Page 8

8

DANE

There’s been a weird tension between me and my brothers all week, and I’m pretty sure I know what the cause is. Or rather, who.

Though none of us seem to want to talk about it, I know we need to.

I’ve tried to keep my distance, knowing she needs space, but I can’t help myself when it comes to her. Which is exactly how I ended up on her doorstep last week, under the guise of “being in the neighborhood” and bringing her coffee, along with a small box of stuff for Lyla. Nothing major…just…some clothes. Toys. Books…

All week I’d been trying to work the nerve up to show up and talk to her about her…situation.

Tripp had mentioned her card declining at the grocery store, and Richie mentioned running into her on a job interview, the very one I had stepped up to babysit for. Though, he hadn’t heard from her regarding said interview, even though he told me he was more than clear that he wanted to hear from her either way and she had promised to keep him in the loop.

But I know Amelia. She’s quiet, reserved. Like me. And over the last year, she’s mostly kept to herself, especially where my brother is concerned. But I get it, self-preservation and all. And a habit like that is hard to break.

Neither Richie or Tripp are the type to coax out information. They’re about as subtle as a hurricane. Which is why I know we need to talk about this whole situation and figure out a solution that works for all of us.

Because there is no way I am letting the mother of my niece, the woman I’ve been in love with for far too long, struggle to do this on her own.

My brother should have taken responsibility for his actions, should have taken care of her and their child. But he’s clearly not a respectable man, not like everyone thought he was, anyway.

I also know Amelia well enough to know that we need to tread lightly. The whole thing’s sensitive. She’s determined, and I love that about her. And I have no doubt she’ll attain the goals she sets, but right now…

Right now is the thick of it, and she needs support, even if she is resistant to the idea.

Even if she is hellbent on proving herself.

I take a long drink from my water bottle as Tripp does another round of slap shots. Richie leans back, rubbing his neck with a grimace. I know he won’t say anything, but I know this job is getting harder for him. He’s not old by any means, but in this sport, our bones are often older than we are, thanks to the beating we give them.

The last few years, since his divorce, he’s slowed down a lot, even though he pushes himself. I’ve told him time and time again that he needs to take care of himself, but Richie doesn’t like anyone telling him what to do. He’s stubborn like that. Him and Dex have that in common.

I watch as Tripp makes his last shot, letting out a breath. “Any word on whether or not Amelia got the job?” I ask as Tripp skates around the rink. Backward, because he’s such a fucking show-off.

I like Tripp, really I do. I wouldn’t let him live with me while he goes to college if I didn’t.

But his energy level is always at a twenty, and I feel like I need two shots of espresso to keep up with the kid. One of these days, when he does land a pro gig—which he will, because he’s got the skills—he’s going to tear the ice and hearts up.

He comes barreling through the doors, stomping over on his skates and taking a seat next to me.

“Water.” He stretches out his hand and Richie tosses him his bottle.

“I ain’t your daddy, get it your damn self.”

Tripp laughs before squirting his water in his mouth.

“And no. I haven’t heard a peep from Amelia since last week when I ran into her.”

“She didn’t say anything to me either, when I stopped by last week,” I say with a sigh.

Tripp says, “Maybe you should try texting her.”

I turn to look at him. “Excuse me?”

Tripp shrugs. “I mean, I’ve been texting her for the last week.”

My eyes narrow as I focus on my breath. “You…what?”

“What the fuck do you mean you’ve been texting ?” Richie asks, his voice edged in shock.

Tripp looks between us. “I mean, it’s nothing major. Just, you know…good morning, beautiful. How was your day? How’s the little cutie patootie? Check out this TikTok of Elmo swearing…”

I glare at him. This entire week he’s been chatting with Amelia and he didn’t say anything?

Why wouldn’t he say anything…

I know why. Or at least, the jealous part of me knows why, resigned to the fact that we’re being sidelined again. Just like the first time.

I force the thoughts away. There’s nothing wrong with Tripp texting her.

In fact, it’s probably good she has someone to talk to, I just…

I wish it was me she wanted to talk to. Not my dumbass stepbrother who can’t be bothered to wear his hat the right way.

“She needs our help,” I say, brushing off Tripp. “We owe it to her, to Lyla.”

Richie shifts his position next to me. “I’m not disagreeing with you, but?—”

“But what?” Tripp says, guzzling another drink. “Dane’s right. She shouldn’t be struggling on her own, when she has…family.” He says the last word carefully, as if it might actually bite him.

I steal a glance at him, noting his tense shoulders. I can’t blame him for being attracted to Amelia. Hell, how could I when I’m in the same boat?

But in all reality, he’s got no relation her. I don’t either, except…

Except for the fact that my identical twin happens to be the father of her child, which means Lyla’s got my DNA.

So yeah, we’re not related, but it’s still…a bit of a gray area, I guess. Not that it matters to me. Amelia is always going to be it for me, whether she wants me or not.

My mind wanders back to when I saw her for the first time since she’d left. How she looked at me, in her little apartment. How I could have sworn she wanted to kiss me.

I know I can’t have imagined it, but I’m starting to wonder if my wishful thinking is truly rotting my brain.

“Lyla needs a father,” Tripp says sternly, making Richie and me both turn in his direction.

“And you think that’s you?” Richie scoffs. “Please. You are practically a fetus yourself.”

Tripp shoots him a glare. “I’m twenty-four, Richie, not fourteen. Or maybe you forgot because you’re so senile in your old age.”

I hold my arms out between them, because as soon as the words leave Tripp’s mouth, Richie moves.

“Come here, you little bitch, and say that to my face,” he growls.

“Not helping, Tripp.” I glare at him as he pushes against me. I shove Richard back. “And you…I expect more from you .”

Richie hisses beside me. “I got no problem showing you a thing or two either, Dane.”

We both know he’s just blowing steam. His temper is short, and he’s often too quick to snap, but most of the time it’s harmless. He gets his aggression out on the ice, like we all do.

Still, it bothers me because Tripp’s right. Lyla does need a father.

But Amelia also needs a man who she can depend on. Someone who can be the things both she and Lyla need.

I want to be that guy. I really do, but I also know I can’t smother Amelia in my wants and desires. What I want doesn’t matter. What she needs is what matters most.

“Tripp’s right,” I say, as Richard grunts a discontent sound. “But I know Amelia. She’s not going to just pack her things up and move in with us.”

“Why not?” Tripp asks curiously.

I sigh. “Because, Tripp, Amelia is the kind of woman who craves independence. When we met, she was working a fast-paced job in the tech sector.”

Richard’s voice is even. “I didn’t know she worked in tech.”

“She actually worked as a graphic designer, for Sasson, in the city,” I say. Tripp and Richard both stare at me.

“What? I thought that was common knowledge. It’s not like she just fell into our lap?—”

I let out a breath as they wait for me to finish, both looking at me with a mixture of curiosity and…jealousy? Why the fuck would the twenty-four-year-old heartthrob and the forty-five-year-old badass be jealous of me ?

I shake off the thought. “All I’m saying is, Amelia isn’t a damsel in distress. She’s doesn’t need to be rescued,” I say, trying to make them understand.

“So she’s going to be resistant. Great,” Richard says with a grunt.

“We just have to make her an offer she can’t refuse, then,” Tripp says, tossing his empty water bottle aside.

“Right,” I say, hoping such a thing won’t be as difficult as it sounds.