Page 4 of Coach’s Son (Twin Cities #2)

Charlie

He whips a vape out of his bomber jacket, inhaling a showy puff, then flooding my nostrils with the blue raspberry monstrosity.

Vaping isn’t allowed in here, but of course he wouldn’t care. Rules are for other people. For him, it’s just another way to mark territory, to announce himself without saying a word. This guy is a fucking idiot. An arrogant, grinning idiot who knows precisely what he’s doing.

My wanker of a brother: Drew Evans. Between the pipes, he’s bloody brilliant—nothing gets past him. Off the ice, though? He’s made a career out of cockblocking me. Every relationship, every chance I’ve had, he’s found some way to muck it up.

But with Austin, I’m not losing a wink of sleep. What we’ve got is deeper than any fling Drew’s ever tried to ruin. Maybe it’s my age talking, but I’ve started picturing the long game. And if I’m honest, I reckon Austin might just be my forever bloke.

The gala’s at the Lake Shore Pavilion, right on the edge of Lake Bde Maka Ska—a venue formal enough to justify ten grand a ticket, which, thankfully, the Lumberjacks have covered.

Because no way in bloody hell, would I be paying ten thousand quid for a gala seat.

On my right is Austin, looking picture perfect as a gentleman in that navy suit I practically begged him to wear.

Across the table sits Drew, polishing off his third martini.

Let me tell you, this lad is not a pretty drunk.

The flush in his cheeks makes him look like he’s fresh off a five-mile skate in a sauna, and the way he’s slurring his clever little digs tells me tonight is not going to be pretty.

Give him another round and he’ll be holding court, telling anyone who’ll listen how he once shut out the league’s top scorer, conveniently leaving out the part where the poor lad had the norovirus, which may have led to an accident on the ice…

Drew sets his glass down with a thud. His eyes flick to Austin with a cheeky grin forming. “So,” he drawls, leaning back in his chair, “tell me, little brother’s boyfriend… how’s it feel catching passes from dear old step-dad these days?”

Austin stiffens beside me, the warmth in his posture evaporating. I see the muscle tick in his jaw, but he keeps his smile tight. “Feels a hell of a lot better than getting pucks shot at my teeth for a living.”

Drew lets out a smart laugh, a snobby ripple that barely reaches Austin’s ears.

He tips his glass toward him, the martini sloshing perilously close to the rim.

“Fair play,” he says, the words slow and measured, as if he’s chastising a child.

He leans back, one arm draped over the chair, and studies Austin as though he’s lining up a shot.

“Still… can’t imagine it’s easy, all that family business on the field. Must be distracting.”

Austin’s smile doesn’t falter, but I can feel the shift in him. The way his thigh goes taut under my hand. “Not really,” he says evenly. “We’re here to play football, not swap family gossip.”

Drew’s smirk widens, that predatory flame flickering in his eyes. He swirls what’s left of his drink, the ice clinking dramatically. “Right. All business. Shame, though. Thought you’d be more fun off the field.”

Austin’s brows furrow a bit, he's about to open his mouth, but I snap first. “He’s a joy of a lad, Drew. You’d know that if you weren’t such a goddamn wanker.”

My words bounce right off my tosser of a twin, as they always have.

He’s too bloated with his own ego to notice anything that doesn’t fit his little highlight reel.

Or satisfies his prick. Always has been, always will be.

Struts around like a hard man because he’s racked up a dozen concussions, as if that’s a badge of honour.

Truth is, the only thing all those hits have done is scramble what was already a very small supply of brain cells

“Careful, Charlie. Sounds like someone’s a bit touchy tonight.” He licks his lips, then lifts his gaze at Austin, “You’d think after all these years he’d learn not to get so wound up. Must be exhausting, living with that much pent-up energy.”

Austin shifts in his seat, his lips cracking open as he’s about to defend me, but I cut in. “Better pent up than a washed-up alcoholic.”

“Go drink some tea little brother.” He lets out an infuriating smirk of a laugh that winds you up like a clock.

Fourteen bloody minutes. That’s all it took for him to stake his claim as the eldest, and he’s lorded it over me ever since.

Drew’s hand darts out before I can blink, snatching Austin’s phone from the table. “You know, Austin,” he says, his thumb already flying across the screen, “if you ever need anything from me—on or off the record—here’s my number. No need for my drama queen of a brother.”

He doesn’t just type it in; he saves it under Drew – Better Twin, then turns the screen toward Austin with a self-satisfied glint in his eye. “Now you’ve got a direct line to the upgrade.”

Drew couldn’t help himself. He’s an arsehole by nature. Even when we were wee lads, he made a sport of winding people up. Drove our mum to migraines and our dad to the pub more nights than not. I’d once thought he might grow out of it but tonight proves he’s still the same prat he’s always been.

I recall the year I brought home my first proper girlfriend, Lucy.

It was our last year of sixth form. Convinced myself that I was straight enough to give the lass what she needed.

Lucy was sweet and laughed at my terrible jokes.

Drew took one glance at her and within a week he had me convinced that she was secretly seeing a lad on the side.

Didn’t matter if it was true or not; the damage was done.

He’s pulled that stunt more than once, even kissed a few of my flings that I brought around to the clubs.

If he couldn’t have what I had, he’d ruin it.

Did I forget to mention that he’s also a psychopath?

And now here he is, sitting across the table from me with that cheeky smirk, eyeing up Austin as if he’s a shiny new toy to break in. Same old Drew. The worst possible twin you could ask for. If he wasn’t so brilliant at hockey, he’d be on the streets of Manchester, conning folks out of their quid.

“Alright, brother… and little brother’s pet,” Drew says, pushing back from the table.

“Time I find myself a lady for the evening. I’d say it was a pleasure, but then I’d be lying.

” He gives an exaggerated bow—more theatre than sincerity—before sauntering off to harass some other unsuspecting gala-goers.

Austin exhales, watching him disappear into the crowd. “Quite a brother you’ve got there,” he says, seesawing between disbelief and exhaustion.

“Aye, he’s a tosser. But lucky for you, I’m the handsome one.” That earns me the faintest smile as his eyes gradually rise to mine. “And the charming one. And the one who knows exactly how to make you forget about my idiot twin.”

Austin shakes his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously good-looking, ridiculously in love with you…” I let my eyes lollygag up and down him, long enough to watch the colour rise in his cheeks. “Come on, love—let’s find the bar before Drew drinks them dry.”

We navigate through the crowd. The chatter’s a dull roar, the clink of glasses punctuating bursts of laughter from people I’ve half-forgotten the names of.

Austin’s head turns every so often, catching sight of some old teammate or one of the minority owners, but I keep us moving. I need some liquor.

At the bar, I lean in close enough for my lips to caress his ear, wishing I could do so much more right now. “Gin and tonic for me, love. And for you?”

“You already know.” Austin laughs, showing me his angelic smile.

“It’s a Lemon Drop kind of night, isn’t it?” I ask, catching the bartender’s eye.

“You spoil me.”

“Damn right,” I murmur, resting my hand on the small of his back while the drinks are poured. “Only the best for my favourite wide receiver.”

He rolls his eyes at me, but I catch the sly glimmer sparkling across those pupils. It's always a battle to get him to accept a freaking compliment. He wears humility like it's going out of style. I don't mind his humbleness, but lord sometimes it'd be nice to see him embrace it.

The bartender slides our drinks across the pinewood bar top, and I press his glass into his hand. “To surviving my twin,” I toast, raising mine.

His smile is small but cosily warm. “To surviving your brother,” he echoes.

I take a sip, the fizz of the tonic dancing over my tongue, the botanicals smoothing into that clean bitterness. “Ahh… finally, something in this room that’s not hard to swallow,” I say with a wink. Enjoying every second of his mesmerising chestnut eyes, I could lose myself in them all evening.

I fell for him the night we met. It was only meant to be a cheeky hook-up.

A quick shag and a go, ya know?

But I couldn’t help myself. I had to come back for more. Those innocent brown eyes, looking up at me like he was begging for a bit of guidance. That gorgeous dark hair. The toned muscles under that shy smile.

There’s no way I’m letting Drew so much as lay a finger on Austin. He can go find some other poor sod to amuse himself with—male or female, I couldn’t care less. Austin deserves better than that parasite. He deserves the best and that’s squarely what he’s got in me.

My brother is the scum that festers on the bottom of a ship, a combination of rot and seawater. Floating along wherever you go, persistent, and impossible to eliminate.

Speaking of the bloody devil, Drew slogs on over, all tipsy and wasted. His scleras are bloodshot as he tries to take a hit of his vape. No telling how many drinks he’s had. Probably enough to put down an elephant or two.

“Piss off,” I mutter at him.

He leans in, breath reeking of vodka. “Only if I can get a taste of your new boy,” he slurs, lips curling in a smirk that enrages my fists and makes me shoot out of my seat.