Page 100 of Break the Ice

The frustration’s enough to leave me pissed at the world. It has me unable to even concentrate while playing.

“Rafe,” comes Colt’s voice like a foghorn through the noise in my head. He catches me on my march from the locker room, intercepting me before I can make up my mind where I’m headed next. He’s almost a spitting image of me. The same dark chocolate hair and same long, athletic build. But he’s got green eyes to my golden brown.

Seeing him is enough of a surprise to take my mind off the frustration. For the tension to ease up in my muscles.

“Were you watching us practice?”

He nods with a slight grin spreading across his face. “Remembering the good ol’ days. Came by to see if you want to do dinner.”

“You sure you’re not about to use this as an excuse to lecture me about causing trouble?”

“I’ve accepted there’s no helping a stubborn mule like you.”

“Stubborn mule’s better than an injured mule.”

Colt chuckles. “I don’t know. I do pretty alright for myself. Mind if we take my car?”

Like me, he’s inherited a love of classic cars from Dad. Today he’s brought his 1965 cherry apple red Mustang Dad gifted him on his twenty-first birthday. The classic car is shiny and sleek with a coolness about it even decades later.

Within seconds of hopping in, we’re hitting the streets. Colt merges onto the freeway, going the exact opposite direction of downtown. I glance at the cityscape blurring by, then over at him.

Colt and I are only a couple years apart. We look alike and hold an appreciation for a lot of the same things, like hockey and cars. We should be a hell of a lot closer than we’ve always been. He should be my closest confidant, not Kai or Mitch.

But we’ve always held back. Dad’s shit parenting and toxic favoritism have always gotten in the way.

It’s put a wedge between us to this day.

“Where are we headed, Colt?”

He takes a second too long to answer, choosing his words carefully. “Dad wanted to see you.”

I throw my head back with a laugh. “So you really are doing Dad’s bidding now.”

“You can think of it as bidding if you want. I prefer to think of it as an older brother helping out his younger brother.”

“Who said I need your help?”

Colt shakes his head, his hands on the wheel. “You can’t see the forest for the trees, Rafe. Never could, still can’t.”

“Or maybe I’m not Dad’s puppet like you and you resent me for it.”

“We’ve both been subject to his BS,” Colt admits. He keeps us in the fast lane, outpacing all other cars on the road. “I might have a different response than you, but make no mistake, I’m nobody’s puppet.”

I scoff. My mouth curls into what’s probably a hostile sneer. “You have a funny way of trying to prove you’re not.”

“You have funny ways you behave yourself. What’s up with you? Your game was off on the ice earlier.”

“I’ve got my mind on a lot, Colt. All of which is none of your damn business.”

“Does it have to do with that new PR manager? Marisse is her name, right? There’s rumors about the two of you.”

“So what?”

“So, it seems she means a lot to you. Which is a first…”

“You’re a bad read on people.”

For the next leg of the drive, we’re stewing in silence, brotherly tension hovering between us.