Page 16

FOURTEEN

CHARLIE

For a blissful moment that seems to exist out of time, and with my eyes closed, I feel nothing but stillness and soft lips pressed firmly against mine.

Then it all comes crashing down when I remember who those lips belong to, whose shirt I’m gripping like a lifeline, where I am, and what I just did.

I lean back with a gasp.

I just fucking kissed Nikolay Brotnik.

The only possible explanation is that a spirit with a very skewed sense of humor must’ve taken control of my body because...

I look up, not far mind you, since I’m still holding on to his shirt .

I relax my fingers and take three steps back for good measure .

“Jesus, fuck, ” I scream without meaning to.

“Uh,” he says eloquently, still leaning just slightly down with his eyes wide open. He looks fucking ridiculous, and at any other time, with any other person, I would laugh my ass off.

But this is Nikolay, and this is now—the moment after I kissed him . The voice inside my head is screaming and panicking, for good fucking reason, but it’s freaky how the world outside my head is dead fucking silent.

“I, uh... fuck.” I cover my eyes, and when that doesn’t magically turn back time, I comb all my fingers through my hair and pull as I turn away.

“I’m going home,” he says quietly, and I turn around quickly at the sound of a contraction and a perfect American accent. My eyes narrowed with suspicion, I’m about to ask him to repeat what he just said, but he keeps talking and straightens back to his full height. “Yes.” He nods once. “I need to get my things and then I’ll come back.”

He spins on his heels and then he’s... gone.

Seriously, what the fuck?

“Uncle Enzo,” I croak out as soon as the call connects.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, clearly alarmed. He obviously heard the desperation in my voice .

My younger brothers know me better than anyone in the world—even better than my mom, no matter what she thinks—but the only person who can claim to know me as well as them is my uncle Enzo.

“I fucked up,” I tell him, knowing it’s the truth, and that it’s the only way to really start this conversation. He has to know where the story ends before he hears all of it.

“How? What happened?” I hear him close a door then open another and I can picture him leaving his office to go outside. He’s always said that the cold air helps him think. And back home it’s a lot colder than it is in Vegas.

Crushville is forty minutes away from Chicago, and though it thankfully doesn’t have anything close to the winds that blow the frost into the city, it’s still freezing in the middle of the fucking winter.

“Okay, let me just start from the beginning,” I tell him, then take a deep breath.

Through fits and starts, I somehow get through it, and by some miracle, he doesn’t interrupt at all. It’s especially concerning when he doesn’t say anything for a few seconds after I’m done.

“Enzo?” I demand, worried the call got cut off and I’ve been talking to no one, and worse, that I’m going to have to tell the story again.

“I’m here, just wondering where I should start.”

“That doesn’t bode well for me,” I mutter.

“No shit,” he says and chuckles weakly. Then I hear a long sigh. “Charlie, you’ve been going through all of that alone. Why didn’t you call me? Your brothers? Anyone?”

“I did tell my brothers,” I admit. “Only about how annoying he was and about the first fight,” I admit.

“But the whole team?” he asks, clearly unhappy with everything I just told him.

I squirm in my seat. I’ve never been one to call and complain to my family—about anything. There were a lot of events growing up that made me have real perspective over my life, and calling to complain about being tired, about my team not making it into the playoffs again, or about anything, just never felt right.

I’m a millionaire doing what I love most in the world for a career. I really have shit all to complain about.

Only reason I told my brothers is because they were here when the whole slamming-me-against-a-wall thing happened and I was rattled. It takes a lot for me to reach out and lean on my brothers, so I haven’t done it since.

“Charlie,” Enzo says, somehow able to stuff the one word with love, reprimand, and sadness. He’s very good at that.

“Well, we’re all busy, and when I call I want to hear about your life, you know?” I try to defend myself.

“Don’t you think we want to know about your life too?” he asks, killing my one argument.

“I don’t think I have any right to complain,” I tell him honestly.

“You do have a right to complain. About any and all things. Just because you like your job and you get paid well for it doesn’t mean your life is perfect. And it clearly fucking isn’t.” He shouts the last part, clearly frustrated with me. “They’ve been awful to you. Yes, Brotnik most of all, but we gotta assume he has a reason, right? So let’s table the subject of him for a second and focus on every other player on that godforsaken team. What the fuck is their problem? You’re fucking delightful. They should count themselves lucky you deemed them worthy of your awesomeness and not be slighting you all the fucking time.”

“Enzo,” I say, tired to my bones. “Nikolay is like their big brother. From what I’ve gathered since I’ve been here, they all have his back through and through. Right or not, that’s how it is.”

He only grumbles at that and I think of a way to get him to understand—because I’m really not mad about that part and don’t want him to focus on it. It’s not the most pressing problem after all.

“Imagine Uncle Ric comes home with a boyfriend one day, and it’s someone Aunt Brenda or Mom know. Now imagine they tell us they hate this man with a passion, and though they won’t tell us why, we can see how much they hate him. You wouldn’t be super welcoming to this imaginary man, would you?”

“What do you mean boyfriend?” he screeches, making me pull the phone away. “What have you heard?” he demands, and I roll my eyes. If there’s one thing that defines the Hearts besides pasta it’s our hunger for gossip, it’s ingrained in us, so I can’t blame him too much for how quickly his focus shifted just then. Also, it’s his little brother—by more than twenty years—and we all know that as the baby of the family Ric will always be protected by all his siblings and their partners.

“It’s a hypothetical situation,” I snap, losing my damn cool.

“Well, all right then, why didn’t you say so?” he whines. How a man of fifty-five can whine like a teenager and not feel any shame in doing so is beyond me, but that’s Uncle Enzo for you.

“I did say so! I started the whole damn sentence with the word imagine . Now, can we focus? The team isn’t the problem.”

He grumbles again, something I don’t catch and can’t be bothered to ask about.

“What do I do about Brotnik?”

A deaf person could hear how defeated I feel in my tone.

“You have to apologize,” he says simply, once more sounding like my level-headed, no-bullshit role model.

“I know that,” I say, squirming even though he can’t see me. “But like, how?”

“You know how to apologize, Charlie.” There’s infinite patience in his tone, and this is why I called him. “Kissing someone out of anger is never the right way to go about things.” There’s a beat of silence and then... “Are you... do you...” His hesitation surprises me, and it has me worried. He clears his throat and finally gets it out. “Do you want to talk about the fact that he’s a man?” He’s so careful about it that it makes me want to laugh. I hold it in, though, because I’m touched, really.

“I don’t think I need to, if I’m honest. I mean, I’m confused as fuck, not gonna lie, since I’ve never wanted to kiss a man before, but...”

I trail off, not knowing how to finish. He gives me the time and space to do it, though. Another reason why I chose him as counselor today.

“Did you think about kissing him before? I mean before today?”

I think about it seriously and come up blank.

“Not really. I’m pretty sure my brain and my body got disconnected. Even when I was kissing him I didn’t think about it.”

“Well, it’s not something you have to think about beyond apologizing to him. Though if you’re thinking of doing it again, then maybe do it when you’re not about to beat the crap out of each other, huh?”

I chuckle, feeling the knot inside my chest start to come loose.

“Yeah, that sounds like great advice. Thank you.” I hope he hears the seriousness in my voice. I hope he knows how much I truly appreciate him.

“And you should also try harder to have a real conversation about why he hates you, Charlie.” There’s a sternness this time, one I remember from when I was young and he would babysit me. It makes me smile .

At the same time, I steel myself for another confrontation with Nikolay—who should be home any minute now—because not only do I have to apologize for kissing him, but I know now that before I ask him again why he hates me, I need to tell him the truth of why I’m here.