Page 10 of Pucking my Enemy Boss

— Frank Carter

A cold dread washes over me. Just like him to sign his name as if this is some official correspondence. It probably is to him. I’m the official cash cow to the Frank Carter family.

I sigh, rubbing my temples. The locker room is a cacophony of noise, a swarm of bodies jostling for space. I can’t make a call here. When I rise to my feet, Ray—my locker room partner to the left— lifts an eyebrow in question. I nod back at him. I need a moment, a quiet space to make this call.

I slip out of the locker room, the noise fading behind me. The rink is empty, save for the ice crew cleaning up. I find a secluded corner and pull out my phone. There’s no need holding off on the call.

I dial my uncle's number, stomach knotting in anticipation. He picks up on the second ring.

"Ethan, son," his voice is thick with fake warmth.

“I saw your text,” I cut to the chase. "What do you want?"

There’s a pause, then instead of his voice, it’s his son—Jake’s sharp and arrogant voice fills my ear.

“Don't let that Chicago air get to your head, Ethan. We shouldn’t need to remind you where you came from.”

My blood boils. Jake is three years older than I am, but he’s about the most entitled person I’ve ever met. He’s always had everything handed to him and I doubt he’s ever had to work for a penny in his life.

"What do you want?" I repeat, refusing to bite at Jake’s bait.

"Thanksgiving is coming up," my uncle says, his voice dripping with false cheer. "We were hoping you could send something over."

I grit my teeth. This is what it's always about. Money. For the holidays, for their business venture, or someone’s failing health. It’s always about the next cash I can wire or credit card I can provide. They don’t care about me; neither did they care about David.

“I’m busy now, Uncle.”

Frank sighs, the sound heavy with exaggerated disappointment.

“You’re ungrateful, Ethan,” Jake’s snake-like voice is back on the phone. “Pops just wants you to send something home for Thanksgiving. It’s only right, seeing as how he took you and your brother in when no one else would.”

His tone sends a fresh wave of anger coursing through me. “You mean your dad took us in to get hands on our parents’ assets.”

“Stop fighting boys!” An elegant soprano cuts in from the background.

I hear the whoosh of the phone being snatched from someone’s hand and silently wait for the next voice. It's Gloria, my aunt. Her voice is soft, the fakest sympathetic tone I’ve ever heard. "Ethan, honey, it's been too long. We miss you. And David, of course...” Her voice trails off.

"Don't," I growl, my voice barely a whisper.

David. My jaw flexes. Her saying my brother’s name is like twisting a knife in my gut. The memories of David and me come flooding back. We were two lost boys in a world that didn’t care. We clung to each other, a lifeline in a stormy sea. He was the smart one, the dreamer. I was the protector, the fighter…but I didn’t protect my little brother well enough.

I can hear her gasp. "Ethan…I just want to know if you’ll finally be coming home in December? If David were here, he’d insist we spend the holidays together?—”

I end the call, my fingers trembling. I lean against the cold wall, trying to control my breathing. They always bring David into it, as if his memory is a weapon to wield against me. The one thing I can’t bear is hearing them speak about my kid brother, the only family I ever cared about.

David and I became wards of Frank after our parents died. Living with that greedy bastard, his manipulative wife Gloria, and their bullish son Jake was hell. As soon as I discovered I was good at hockey, I threw myself into it, determined to get David and me out of Duluth. As soon as I signed my first professional contract, I moved out and took thirteen-year-old David with me.

My brother was goddamn genius, and he grew up fast, like me. While I played hockey, he took care of our home. He was my nutritionist, gym instructor, cook, housekeeper. He learned everything at the speed of light and ensured I had everything I needed to be comfortable.

David was the good one, the humane one. He balanced out my hard edges, kept me from going down a dark path more times than I can count. I loved hockey, but hated the publicity that came with it. He prepared me for interviews, and helped me navigate the press. He was my perfect half, and now he’s gone.

I close my eyes, trying to block out the pain. But it's there, a constant ache in my chest. I’ll never see his cheeky smile again, never hear that roaring laughter.

He was about to make something of his life for fuck’s sake. He suffered all those years and I was just about to start paying him back. Studied sports medicine and was in his final residence year, and then he had that horrible accident on Christmas day two years ago.

And just like that, the light’s gone out of my life.

I know he was rushing to cater to another whim of Frank’s family. But they didn’t care—the fucking bastards. I’d have cut them all off if David didn’t make me promise on his deathbed to still take care of them. He was just too good. And nothing makes my blood boil hotter than the fact that the only Carter who apologized at the funeral was Mandy, Jake’s younger sister. She’s the only one of them who has any decency.

---