Page 16 of Don't Puck the Wrong Brother

"Speaking of savage," Miller cuts in, leaning forward conspiratorially, "you see Northeastern's new first line center? Kid's a beast. Six-four, built like a truck."

"Yeah, well, their defense is shit," I say, stabbing at my steak. "Johnston can't hold the blue line, and if we cycle properly, we'll catch them in transition every time."

The guys nod, and we fall into the familiar rhythm of breaking down our opponents, picking apart weaknesses, strategizing. It's comfortable, this talk. Technical. Straightforward. Nothing like the mess with Hannah, where I don't know the rules or what move to make next.

"What about you, Sanders?" Cory asks, mouth full of potato. "You gonna control that temper, or are we gonna be on the PK all night because you can't keep your hands to yourself?"

The double meaning isn't lost on me. "I'll play clean," I mutter.

"Bullshit," Rodriguez laughs. "You've been gunning for Taylor since he high-sticked you last season."

"He deserved it," I say, but there's no real heat in it. "Fine. I'll focus on scoring instead of settling scores. Happy?"

"I'll believe it when I see it," Miller says, and the table erupts in laughter.

"Fuck all of you," I reply, but I'm grinning despite myself. These assholes know me too well.

"Your backcheck was lazy as shit today, though," Cory says, turning serious. "You're so focused on offense you're leaving the zone too early. We can't afford that against Northeastern."

He's right, and I know it. "I'll stay home more," I say. "But someone needs to put the puck in the net, and no offense, but you couldn't hit water if you fell out of a boat right now."

"Ohhhhh!" The table erupts again, and Cory throws a roll at my head.

"Last three games, asshole. Check the stats."

I duck the roll and point my fork at him. "Lucky bounces. Your shot's been wide right all season. Need me to show you where the net is?"

The ribbing continues through dinner, the easy camaraderie of teammates who trust each other on the ice if nowhere else. For a few hours, I almost forget about Hannah. Almost.

But later, alone in my apartment, her face swims back into focus. The way she looked pressed against that wall, defiant and wanting at the same time. I wonder what Cade knows, what she told him. If he's as broken up as she said.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I'm calling him. The phone rings three times before he picks up.

"What?" His voice is clipped, distant.

"Hey," I say, immediately regretting this decision. "Just checking in. Haven't heard from you."

"I'm kind of in the middle of something," he says, and I can hear voices in the background. "If it's not an emergency..."

Guilt hits me like a blindside check, stealing my breath. We've always been different as night and day, but still brothers. Still family. Now there's this wall between us, one I built without him even knowing.

"No emergency," I say quickly. "Just…you good?"

A pause. "Not really," he finally says, his voice lower. "But I don't want to talk about it."

"Shit, okay. I’ll let you get back to it."

"Yeah, I've gotta go. Talk later."

The line goes dead before I can respond. I sit there, phone in hand, feeling like the piece of shit I am. I didn't want this. Didn't plan to wake up with my dick inside of his girlfriend. But as I toss my phone aside and fall back on my couch, I know she must’ve been real treasure if he’s torn up about it.

I close my eyes, but it only makes the images of her more vivid. The feeling of her around me, so tight, so perfect.

"Fuck," I mutter, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes. This is so far beyond crossing a line.

I should back off. Give her space. Let her and Cade figure their shit out, even if that means they get back together.

But fuck, I hope it doesn’t happen––as selfish as that sounds.

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