Page 65 of Hat Trick Holidate

“Family.”

“That’s all?”

“What else is there?”

He folds his lips over his teeth and sits there for a few minutes, then says, “I don’t know—maybe having certain cars, houses, vacations, art, reaching a certain goal or status.”

“Has reaching the NHL and being named MVP made youhappy. Really happy? Tell me one thing that would make you the happiest guy in the world.”

Bryce slides his arm around me and tips my chin to his, so I’m staring into a dark-blue sea of emotion. “I think you know.”

My heart is pounding so hard, every other organ is shaking.

“You don’t know me.” He doesn’t know that I love 80s music or love to read in the bathtub.

“I’m getting to know you.”

“I need to know you too. What else would make you happy?”

He twiddles with the ends of my hair, his sightline on my hair or just off. “To have my brother back.”

His eyes fill with tears and between the fire and the skyline, his eyes look like a watercolor painting. My hand comes up to his cheek. “What was he like?”

“The sun.” His voice quivers. “Like you, he could light up a room. His presence alone made people happy. He taught me everything he knew about hockey. His favorite color was orange. Andri was one of those people who was naturally funny. Smart. He was everything I wanted to be.”

“But you’re you.”

“Yeah, I’m known for the guy who killed his brother.”

On a deep inhale, I take his hand in both of mine, shifting my body so I’m facing him. “What happened?”

“Crash… a car crash. I was driving,” he admits while my fingers caress his hand. “We were best friends even though I was younger. He never made me feel like a pest. Always wanted me around. He intentionally dated girls that had a sister a year or two younger, so we could go out together.”

“He loved you.”

“He did. My dad wasn’t the best even before Andri died, but after, he was angry, and my mother was heartbroken and passed away shortly after my dad left.”

“Bryce, you were heartbroken too. I know you were because you still are.”

He doesn’t say anything for a bit, and I know to just let him process his feelings and share this part of his life with me. He leans his head back and tunnels his fingers into his hair.

“We had just dropped off the Baylor sisters and… he said, ‘You drive.’ I had only had my license for six months or so. There was a curvy road and on the way home, a dog ran out in front of the car. I swerved. Missed the dog. Hit the tree… I lost my brother instantly.”

Tears stream down my face. I know nothing I say will console him, so I just snuggle into his chest, lay my legs over his lap, and give him as much love as I can. The thump of his heart beats solid and steady against my ear. My heart shatters for him. I can’t imagine. But when I feel his lips press against the crown of my head, I know the bond between us isn’t about sex, which is good—real freaking good, but a bond that could very easily grow into love.

Ten minutes or ten hours could have passed, I have no idea. I finally say, “I’m sorry.”

“It was my fault.”

“Bryce, it was an accident. You were a new driver.”

“Andri would have won the MVP every year he played in the NHL. His skills were insane. Like Reed on steroids.”

“First, you’re building him up into something he probably wasn’t. I mean Gretzky didn’t win the MVP every yearhe played. And Reed? You have mad skills too. Yes, he’s a force to be reckoned with, but so are you. You’re finesse and power all rolled into one.” I lift my chin, looking at a man, not only handsome, but a beautiful soul.

“I have to be up early, so I need to get some shut eye.”

“Okay.”

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