Page 45 of Mr. Broody

“After the bridal store?” Rowan asks, looking at me.

Tweetie joins us. “What? You fucked a bride-to-be?”

I don’t bother to respond. It’s not worth my time.

“Jade,” Rowan says to him.

“Oh, I like Jade.” Tweetie pulls a puck from the pile and practices his stick work. “So did you two finally… reconnect?”

His implication is clear, and I groan. I do my best to change the subject to anything but Jade. “Are you all coming to Bodhi’s birthday party?”

“We didn’t need invites.” Conor laughs, sliding back and forth in front of the net, warming up his legs. “They were cute though. Did you make them yourself?”

“Mack did.”

“I need a Mack,” Tweetie says.

We all stop what we’re doing and stare at Tweetie.

“Something you need to tell us?” Rowan asks, resting his chin on his stick.

Tweetie stops the stick work and looks over to see that we’re all staring at him. Finally, he connects the dots. “Shit, no, assholes. I just meant someone to do errands and the shit I don’t want to do. I don’t need a manny. I know how to use a condom.”

“We know,” Conor says. “And if you could make sure they hit the trash can, that’d be awesome.”

I think the roommate situation is probably growing old for both of them by now.

“I could put a condom on blindfolded in the middle of a tornado while standing on one leg.” Tweetie starts back up with his stick work.

We all shake our heads at him.

“Not necessarily something to brag about.” Rowan raises his eyebrows at me, skating behind the pucks, obviously thinking he’s going to shoot first.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. It’s Daddy only. If I stop five goals, he’s giving us all the details.” Conor rises up on his skates and closes the distance halfway to us. “Deal?”

“Why do you care?” I ask.

Conor lifts his helmet and looks almost chagrined. “Listen, I was a jackass when Magic here was getting with my sister.” He nods at Rowan. “I know that. So, I’ve decided you’re my make-up case to show you guys I’m not a complete asshole. That I care about you guys and want to learn more about your lives.”

“What the fuck, dude?” Tweetie stops his drills and circles around us, opening his arms. “Wanna have a circle jerk while we’re at it? Maybe a group hug?”

We all laugh, and Conor says, “Fuck no. Listen, if something else is on your mind on the ice, our winning the Cup won’t happen. So, I’m taking on the role of sounding board. Hash out the problems, get you moving toward happiness. It clearly worked for Rowan. I’m not gonna lie and say it’s still not disgusting that it’s with my sister, but he’s playing the best he ever has.”

“I’ve always been great. Want to compare salaries?” He arches an eyebrow.

Conor rolls his eyes. “No, shithead, but if Daddy starts sucking on the ice because his dick isn’t getting sucked by the girl he’s pining over, then we’re all going to suffer.”

Rowan and Tweetie nod as if Conor has a point.

“Should I get some beer and pretzels?” Coach Buford shouts from the bench. “Get your asses moving!”

Tweetie skates a few feet away to do his stick work, and Rowan passes a puck toward me. “You’ve got five, Daddy. Let’s go.”

“You’re on his fucking team?” I nod toward where Conor is now, back in the net.

Rowan shrugs. “My worst games were when things with Kyleigh weren’t good. He’s got a point.”

“You do understand I don’t have to tell you guys anything?”

---