Page 24 of Hockey Player Seeking Fan (Billionaires Seeking Wives Club #2)

Chapter Sixteen

T yler

There are some days when I feel like I have the weight of the world on my shoulders, and I don’t know why. It's not as if I even have a family. Well, technically, that’s not true. I may not be married with kids, but it certainly feels like I have the responsibility of a man.

"It’s going to be okay, I promise you," I say to my little sister, Muriel.

"He really wanted to go to Paris, and Jojo... well, he said that he wanted to go surfing in Tahiti. And Dad’s not going to do anything to help pay for the wedding, and?—

"Oh, Tyler, I didn’t want to have to come to you, but?—"

"Fine, Muriel. I’ll pay for the wedding. And I’ll pay for the honeymoon."

"I know, but..." She pauses.

"What is it?" I try not to let out a sigh. I love my sister. I love my mother. I love my entire family. But sometimes, I just feel like a never-ending ATM. Sometimes I wonder if they would call me and love me so much if I didn’t have money.

"I know you’re already doing so much, and I don’t want to take advantage?—"

"What is it? Tell me."

"Well, are you still going to..." She pauses. "I don’t want to ask."

"Just ask," Leah, my other sister, screams in the background.

I laugh lightly. There’s nothing like Leah making you get on with it.

"Well, are you still going to put the down payment on the house we want to buy in Des Moines?"

I lick my lips and rub my forehead.

There we have it. That’s why my sister has been calling me nonstop for the last three hours—not because she wanted to know how I’m doing. But to tell me that if I financially support her and her loser for basically the rest of their lives?—

"Did I upset you?" Muriel sighs. "Look, it’s fine. I know it’s a lot to ask."

"Do you?" I ask.

She’s shocked. I never really speak to her like that. It’s not like it’s her fault that she depends on me so much. I’m the one who stepped up to take care of the family. And while I don’t mind, sometimes I resent it so much it makes me feel like the shittiest fuck alive.

"Never mind. I’ll pay for the wedding and help with the house.” She’s my sister and I love her. I will always spoil her.

"Oh my gosh, I love you so much. Thank you! I can’t wait for you to come back home for the wedding.

You’re going to give me away, right? God, I don’t want Dad to do that.

You’re my brother. Plus, everyone is excited to meet—well, to meet Tyler.

Half of his relatives didn’t even believe me when I said you were my brother.

In fact, I don’t think he believed me either. He thought I was joking.”

“Joking?”

“When he heard you were rich and famous. I just told him you had money at first and he was curious as to how you got it.”

“I hope he’s not that into the money.” I know better than to tell her he’s a gold-digger and to be weary.

"You know what I mean. He asked how you got it. Jokingly said you share the money with me."

"Maybe I should," I say.

"Maybe you have. Done everything for everyone in the family."

"How do we know he’s not just in it for the money? He has a trust fund."

"That doesn’t mean anything," I say, thinking about Erica and the fact that she’s a trust-fund baby. I realize I don’t hate her as much as I hate my sister’s fiancé, who I think is definitely not in it for the right reasons.

But I know, just like all smart men and women know, that the more you tell a person that someone is bad for them, the less they want to believe you.

"You’re just being overprotective because you’re my big brother, and you’re upset I’m getting married. You think I’m too young."

"That’s not why I’m upset. But it’s fine, Muriel. Honestly, it’s not going to break the bank. If you want money for the wedding and honeymoon, I’ll send it. And I’ll make the down payment on the house. Shit. How much is the house?"

"It’s $450,000.”

“I’ll buy you the house as a wedding present."

"What? Oh my gosh. Thank you so much!"

"I’m only putting it in Mom’s name."

"Why?"

"Because I don’t know what this man is going to try and get from you, and I don’t want you getting divorced in two years and him getting half the house."

"But you just said that you think he has money, too."

"Right, but you know he’s not asking me for my money."

"Fine, whatever. How are you, by the way?"

I look at the timer on the phone. “We’ve been on this call for thirty-seven minutes and forty-two seconds, and that’s the first time you’ve asked me how I’m doing.”

"Oh, sorry. I mean, I didn’t realize."

"You know what? It’s fine. I’ll go to the bank tomorrow and see what I can do about wiring the money."

"Okay. I’ll speak to Mom about the bank details. I love you."

"I love you, too. Give everyone my regards."

I hang up the phone and just stand there.

I know I was rough on my sister. I know she was hurt.

I took things out on her that I shouldn’t have.

But sometimes I just feel so infuriated by the fact that I gave up so much of my life, and it’s not even appreciated.

Sometimes I just feel like my family wants more, more, more, and more, and that it doesn’t matter what it costs me.

I stare at the corner of my apartment at the box that just arrived. I walk over and open it. I pull out oil paints, acrylics, brushes, linseed oil, and a palette. I just stare at the contents. Painting supplies. My heart sings a song I thought it had forgotten.

I smile slowly as I walk into my bedroom and open the cupboard, pulling out the drawing pad and small canvases I keep there. I’m about to take them to my dining room table and paint when my phone rings.

I don’t even want to look at the screen—I’m nervous it’s my mother, wanting to tell me off for how I spoke to Muriel. I’m pleasantly surprised when I see that it’s Erica.

"Hey, how’s it going?" she asks.

I smile as I hear her voice. "I’m good. How are you?"

"I’m actually okay today," she says, sounding unlike herself.

"Hey, what’s wrong?"

"Nothing. Just..." she says. "I think I’m just in my head. I was wondering what you were up to right now."

"I was just going to..." I stare at the paints, then turn away. Maybe this is a sign. That painting was something in my past, and I should let it go. "Actually, I’m not doing anything. Is there anything you want to do right now?”

“Hmm?”

“You want to come over?”

“For what??”

"Do you want to get eaten out?” I lick my lips in anticipation.

"Really?" she says, sounding disappointed.

"Sorry. I didn’t mean to make this about sex."

"It’s fine. I mean, if this is just a sex thing to you, then it’s just a sex thing. I thought maybe you’d want to hang out."

"Erica, it’s not a sex thing. Do you want to go to the Brooklyn Bridge?"

"Yes. I know at night you could get some really cool shots."

"Yeah, that would be really cool," I say.

"You want to meet me there?"

"No. How about we meet at your place, and then we’ll go together?"

"Oh, no, you don’t have to?—"

"I want to. I want to be a gentleman and pick you up."

"Oh my gosh, really?" She laughs. "You really don’t have to do that."

"I know I don’t have to, but maybe I want to."

"Cool," she says. "Oh, and guess what?"

"What?"

"I got some watercolor paint."

"You what?"

"Yeah, a watercolor travel set and a pad and some boards. I figured I’d bring them, and maybe we could paint the Brooklyn Bridge and... I figured it’d be fun."

My heart thuds for a few seconds.

"Wait. You like painting, right? And you gave it up. I figured, if we’re going to go see something cool, maybe we could paint. You could show me a thing or two. It’d be fun."

"That was really thoughtful of you."

"I try," she says, giggling. "So let me shower real quick, and I’ll see you in a bit."

"Yeah. Yeah, definitely."

I hang up the phone and walk to the mirror. I just stare at my reflection.

"Who are you?" I say, looking at myself. "Who do you want to be?"

I shake my head because I have no clue. I have no clue where I’m going or what I want to do. But I don’t feel depressed. In fact, I feel the lightest I have in the last couple of hours.

I look at my phone and tap my finger against the screen. Who are you, Erica? And why do you get me?

I’ve been so quick to give up the idea of painting again. And here she is, trying to bring that out of me. It’s thoughtful. Touching. And I realize, it’s perhaps one of the nicest, most thoughtful things anyone has ever done for me.

She doesn’t want anything from me. She doesn’t need anything from me. All she wants is to hang out and maybe get some tips. That really means something.

Oh, God, I’m falling for her.

I take a deep breath and run my fingers through my hair.

Because the last thing I need in my life is to fall for someone like Erica Carrington—someone bright-eyed and bushy-tailed who wants the world.

Because I’m not in a position to give her the world.

I’m not even in a position to give her a city.

I’m not even in a position to give her an apartment.

I feel so conflicted and confused. And yet, it’s okay, because I don’t have to make any hard decisions. I don’t have to be someone I’m not; she’s not asking anything of me. And maybe I’m doing myself a disservice by not just going with the flow, because that’s how I’ve lived my entire life.

But maybe she deserves better than that. Maybe Erica deserves someone who’s going to be as all-in as she is. Because if I’m not... am I really helping her? Or am I hurting her?

I dismiss the thoughts immediately. I don’t want to be in that place. I don’t want to let her go just yet. I know I’m being selfish, but I just can’t seem to walk away.