Page 68 of Puck Love

But I’d dropped the ball, and it was one more thing to beat myself up about. My internal angst was no excuse for being a crappy older brother.

I stepped on a few toes as I wriggled out of my row and waited for Nathan’s group to vacate their seats. He still looked uneasy, but he perked up and waved when he spotted me.

“Hi, Jake! That’s my brother, Jake,” he said to the kid next to him.

I high-fived the pint-sized hockey fan wearing Denny’s jersey and pulled Nathan aside. “Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t come skate with you like I promised, but?—”

“It’s okay. Dad said you got busy.” Nathan glanced over his shoulder as his group filed out of the stands. “I have to go. We’re taking the bus to the high school rink, and I want to sit next to Teddy. Bye, Jake.”

“Uh…bye. See you at dinner tonight.”

Nathan whirled on the steps. “You’re coming over for spaghetti?”

“Yeah, save me some.”

He pumped his fist in the air, grinning as he raced away.

I stared after him for a beat, torn between thinking I needed to thank Smitty for covering for me and chiding myself for being toxically self-absorbed.

And yeah, I blamed Trinsky.

Well…not really, but he was the reason I couldn’t think straight. I’d been like this for weeks, glued to my cell like a teenager, rereading our text threads, replaying images of us together…naked. His strong big body on top of me…inside me.

And now he was supposed to be here. Soon.

Vinnie mentioned it in passing at lunch later that day and joked about keeping us as far apart as possible much to the amusement of the coaching staff. I chuckled along with everyone else, but my stomach did an uncomfortable flip. Christ, this wasn’t going to be easy. Everything had changed.

Or had it?

We might be friendliernow, but the rivalry narrative worked for a reason. It sold tickets and jerseys and delighted fans.

My personal feelings were my problem. I mean, what the fuck did I think would come of this? Absolutely nothing. But I was still churned up about seeing him in person and unsure if I’d be better off with nothing but a handful of improbable memories.

Nonetheless, I called him as soon as I had a break. No answer.

I sent a text and tried again at the end of the day. Still nothing.

I skipped drinks at Black Horse Inn with the other coaches and went to my dad’s house for dinner, hoping to make up for being a neglectful older brother. Smitty had waved off my apology over our heaping plates of homemade spaghetti.

“No worries. You’re a busy star,” Smitty had taunted playfully. “Nath was fine with his old man, weren’t you, buddy?”

Nathan wiggled in his chair, twirling noodles inexpertly on his fork. “Yeah, camp was so cool and Coach Court is so funny. We did races around the cones without sticks and with sticks and I came in second. I beat Teddy, but I still have to beat Ava. She’s too good, and she’s younger than me.”

True. Ava Moore-Kiminski was Vinnie and Nolan’s daughter, so it kind of made sense. But Nathan was my brother, and I was a fucking all-star. I’d won the Stanley Cup. I could do better, be a better brother, help him get better and?—

“You okay, Jake?” Dad asked, his brow furrowed in concern, fork hovering in midair.

I nodded. “Yeah. I’m fine. I’m just…sorry about today. I’ll make it up to you, Nath.”

“There’s nothing to make up,” Smitty huffed, deftly pushing Ella’s glass of milk aside before she knocked it off the table.

Nathan beamed. “But we could get donuts in the morning.”

“Or…we could get ice cream tonight,” Charlotte suggested with a grin.

All three kids shared a glance and chanted, “Ice cream, ice cream, ice cream.”

I chuckled. “You’re on.”