstand for the offending device. Caller ID flashes Jude’s name—the only one of my meddling brothers who would risk this ungodly intrusion.

“This better be important enough to disturb my sleep,” I grit out by way of greeting, not hiding my irritation. Sometimes I swear I feel more like the elder sibling, catering to Jude’s endless needs.

Rigby bumps his head insistently under my hand, reminding me food takes priority over venting. “Yes, yes, breakfast is coming,” I assure him resignedly, already swinging my legs out of bed and taking a seat on the mattress. David Meowie springs lithely into the warm spot I’ve vacated, circling to knead the sheets with delicate paws. At least one of us gets to lounge comfortably this morning.

“Rise and shine, princess.” Jude’s voice comes through, he’s annoyingly chipper given the ungodly hour. “Hope I didn’t wake you,” he adds, not even attempting to sound sincere.

I snort, scrubbing the bleariness from my eyes as I finally leave the bed. Rigby wags his tail, panting impatiently while David Meowie winds figure eights around my legs. “You called just to wake me up,” I accuse.

As David Meowie continues to weave around my ankles, Rigby nudges my leg impatiently. I stride toward the kitchen, the pair trailing expectantly. “Okay, okay, breakfast is coming,” I assure them, stifling a yawn. I scoop out portions into their bowls before turning to the espresso machine to start my hot water.

“So what’s so important it couldn’t wait for a decent hour, Jude?” I tweak David Meowie’s ear playfully as he passes to eat, eliciting an offended mewl. I straighten, opening the fridge and grabbing a yogurt.

Once I have my mug filled with hot water, and my breakfast set, I meander back toward my room. During all this time my brother hasn’t said a word. Not a one.

“This better be good. You’re interrupting prime relaxation time,” I warn, lowering myself onto the rumpled sheets. Rigby hops up to keep me company, resting his head on my leg as I open my breakfast. “I’m waiting for the life-or-death explanation, big brother.”

Jude tsks. “That’s no way to greet your favorite brother and general manager.”

“Alright Decker, cut the dramatics,” I grumble, unable to stifle my irritation. “What’s so damn important that you had to call at the ass-crack of dawn and couldn’t wait until a reasonable hour?”

“I swear this is really important,” he claims.

“Uh-huh. I’m sure it’s important.” Skepticism drips from my words. “Well, like I’ve told you before, the answer is no. I have zero interest in coming over to kick out another one of your awkward one-night stands.”

My thirty-five-year-old brother is a grown-ass man who needs to get his personal life in order instead of relying on me to tidy up his messes. I’m not here to shame his lifestyle choices, but Jude should take some responsibility and stop creating uncomfortable situations.

“It’s simple, Jude—just tell them upfront you don’t do relationships and would appreciate it if they leave right after you fuck. No sleepovers,” I say bluntly. Crude maybe, but subtlety clearly hasn’t worked on him yet. “Set some boundaries before you invite them over. Or get a hotel room and skip the awkward morning-after.”

Maybe he should give something real a shot, tell his friend with benefits . . . No, it’s best I don’t meddle in his love life, or he might start managing mine. I press my lips together firmly. No more kicking out one-night stands for him.

“I wouldn’t call my sisters to do my dirty work,” he has the audacity to say.

I snort, wholly unconvinced by his denial. “Sure, except our sister Lyric has also had to shoo out a few awkward morning-afters herself recently.” I allow an edge of sarcastic exasperation to creep into my tone. “So let’s not pretend this is an isolated issue.”

Jude sighs heavily through the phone. “Okay fine, fair enough. But that’s not why I called . . .”

I roll my eyes but take pity on him. “Fine. What’s the current crisis then?” I ask, stifling a yawn and settling more comfortably against the pillows. Rigby plops onto my stomach and I lazily scratch behind his ears, bracing for Jude’s latest convoluted excuse or favor.

“Tyberius Brynes,” he states, an undercurrent of tension in his usual easygoing tone.

I sit straighter. “Right, number twenty-three and the team captain.” No surprise it involves the Sasquatches—everything in Jude’s orbit does.

“Look at you, already an expert on the lineup,” Jude says proudly. “This is why our team will be successful. The two owners are not only savvy about hockey, but we both care about our staff and players.”

I snort. “It’s your team, not mine. Once it’s running smoothly, I’m out of here, remember?”

“For now, consider yourself my relocation director,” Jude fires back before I can argue. “Brynes’s nanny just quit on him. Family emergency or something. He’s scrambling, and we need a quick fix.”

Despite Jude’s typical laid-back nature, the quiet urgency and concern in his tone tells me this problem requires immediate handling. I’m already heading to my closet to pick out an acceptable work outfit, David Meowie twining around my ankles while Rigby watches curiously. I need to shower and prep for whatever ploy Jude has cooked up that involves me somehow.

“Well, you know I don’t actually have the title of relocation director, right?” I toss over my shoulder as I rifle through blouses and slacks, selecting a nondescript black ensemble appropriate for damage control.

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