Chapter Five

Cole

“H ow was therapy today, honey?” Momma asks as I come strolling through the door.

Yeah, not only are all my NHL dreams potentially going up in a puff of smoke, but I’m back in the last place I ever wanted to be: my childhood home.

When something happened to me in the past, the team trainer was there, or if it was something alarming, the hospital would call Remy. He would fuss over me for a few days and then go back to wherever he lives, leaving me to take care of myself. But when I woke up from my shoulder surgery, I expected to see Remy, with plans on how to get started on my recovery. Remy was there all right, but he wasn’t alone. My entire family, even Cooper, was there waiting to make sure I was okay.

Having a hospital room full of people was definitely a shock to my system. Everyone, and even some fresh faces, was there, waiting to ask me how I was feeling and to give good wishes for a speedy recovery. There were so many people at my bedside, the doctor had to push his way through all the bodies to check out my incision and all that jazz. Momma hovered by the doctor, hanging on every word he said. She and Cooper took turns asking for clarification if they didn’t understand something the doctor said. It’s strange having someone else there for me to ask questions and take notes, especially with one of those people being my brother.

“It was uneventful. The therapist gave me some new exercises to get started on.”

New therapist indeed. I did everything but pay the man at the desk to get an appointment with Michele later this week, but it was harder than expected. Michele seems to be beloved by all her patients, and she has a seriously packed schedule. Her next available appointment isn’t for months. Great for her, but sucks for me. I managed to change my appointment in two weeks for the same time frame that Michele is working. This time, I’ll seal the deal.

“That’s a good sign, isn’t it? You’ll be back to giving your brothers a hard time on the ice in no time.”

I lean down, planting a kiss on Momma’s cheek before heading into the kitchen. Momma still thinks there’s hope of fixing my relationship with my two older brothers. Cooper and Beau have always been closer to each other than Kyle and me. Not only are they closer in age, but Beau makes the perfect practice buddy for Cooper, being a goalie and all. Beau does everything, and I mean everything, Cooper says. He went to college like Cooper told him to, joined the Timberwolves like Cooper told him to… Hell, I’m not sure he has ever had an original thought of his own in his entire life. Kyle isn’t much different, although he went to college somewhere in the Midwest instead of staying in the state like Cooper wanted. There’s hope for him yet.

“Cooper and Beau will be just fine without me. Who knows if I’ll even have a team to play on when and if I get better?”

This is the first time I’ve spoken those words into the universe since my surgery. If I were having this conversation with Momma a week or even a few days ago, I probably never would have. But with the ominous phone call from Remy earlier today and discovering I was sold off like a piece of cattle to the highest bidder, my outlook on my career isn’t as optimistic as it once was.

“Talk like that won’t be tolerated in this house, young man.” Momma swats my forearm softly. Her eyes narrow in my direction, anger written clear as day across her face. “You’ll be back on the ice in no time.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I force a smile before motioning toward the back of the house. “I’m going to grab a shower and then call Remy. Apparently, he has some news about my contract.”

Momma slides her round tortoise-shell glasses onto the top of her head, pushing back her shoulder-length wavy, dirty blonde hair with strands of silver running through it back from her face. “Just listen to what he has to say, Cole. It might not be what you want to hear, but Remy always has your best interest at heart.”

That’s not ominous at all. I open my mouth to ask her what she meant, but I decide against it. There is no doubt in my mind that Momma already knows what team I’m going to and the story behind how I got there. She’s my mother, but she also can sweet-talk someone out of the clothing on their backs when she puts her mind to it. Not to mention, if Remy called her before trying my cell phone, there’s no way Momma would let him off the phone without giving her something.

“What everyone thinks is best for me and what I believe is best for me don’t always match up with each other, Momma.”

She looks up at me, her eyes full of concern. “True, but just keep an open mind.”

She 100 percent knows what team I’m going to, and I know in my gut that I’m probably not going to like it.

“I think I’ll give Remy a call before I take that shower.”

“That might be a good idea. I’m making lasagna for dinner. It should be ready in an hour. That should be more than enough time for you to make your phone call.”

“Momma, I know I haven’t been home in a while, but I’ve always hated?—”

There’s no way that Momma forgot that I hate lasagna. She can tell me the name of my first-grade teacher. Not to mention that Momma was once a classically trained chef in another life—her life before kids—and she loves cooking for her family. Each of us boys has his favorite dish. Mine is her fried chicken. I have no clue what she puts in it, but I’ve never tasted anything better. Kyle used to love her meatloaf, Cooper her chicken and dumplings, and the lasagna was?—

I spin on my heels, narrowing my eyes at my mother. “Beau is coming for dinner, isn’t he?”

I’ve avoided seeing either of my brothers since I was released from the hospital after my surgery, although I’ve had more than a few people fussing over me since I came back to Redwood Falls. It’s been bad enough dealing with Momma’s new best friend, Auntie Naomi—as I was ordered to call her—and Aunt Peggy taking turns fussing over me since we pulled into the driveway.

Each of them has taken turns asking me a million questions about whether I was comfortable and needed pain medication. Aunt Peggy spent the time I was in the hospital cooking up a storm, determined to feed me anything and everything she could think of to help me heal quicker. I swear, I’ve gained ten pounds since I’ve been here, eating everything they put in front of me, but I drew the line at eating sardines.

“As a matter of fact, he is. He’s heading over to a lacrosse game after dinner to see his little brother.”

I recoil slightly, trying to make sense of what Momma said. “Little brother? Did you have a secret love child since I’ve been gone? I know I don’t come home enough, Momma, but I feel like this is something I should’ve been told.”

Momma has never had eyes for another man but Dad. I know that, but I can’t help but give her crap about her “little brother” comment.

“You’re such a pain in my ass, Cole.” Momma laughs loudly, pushing to her feet and heading toward the kitchen. “Now, go call Remy before your brother gets here. He wants to chat with you, too.”

Fuck. Nothing good can come from my agent and my annoying older brother wanting to talk to me on the same day. I give Momma a mock salute before heading back toward my childhood bedroom, dialing Remy’s number. “Tell me who owns me.”

“Again, with the lack of hello. I’m starting to get my feelings hurt,” Remy responds in mock horror before laughing loudly. “You really need to learn some telephone etiquette.”

“Remy. I’m losing my patience.”

“Fine, ruin all my fun,” Remy scoffs before inhaling loudly. “What’s Ms. Mel making for dinner tonight? If there’s one thing I miss about Redwood Falls, it’s your mother’s cooking.”

“She’s making lasagna, Beau’s favorite. He’s coming over for dinner, but I have a feeling you knew that already.”

“I may have called your big brother and suggested he stop at home for dinner on his way to the lacrosse game.”

I flop down on my bed, crossing my ankles and leaning against the headboard. “Momma said something about seeing his little brother. Whatever that’s about.”

“Cooper started a program in partnership with the Timberwolves and the local Boys and Girls Club. It’s helping mentor kids who grew up without one or both of their parents. They have outings to theme parks, the zoo, all those places kids love. They even have a special box at Timberwolves home games so they can come watch games whenever they want.”

“That’s my big brother, such a bleeding heart and all,” I respond sarcastically, before focusing back on the topic at hand. “But enough about them. Where am I going to be riding the bench next year?”

“There’s no guarantee you’ll be riding the bench. You’re being dramatic.”

“Pot, meet kettle, Remy,” I growl, pushing to my feet and pacing in front of my bed.

My chest tightens as if all the air is being sucked out of the room and someone has wrapped their fingers around my neck. I struggle to take a breath as panic bubbles up from my stomach and settles in my chest. Beads of sweat dot my forehead as my eyes snap shut, my lips moving slightly as I slowly count backward from ten in my head. I continue counting, willing my body to calm down, only getting to zero and having to start the process all over again.

My entire body tingles as if someone is sticking me with needles repeatedly as I flop onto the bed. Dropping my head between my knees, I try to pull in deep breaths, but only end up panting loudly into the phone.

Deep breath in, and let it out slowly.

“Cole, are you okay?” Remy’s voice oozes concern for my safety, but I couldn’t care less right now.

No, I’m not fucking okay. I haven’t been okay for a while now, but I’ve found new ways to cope. I just can’t figure out why no one understands that everything is riding on when I can come back from this injury. I need time to prove to my new team that I have what it takes to score goals, to win, and potentially bring home a Stanley Cup Championship for their franchise.

Deep breath in, and let it out slowly.

I’m spiraling. I can feel it. I don’t have time for this, not right now. I can freak out later, but not now. I need to keep this a secret. I can’t let anyone know how out of control I’ve become. No team wants a hockey player who can’t control his emotions. A hot head. A loose cannon. I’ve been called all those things before, but I got it under control before, and I can do it again. I just have to find them because this breathing bullshit isn’t helping a good damn thing.

I scramble off the edge of the bed to my bedside table and rip the drawer open, pulling everything out until I locate the small plastic bag I have tucked in the back corner behind a bible I haven’t touched since I was ten years old. I grab it and practically rip it open, trying to get the last tiny red pill at the bottom and pop it into my mouth.

“Cole, are you even listening to me?”

I flop down onto the bed, my eyes clenched tightly shut as I wait for the pills to take the edge off my panic. If I were at my condo in Boise, I’d chase the pill with a shot of Jack to help things along, but not here. Momma doesn’t normally have alcohol in the house. Besides, that doctor said mixing alcohol and my meds is a big no-no. Not like that ever mattered to me, but it’s those types of things that got me into this situation. Not completely, but it started things heading in this direction.

“No. I’m currently working on all those breathing techniques you’ve been sending me to stop from losing my patience.” I inhale deeply and let it out, wanting him to hear my breathing. That last thing I need is for him to ask questions. Questions he won’t like the answers to.

“Good. The last thing anyone needs is you blowing up, but now that you are done being dramatic, can I deliver the good news?”

“The only good news I need is that I’m going to be back on the ice at the start of the season.”

It feels like the mattress is swallowing my body as all my muscles relax. I can feel the tension in my neck and jaw slowly release as the pain in my shoulder ramps up exponentially. Another pill to solve another problem. Reaching into the pocket of my sweats, I pull out an orange prescription bottle and shake a pill into my hand, but add another for good measure.

I slowly move into a sitting position before putting my phone on speaker and placing it on the bed beside me. Something tells me I won’t want anything I can throw in my hands when I hear what Remy has to say. I pop the two pills into my mouth and swallow. The chalky taste hits my tongue as I swallow, but I don’t dare spit them out. These babies need to last me until my next appointment with the doctor to grab some more.

“You know I can’t promise that, Cole.”

“Yeah. Yeah. My fate is in the hands of two people I don’t know and more than likely have never seen me play before my injury. They aren’t going to just add me to the starting lineup.”

“No, they won’t, but you worry too much. Everything will be fine. Cooper made?—”

One second I’m lying on the bed, melting into the mattress, and then I’m on my feet. My shoulders tense immediately, my fists opening and closing as I try to keep some form of control the minute I hear my brother's name.

“Cooper did what?”

“Before you completely lose your cool, you need to understand that your brother, both of your brothers, would do anything for you.”

Nothing that mentions my brothers is ever anything I’m going to like. The familiar tingling sensation spreads through my entire body. Clenching my jaw shut tightly, I growl, “Remy.”

“Okay. Okay.” Remy pauses, no doubt for effect, before he drops the bombshells of all bombshells. “The Timberwolves owner owes Cooper a favor. He called it in to get you a spot on the team for the next two years.”

It takes a moment for my brain to register what Remy said, and then it’s like a switch immediately flips in my brain. Any chance of me maintaining control over my emotions goes out the window the moment my brain registers what Remy said. Pure unadulterated rage replaces the warm and fuzzy feelings of relaxation that the pills had given me moments earlier.

One second I’m standing there, shoulders tense, hanging on to that control by a thread, and the next—I feel my fist slamming into the wall, the deep bone-cracking thud of my hand coming in contact with the wall echoes through the room.

“ He did what?” I roar, spit flying from my mouth and splashing against my cheek.

I stagger backward, my chest heaving, and my hands twitch as I try to figure out what to do with them—hit something else, tear something apart, grab someone. My whole body vibrates like a live wire sparking at the ends. The tiny red pills are supposed to help me remain calm and should’ve taken full effect, but there is nothing to stop the rage from roaring through my bloodstream, feeding the fire, uncoiling all the fury I’ve managed to keep choked down for years.

The anger consume me, hitting me hard in the chest like I was sucker punched. It keeps building and building, moving along at full speed and quickly becoming something I cannot control. I should try harder. Fight harder to clamp it down so I can finish my conversation with Remy, but I can’t. Not this time. Usually, I can feel it coming, creeping in at the edges of my mind, but there was no warning or no slow build-up. Just— boom .

White-hot. Every nerve in my body is lit up like a sparkler. Breath? Gone. Thoughts? Shattered. Nothing but uncontrollable rage consumes me. Ugly, snarling, feral . It claws up my throat, burning like fire behind my eyes. Can’t think—can’t stop . I don’t want to. Hands clenched. Nails digging into my palms. Still not enough. More, more, more.

I need to move, to destroy something. Anything to cause destruction so the inside and outside are the same. The wall. The chair. My knuckles. Doesn’t matter. I need it to hurt . I pull my fist back and slam it into the wall a second time. And a third. And a fourth.

“ He called in a favor to get me on the team? He thinks he can fix everything with a goddamn job? After everything he’s done to me?” The words barely make it past my teeth, abandoning the now-destroyed wall, and I sweep my arms across the nightstand, sending everything crashing to the floor.

Not enough. It’s not enough. Everything feels too tight. Too wired. Too full of fire and like I’m being burned alive from the inside out. A red haze has settled over my mind. Everything is red . Everything is about him . Always him . That smug, manipulative bastard—always pulling strings, always pretending it is to help someone else. No. Not this time.

“Cole! What the fuck is going on there? You need to calm down.”

I laugh, but it doesn’t sound like me. The sound lacks any warmth. It sounds sharp. Hollow. Unhinged. “You tell him to stay the hell away from me!” I scream, voice cracking on the last word. “I’d rather never step foot on the ice again than owe him a single goddamn thing!”

The door squeaks open, and I spin around, finding a new target for my rage. A much better target. He’s not phased, never is. Walking in with an ease to his stride that only fuels my anger even more. “I don’t think Momma will appreciate you knocking out walls in the house. If you want to redecorate, the least you can do is not take a sledgehammer to the walls.”

That voice. It’s just like his . Different, but the same. Both want the same. He knew. He helped. I know he did. He wants to make it worse. To help him control everything. Again. Always back to what he wants. Never me. Never. Me.

I don’t say a word. I just lunge in his general direction, needing to lash out.

But there is someone in the way. Not him. I can’t. Not her. She’s too close .

I manage to jerk my hand back just in time—almost didn’t. Almost didn’t . Not her. She is the only one who cares, who sees me anymore. And I almost hurt her.

“I’m sorry. So sorry, Momma.” I reach toward her, but he steps between us. He shakes his head, motioning for me to take a step back.

My usually calm, easy-going big brother’s eyes are full of concern and something else I can’t place. His eyes remain locked on mine, opening his mouth to speak. “Momma, I forgot to grab the garlic bread you asked me for.”

“Is he—” A gut-wrenching sob bubbles up her throat, but she uses her hand to silence it.

I want to go to her. To let her know that I’m fine. It’s the…the…the… I don’t know what the hell that was, but it won’t happen again. I won’t let it. Not to her. Never with her. I’ve been angry before, but that was different. It was uncontrollable, but a part of me didn’t want to control it either. And that scares the hell out of me. The fear cracks through the fury flowing through me like a lightning strike.

“He’s gonna be fine, Momma.”

She leans around him, her eyes locking with mine for a moment before I drop them to the floor. Shame and embarrassment overwhelm me, but it goes beyond that. So much deeper than anything I’ve ever felt since Dad died. Since I lost my biggest champion. But the rage is still there, burning under the surface, waiting for its chance to strike.

What if I hadn’t stopped? What if I’d never recognized Momma? Tears streaming down her cheeks, her eyes widened in pure horror as my fist came inches from—No. No, no?—

“Cole.” The coldness in Beau’s voice is foreign to me, but deserved. I want to run and hide away from the consequences, but I won’t. I deserve the tongue lashing I’m sure he’s about to give me.

I don’t even raise my head to respond to him before— crack . His fist slams into my jaw, causing my head to recoil back from the impact. Sharp. Solid. Real. Everything snaps back, sudden and brutal.

I stumble back slightly, barely remaining on my feet as my vision reels. I want to clench my eyes shut, to stop the world from spinning around me, but I don’t. I deserve this, deserve the pain for what I almost did. Of what could have happened if I hadn’t been able to stop myself.

“What the fuck is going on with you, Cole?” Beau growls, stalking closer to me.

I brace myself for another hit, but it never comes. I look up, my chest heaving as I try to catch my breath. I don’t say a word, just stare at him, waiting for him to dole out his punishment.

Beau stares at me, eyes wide as he examines my face. Every muscle in his body is shaking, chest heaving, trying to decide if he wants to hit me again or not. His hands remain curled into fists, staring at me like he doesn’t know who I am anymore. And if I’m being honest with myself, I don’t know if I do either.

The ringing sound in my ears lessens but doesn’t disappear completely, a constant reminder of what Beau prevented. Fuck. I was worried about getting another concussion on the ice, not from being punched by my brother. Either way, I deserve it.

“Answer me, Cole. What the fuck is going on?”

I stagger back, my knees hitting the bed and buckling. My body drops onto the bed like my legs weren’t able to hold me up any longer. The rage is still there, burning under the surface, like a slow poison infecting my entire system, rotting me from the inside out.

My head drops to my head, and I inhale deeply. Once. Twice. My body trembles as the increased adrenaline leaves my system. I look down at my hands—shaking, red, raw from putting them through the wall. But all I can think about is what could have happened if Beau hadn’t been here. The fear in Momma’s eyes will haunt me for the rest of my life. Not fear for herself about what was happening, but fear for me. Fear that I had reached a point I can’t come back from.

I wipe a hand down my face to remove the dripping sweat, but it can’t remove the shame of what I almost did. Nothing can remove the shame or scrub away the heat crawling up my spine as bile rises, burning its way up my throat. I can’t decide if I want to puke, scream, or claw my way out of my skin.

“ Shit, ” I whisper, my voice cracking, completely wrecked from all the screaming I’d done, but I don’t dare speak anything louder. “I wasn’t gonna?—”

I choke on my words, knowing damn well I don’t know that. I have no idea if I would’ve stopped if Beau wasn’t standing there. If my mother had come into the room first instead of Beau, would I have been able to stop? Would I have noticed she wasn’t either of my brothers if she hadn’t made those small gasps, allowing my mind to focus for a moment? At that moment, I wasn’t her son. I wasn’t their brother. I don’t even know if I was myself.

I don’t have to look up to know that Beau is still in the room, waiting for me to answer. I can feel him; his anger and concern for whatever is going on with me is coming off him in waves. I should tell him everything that has been happening to me. Not just in the last few weeks, but years. The alcohol, the drugs, everything I’ve done to stay relevant. To be needed. To be wanted. But I don't. Instead, I remain silent. This has never happened before, and it won’t happen again. I’ve always been a hothead, but never anything this out of control. It’s probably because of the stress, the exhaustion I’ve felt since leaving the hospital two months ago. I just need to get back on track. To get back to my routine, and everything will be all right. Just like it's always been.

“Hey,” Beau whispers as he inches closer slowly, the floor of my bedroom creaking under the weight of his careful footsteps before coming to a stop in front of me. I can see his beat-up sneakers, covered in grass and dirt from outside. He must have walked across the lawn instead of on the path leading to the front door. Momma had someone come cut the grass yesterday, although this will be my job once my shoulder is healed more, so there are still clippings scattered around the lawn.

“I’m not a bomb about to explode, Beau.” My voice is barely above a whisper, but I know he heard me. I don’t look up. I can’t. I’m not ready to feel the weight of his judgmental stare. Clenching my eyes shut, I focus on my breathing. The feel of my elbows on my knees. The weight of my head in my hands. My hands tremble on either side of my face, my body still shaking from the adrenaline dump.

“You could’ve fooled me.” His voice remains calm and low, offering me a lifeline. A way out of the rage that once consumed me, but I don’t take it. It’s as if he’s tossing a rope to someone drowning, without asking if they wanted to be saved.

“Touché.” I chuckle darkly, waiting for the rage to consume me a second time. Thankfully, it doesn’t, but it’s still there. It’s always there. Simmering below the surface.

The bed beside me sinks from his weight, not close enough for him to touch me, but close enough for me to feel his quiet presence. The solid, steady calm my older brother always carries like armor around him. Beau has always been a calming presence for me, the original balm to keep my rage under control. I thought I didn’t need him, that I could handle it all on my own, but that was a lie. I just had to find different coping mechanisms to deal with it.

“This hasn’t happened before,” I mumble, wincing at how pathetic I sound. “You know I have anger issues, but that uncontrollable rage. I’ve never?—”

“I know,” Beau responds without hesitating. No disbelief. Just the truth. “But it scared the shit out of you, didn’t it?”

His words hit the mark, hitting me hard in the chest as if he punched me himself. I open my mouth to respond, but slam it shut quickly because I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to explain what happened any more than he did, but I do have an idea. Either way, it doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is making sure it doesn’t happen again.

Neither one of us says a word, a comfortable silence settling between us. Beau gives me space to think. He doesn’t pick at me, needing to know exactly what is wrong so he can control it. Fix it. And then make it go away like Cooper. He’s just there, waiting for me to tell him what I need.

Beau leans forward, his arms resting on his knees as he turns toward me. I don’t move a muscle, continuing to stare at my feet. We’ve played this game before, and it’s one I’ve never lost. I’m not someone who likes to talk about what I’m feeling. I wasn’t when we were younger, either. Beau will either lose patience and leave or break the silence.

He goes with the latter. “You don’t have to fight your demons alone, you know. Not the anger. Not whatever else is going on, either.”

My throat tightens, an aching knot forming in my throat that refuses to loosen. I try to swallow it down, but it only makes it worse.

“We are your family, whether you like it or not, Cole,” Beau adds quietly, throwing his arm over my shoulder and pulling me toward him. “We all want what is best for you.”

“You mean you want to control me,” I huff, trying to remove his arm from around my shoulder, but he tightens his grip, holding me in place.

Why does this feel like old times? Like we are still thick as thieves, conspiring with the best way to get under Cooper’s skin without getting into trouble with Momma. We used to sit in one of our rooms, on our beds, for hours. Him next to me, waiting for me to spill all my problems. Maybe he’s hoping for a new outcome today than the last.

He tried to talk me out of taking off to join the Wolverines. He came home from college that weekend for a surprise visit, but I knew what had really happened. Cooper had called. Things didn’t end the way either of them had expected that night. Instead of singing campfire songs around the makeshift fire pit we’d built, Cooper and I got into it.

The two of us getting into it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, but that night was different. I don’t remember how things escalated. Cooper said something about being disappointed, something else about betraying my father’s memory. I stormed out of the house right after that, Cooper shouting something at me as I climbed into the back of my friend's car and headed straight to the airport. Although the memories of that night are fuzzy, I remember seeing Beau standing in the window of this bedroom, giving me a small nod of approval before turning around and disappearing from sight.

Beau looks almost exactly the same as he did that day. The same old backward baseball cap with frayed edges along the brim. His favorite from the last baseball game we went to with Dad. He has the same crooked nose, same storm-gray eyes, but older. We both are. Older, but not any wiser, since we find ourselves right back here in my childhood bedroom. My big brother, trying to help me solve my problems.

“Did Remy tell you?” I ask, finally turning my head to look at him. “Or did you already know what Cooper’s plan was when I was in Portland?”

Beau laughs dryly, more breath than sound. “I had no idea about anything until Remy called with a heads-up this morning.”

“You know damn well I don’t believe that,” I snap, instantly regretting it. “Sorry, Beau. But you and Cooper tell each other everything. Hell, you’ve been his shadow my entire life. There’s no way he did this without you knowing.”

Beau nods his head, releasing my shoulder and turning his attention back to the wall. He rests his arms on his thighs, folding his hands in front of him. “I’m not trying to start a fight with you, Cole. You’re going to believe what you want to believe, no matter what I say.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because… I’ve been trying to find a way to get you to let me back in for the last nine years and some change. I want to bridge that gap between us. I want things to go back to the way they were. I want my fucking brother back.”

“Funny,” I scoff, pushing to my feet. “For someone who misses his brother, you never once asked me how I was doing or what my problems were. The only thing you ever asked me was when I was going to talk to our dear older brother.”

“Would you have even told me if I’d asked?” Beau questions as I turn, resting my back against the wall.

“It depends on whether you meant it.” I cross my arms over my chest, gripping desperately to the tentative calm I’ve been able to maintain during our conversation.

“I’m not your enemy, Cole,” he adds quietly, lifting his head and looking me directly in the eyes. “And neither is Cooper.”

Something inside me cracks. Something that goes deeper than the rage. The shame. Something deep inside my soul. A part of me that has always and will always miss my big brothers.

Beau just watches me, waiting for me to let him in like I used to when I was a kid. Not with pity, just steady and quiet love. But I can’t yet, but maybe I can lean on my big brother, even if only a little bit.

For the first time in years, I let my guard down an inch. And then another. There’s no way this is what Beau wanted, but it has to be enough. This is all I can give him right now, but maybe in the future, I can trust him a little bit more. I exhale slowly, allowing all the muscles in my body to relax.

“I refuse to owe him anything, Beau. I doubt he did any of this out of the kindness of his heart. Cooper doesn’t do anything without a reason. He’s going to want something from me. I don’t know what I can give him. Not now, maybe not ever.”

He doesn’t understand. Nothing that involves Cooper comes without strings. It never has. My fists open and close at my sides as I search for something else to destroy.

“He’s our big brother. He doesn’t want anything from you but for you to listen,” Beau responds, his voice even softer. “Cooper’s life hasn’t been sunshine and roses either. He misses his family.”

I can’t pretend to know anything about my oldest brother any more now than I did when I was a teenager. Cooper always wanted to control everything and everyone around him like puppets. Could he have changed that much since we last spoke? I doubt it. No one, and I mean no one, can rewrite their entire personality on a cellular level. Cooper has always and will always want to control everyone around him, using us as pawns on a chessboard. Finding a way to use us to achieve whatever goal he has in mind?.

“It’s his fault we are broken,” I respond, feeling those words with every fiber of my being.

Hindsight is always twenty-twenty. Would I have reacted the same way if I knew that truth from the start? That it was Cooper’s fault that our father fell over the side of a cliff to his death? Probably. Would I have tried to understand it from a different perspective? That it could have potentially been an accident? No, never. There are no words that will ever make me believe that. Even though Cooper didn’t push Dad off the edge of the cliff, it was his fault he died. He was the reason we were up there. It was his stupid fucking birthday.

“It’s everyone’s fault that our family is broken,” Beau responds.

“Except Momma,” we say in unison, both of us chuckling tentatively, worried about upsetting our fragile truce.

“I missed you, Cole.” Beau pushes to his feet, reaching over and grasping my hand. “Not just as a teammate or someone to help deal with Cooper’s bullshit. But just you. My little brother, even when you hated me.”

I stare at Beau and look at him, really look at him for the first time in what feels like years and try to see past my anger.

“I haven’t always hated you, Beau. But I have always missed you. That’s the worst part.”