Page 75 of Hat Trick

He doesn’t have the chance to flesh out the rest of hisexplanation.

The door cranks open behind him and a big man steps out. He’s older than Marshall, maybe even older than I am, if the age lines creasing near his eyes and around his mouth are any indication. A black shiner darkens one eye, and he’s rocking a pretty serious-looking gash on histemple.

Their similarities end with their brownhair.

Marshall is warm where this man, his brother, radiates a frigid vibe that could compete with the Gwen of yesteryear. Marshall is tall and muscular, leanly cut for expert agility on the ice. His brother is broad with a bulging gut, his arms as thick as treetrunks.

He looks exactly like the sort of man my mother always warned me lived inthoseneighborhoods: otherwise known as the lessaffluent.

I’m not Adaline, however, and so I stick out my hand and offer a pleasant smile. “Hi there, I’mGwen.”

The man doesn’t take my hand, leaving Marshall to curse under his breath. “Dave,” he grinds out, “this is my older brother, Dave. He was justleaving.”

My hand falls back to myside.

I have a feeling their holiday dinners are just as awkward asmine.

“I’m sorry for interrupting,” I say, jerking a thumb over my shoulder. “I’ll leave you both to it. Marshall, hopefully I’ll see yousoon?”

“You lookfamiliar.”

Dave’s deep voice stops me, and I glance back, looking between the two brothers. “I represent a few of Marshall’s teammates. Maybe you’ve seen me in photos withthem?”

It doesn’t happen often, but it doeshappen.

“Nah,” Dave murmurs, pushing his brother aside. “Somewhere else.” He taps his stubbled chin, then points at me. “Northeastern! Ain’t that right,Marshall?”

“Dave,don’t.”

My gut, for whatever reason, tells me to run and to not lookback.

Idon’t.

Instead, I meet Marshall’s gaze. I wish that I hadn’t. His gray eyes are bleak, bottomless in the defeat that I seethere.

“I knew Marshall back then,” I say slowly. “We were in classtogether.”

Dave laughs, a bitter sound that rings in my ears. “Course you were. My littlebroensured that he gotin—”

“Dave, shut the hell up. This isn’t for youto—”

I lift a palm, cutting Marshall off, then look to his brother. “I want to hear what your brother has to say,Marshall.”

The grin Dave gives me is all broken, yellow teeth. “You didn’t know?” He swaggers close to me. “I guess my baby bro is wicked good at keeping secrets. I’m assuming he didn’t tell you how he almost killed our father. Right”—his finger points to his thigh—“here. Got himself put in foster care for that one, am I right, babybro?”

Marshall’s hands clench at his sides, his shoulders heaving upward with a sharply drawn breath. “He was fucking hitting her,Dave.”

Upon hearing it for a second time, I decide that I hate Dave’s laugh. Hate it with every fiber of my being. It scratches like nails on a chalkboard, squeals like a potato-chip bag breaking open, rubs my nerve-endingsraw.

Then he leans in, and I catch a whiff of body odor and booze. “I took the blame for that one when the cops showed up, even though I was innocent.” He blinks, a terrifying grin pulling at his chapped lips. “Thanks to Marshall here, I had my ass in jail for quite a few years, considering that his bitch-ass mother refused to stand up for me. She said that I acted violently all the time, that I was also the one responsible for the bruises on her face. Marshall got to go off while I sat behind bars. But I think . . .” He touches my red hair, and it takes everything in me not to yank back.Stand your ground, stand your ground. “It’s time that Marshall pays the price for a wrong he’s committed. I tried once already but my baby bro thinks he’s so smart. But this way . . . oh yeah, there’ll be nothing he can do aboutit.”

I don’t see itcoming.

Dave’s back thuds against the door, swinging it wide open as the brothers tumble into thehouse.

“Stop!”

My shout does nothing as Marshall sheds his charming publicpersona.

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