Page 34 of Cold Carnage

"Set up a meeting," he demanded.

"Like hell I will," I snapped back. "Fuck. Does this girl have magic pussy or something? She left you at the altar and then dated U of M's assistant coach, and you want a meeting?"

"She dated Mark Dawson?" Brendan’s voice faltered.

My chest tightened. I assumed people knew. "I don't?—"

"Tell me," he insisted.

"No," I quipped, trying to regain control. "You shouldn't be hung up on her, anyway. Good fucking riddance."

"I saw you, you know," he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "I saw your press conference. I saw the way you looked at her."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I said in a low voice, my grip tightening on the phone.

"Yeah, you do," he continued, his tone accusing. "You've always fucking wanted her, Ry. Even when she was mine. Or did you forget the fight?"

"How could I?" I retorted bitterly. "My baby brother socked me in the face for no fucking reason."

"You were hitting on her."

"I was talking to her."

"I know you, Ryker!" he bellowed through the phone. "Or do you forget? You don't talk to anyone unless it benefits you in some way. You were trying to take her from me, just like you took hockey away from me."

"Your injury wasn't my fault," I said through gritted teeth.

"It is when she left me for you," he snapped back.

The line went silent for a moment as his words sank in, cutting deeper than any blade could.

"That's not true," I finally said, but my voice lacked conviction.

"Isn't it?" Brendan's voice was quieter now, filled with years of pain and bitterness. "She left me because of you."

I had no answer for that. My mind raced, struggling to reconcile the accusations with the reality I'd constructed for myself all these years.

"You can't run from this forever, Ryker," he said softly but firmly. "One day you'll have to face what you've done."

"I didn't do shit," I said, my voice tight. "I don't know why she left, but it sure as hell wasn't because of me."

He blew out a breath. "Dad saw too, you know," he said. "The press conference."

My teeth clenched involuntarily. Of course, he saw. Deep down, I knew my father would watch.

"He's not happy," he continued. "He expected more from you. Always so controlled. So poised. To see you go feral on a fan? He thinks you're pathetic. That some nobody could get a rise out of you."

"It's called protecting your team," I snapped back. "Your family."

"Family?" Brendan scoffed, the word dripping with sarcasm. "I didn't think you knew anything about that."

"I've made her life a miserable living hell," I said lowly into the phone, the bitterness palpable. "I fucking hate her for the embarrassment she caused you. Don't you get that? I'm trying to get her fired. I'm protecting you?—"

"Too little, too fucking late," he interrupted, his voice cold and unyielding. "She always thought you had a good head on your shoulders. 'Ryker's so skilled.' 'Ryker has such a high hockey IQ.' 'You could learn a lot from him.' Blah, blah, fucking blah."

My chest squeezed painfully at his words. She said that about me?

"Don't be surprised if you hear from Dad," he said, the edge in his voice unmistakable. "And Ryker, I'll go around you to see Paige. I'm asking you to set up a meeting. As your brother."

---