Page 39 of The Hat Trick

“Because that sounds fancy.” She takes another bite of food, and I smile at how much she’s seeming to enjoy it.

“It’s not,” Dumont says at the same time I say, “It is.”

“Then, I’m with Brent on this one, it’s not a good idea.”

“Plus, most of the team is going,” I add.

“So?” He narrows his eyes, like that means nothing to him.

“So? Whose date would you be, beautiful?” I ask her.

She looks between us again. “Neither, because I’m not going.”

I nod before turning to plate the next omelet.

“We will all go separately. No dates, no weirdness, just you there…with us,” he tries again, and I shake my head, handing him the plate. He digs into the food like he’s been starving, and I finally get to make my own.

“Not happening, Dumont,” Chandler retorts.

I smile at her calling him by his last name. She brings her plate over to the sink, and wraps her arms around me from the side. “Thank you for breakfast.”

I lean down to kiss the top of her head, “Anytime.”

“I should probably go home, especially before I’m somehow convinced to go to this event” She pulls away from me, and I desperately want her to hold onto me again.

“I’ll take you home, baby, and during the car ride I’ll convince you,” Dumont says, winking at her and I roll my eyes.

“Not. Gonna. Happen.” She heads back toward my bedroom, and as badly as I want to follow her, I know it’s to change so she can go home.

“She’s going to come with us,” he tells me confidently.

“It’s still a bad idea,” I try, but he’s not listening anymore. He scarfs down his food before heading upstairs to change as well.

I don’t know what exactly started here, but I don’t want it to end any time soon.

* * *

I takefull advantage of the rare day off after Dumont and Chandler leave my house. Of course, I didn’t let her leave without kissing her so thoroughly I was about to take her back upstairs, but somehow, I stopped myself.

Then, I spent the day dealing with chores around the house. I know almost all the guys hire housekeepers and people to do these things for them, but not me. One, because I know I would have to fix it if things were misplaced or moved. And no one will do it to the standard that I like. Plus, when you grow up with very little you tend to be more careful with what you do have.

Do I make a shit ton of money?Yes. Do I spend it on stupid stuff?No. I’m overly careful with my finances so hiring people to do things I can easily do falls under the category of things I don’t need.

My phone rings as I’m doing the dishes, and I look to see it’s my youngest brother, Bryson. We also have another brother Brandon and two younger sisters, Bailey and Brynn, as well. And our parents decided to give us all “B” names for some reason. Maybe they thought it would be easier to remember when they are in a drug or alcohol induced stupor. Or maybe, it was so when they mixed us up from being so strung out, we would think it was an honest mistake. Who knows.

“Hey,” I answer, balancing the phone between my ear and shoulder.

“Hey, have you heard from Brandon lately?” he asks, and I sigh.

“No, he knows not to reach out to me unless he’s sober.”

Despite everything I’ve tried to do for my family, taking care of them while we were growing up, and trying to support them once I got into the NHL, my other brother Brandon followed in our parent’s footsteps and got sucked into the life of using. In the past I’ve tried to help him because as the oldest, I figured it was my job.

After the fifth attempt at rehab, I stopped, and told him if he really wanted help, he would need to prove it to me. And he hasn’t tried since. That was three years ago.

“He called me, he’s not doing well, Brent.”

I throw the spoon I’m washing into the sink. “When is he ever doing well, and what am I supposed to do about it?” I snap.

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