Page 56 of Puck Love
“I’m nice,” he countered, trudging through the sand.
“I had no idea. I also didn’t know you had a brother who…”
“Was special needs,” Trinsky finished.
I lowered my eyes, staring at the sand as I walked. “No, I guess I didn’t know that. It’s never come up.”
“No, it wouldn’t have,” he replied cryptically. “My private life is private. Either way…thanks for being cool to him. Eddie likes you. But don’t get excited…the poor kid has terrible taste in humans.”
“Gee, thanks.”
Trinsky bumped my shoulder. “I’m kidding. The opposite is true. He’s the best at gauging people. If he doesn’t like someone, there’s usually a reason. And vice versa.”
“You’re good with him,” I commented.
“Eddie is my ride or die. I would do anything for that kid, who you’re soon to find out, is an expert sandwich maker. You’re welcome for the turkey-cheese hookup in advance.”
I smiled at his retreating back, more intrigued by the multifaceted Mason Trinsky than ever.
The turkey-cheese hookup lived up to the hype. Eddie was chatty during sandwich assembly. He told me about his friends, Sarah and Anthony, and a bowling trip coming up at camp. His speech was halting and sometimes it wasn’t easy to understandhim, which was usually Trinsky’s cue to lay a hand gently over his brother’s as if to say, “There’s no reason to hurry.”
I was in awe of their dynamic. Eddie’s sweet-tempered mannerisms were a stark contrast to the hockey bad-boy attitude Trinsky had cultivated. The muscular hunk painstakingly cutting his brother’s sandwich at a perfect ninety-degree angle was nothing like the jerk who’d blamed me for his Stanley Cup loss and inadvertently launched a silly PR campaign.
No, this wasn’t Trinsky. This was Mason. And you know, I liked this guy.
Abigail Trinsky was yet another revelation. Mason and Eddie’s mother was a tall, striking brunet with a polite smile and sad eyes who couldn’t quite hide her surprise at my presence in her son’s home.
“Aren’t you…” She snapped her fingers. “I know you.”
“Jake Milligan. Pleased to meet you.” I motioned between Trinsky and me. “I’m…we’re—I play hockey too.”
“Oh, yes! Boston.” Another confused look. “I didn’t realize you two were friendly.”
“Nah, I’m being forced to be nice. The dude is my mortal enemy, Mom,” Trinsky grumbled sarcastically. “Do not tell anyone I took pity on him sitting in a hotel room on a sunny day in So Cal.”
She widened her eyes but made a zipped-lips motion. “I won’t say a word. Ready to go, Ed?”
Eddie inclined his chin. “Good-bye, Mister.”
“You can call me Jake,” I replied.
“No, you can be Mister, but I haven’t decided what your name will be. I’ll let you know.”
“Fair enough. See ya, Eddie.”
I held out my hand. Eddie ignored it and launched himself at me for an impromptu hug. I patted his back, sneaking a glance atTrinsky, who was staring at us with an unreadable expression on his handsome face.
Trinsky closed the door behind them a few minutes later and sat next to me at the kitchen island. He stole a chip from my almost empty plate and then another. I slid the plate over, knocking my knee against his in wordless communication.
“So I got a problem now.”
“What kind of problem?” I prodded.
He sighed dramatically. “I actually do like you.”
“Thatisa problem.”
“Right? I thought it was a weird form of lust, but I think it’s something more fundamental. Like…just you. I suppose you’re not the spoiled, rich kid who had every advantage handed to him on a silver platter.” Trinsky wrinkled his nose and flashed a disarming grin. “Okay, you’re still some of those things, but instead of being jealous and thinking you have no idea how damn fortunate you are, I’m beginning to think you get it.”