Page 65 of Zero Pucks

“Do you have to wear an eye patch?”

“Nope. But my eye tends to open if I don’t, and that freaks people out. I only ever really remember when I get thatlookfrom people in the supermarket.”

My stomach dropped toward my feet. “Do you think I looked at you that way?”

“If you had, there wouldn’t have been a trip to Father Elvis. Trust me, no amount of booze would get me to marry a guy who looked at me like I was a circus freak.” There was something in his tone, something pained.

“An ex?”

He blew out a puff of air. “You know why I was in Vegas, right?”

My brow furrowed as I struggled to remember. “Your brother’s wedding, wasn’t it? Bachelor party gone wrong?”

He swallowed heavily, then wrapped his arms around me. “They wanted to go to a strip club, but I wouldn’t have been able to see anything in the dark like that.”

“Shitty,” I murmured.

He shrugged. “I didn’t mind that much. I didn’t want to be there. Everyone convinced me to go—they said my brother was offering me an olive branch, like I was the one who needed to fucking apologize.”

I shifted up onto his chest, bracing myself on a forearm. He looked shattered. “You don’t need to tell me this, you know.”

“I think I should. I’m not the most put-together man, and you should probably know who you married.”

Rolling my eyes, I kissed right above his nipple. “I mean, we’re not really married.”

“My point stands.” He brushed a touch over my shoulder. “I was engaged at the time of my accident.”

I sucked in a breath. “You were nineteen.”

“Yeah. She and I had been together for pretty much all of college. She was with me when I was drafted. There was a scout there during the playoffs my freshman year. I was starting to doubt I’d get noticed. I thought my career was going to die with collegiate sports. And then I got the offer. It was…shit, it was agoodfucking offer.” He closed his eyes.

“Tucker—”

“Killian was jealous. I mean, the dickhead had a full ride to Stanford, and my parents acted like my NHL offer was some fun little hobby that I was doing to pass the time while my big-brained twin went on to be a high-powered attorney.”

Oh. I hadn’t realized his brother was his twin.

“My ex was thrilled about the salary. I mean, first-year NHL prospects don’t get a lot, but it was more than either of us had ever seen all at once. It was enough to buy a house, you know?”

I didn’t, but I nodded anyway.

“Killian was always up my ass about being responsible with my life. And…he kind of had a right to be.” Tucker passed a hand down his face. “I was always the reckless one. It was hard to live up to his golden-boy bullshit, and screwing around got my parents’ attention a lot faster than mediocre passing grades. He followed me to a rave one night, and I got pissed off when I saw his butt-ugly face.”

“Butt-ugly? If he’s your twin, doesn’t he look like you?”

Tucker met my gaze. “He did.”

I realized what he meant.

“I wanted to make him angry, so I drank whatever was going around and took a bunch of pills I didn’t know the names of, and then I got behind the wheel. The rest, well…” He gestured to his lower half. “You know that part. Delia was great at first. She swore nothing changed. She loved me anyway. The team sent a rep to tell me they’d be taking care of me—they gave me a settlement and promised to pay for my prosthetics for the rest of my life. But as I started to get better—or, well, as it started to sink in that this was all permanent—she decided to go with option B.”

“Which was…?” I frowned.

“Same face, but the promise of a lawyer’s salary instead of whatever the fuck I was able to do after losing my entire career,” he said.

It took me a moment, but when I understood what he was saying, it hit me like a ton of bricks. “She…your brother and your ex…they—oh my God, Tucker. That was the bachelor party you were there for?”

“Mhm. I mean, they waited a respectable nine years to actually tie the knot, which is nice, I guess. I think she wanted to be able to walk away in case Killian’s lawyer thing didn’t pan out. I don’t think either of them realized it takes a million fucking years to get established. She assumed he’d walk out of law school with some fancy job offer. Instead, he worked for some firm as a glorified errand boy for almost seven years.”

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