Page 29

HAYES

“Stay over tonight,” I murmur into Riley’s ear, pulling her close as the wind sends a flurry of leaves tumbling over our feet. Her cheek rests against my chest, and the top of her head fits perfectly beneath my chin as she snuggles into me. The wind is high today, and the light is the dull gray infused white of approaching winter. She shivers, snuggling closer, searching for the warmth I seem to radiate at all times. I don’t feel the cold. I’ve spent half my life on the ice, so this is nothing.

“What will I tell my dad?”

“Say you’re staying with Imani,” I suggest, running my fingers gently over the tender skin on the back of her hand.

She bites her bottom lips, eyes following a single leaf as it tumbles acrobatically. Around us, students dart in every direction, but here, on this bench, it’s like we’re in our own little bubble.

“I don’t like lying,” she finally says. “It doesn’t feel right.”

“It won’t be forever.” I press a kiss to the top of her head, wishing I could say more. We’ve made some promises to each other, but this is far from a standard college romance. With four of us in the equation, nothing is simple.

Riley doesn’t agree or disagree, but I try not to read too much into it. I’m not an expert on relationships, but even I know that taking it slow is important. Scaring her off is my biggest fear. There’s always a chance that she’ll wake up one morning and think, what the hell am I doing, fucking my triplet stepbrothers ?—and who could blame her?

“Just for one night. Our next game is away. We should make the most of our time together. Plus, Jacob has offered to cook, and that’s something not to be missed.”

“If he doesn’t cook very often, doesn’t that mean the food is going to suck?”

I laugh, leaning in to kiss the tip of her cold nose. “There is every chance of that, Riles, but Jacob doesn’t do anything by halves. He’ll probably whip up something worthy of a Michelin star because failure isn’t an option for him.”

“Yeah, his perfectionist tendencies make me nervous?”

“Why?”

She touches my chest, playing with the zipper on my jacket. “Because I’m not perfect. Not by any stretch of the imagination. He’s going to wake up one day and realize that.”

My heart squeezes, and I cup her cheek. “He doesn’t need you to be perfect, baby. None of us do. We just need you to be you.”

“That’s what you say.”

“Jacob doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean. None of us do.”

Riley’s cheeks, flushed from the cold, lose some of their rosiness, and I hate the doubt that’s crept into her expression.

“If this is going to work, we have to trust each other,” I remind her, brushing my thumb over her cheekbone.

“Yeah,” she says, but it has a weak quality to it I don’t like. But then she follows up with, “Okay, I’ll tell Dad I’m studying late with Imani.”

Relief washes over me, like stepping into the locker room after a brutal third period. “You won’t regret it,” I promise.

***

The smell of garlic, rosemary, and bacon hits me the second we cross the threshold. Riley tips her pretty nose in the air, sniffs, and raises her eyebrows. “Okay, maybe I was wrong about the food sucking.”

“Told you,” I grin as I slip my hand around her waist, my stomach rumbling.

Jacob’s voice carries from the kitchen, muttered curses turning the air blue. Shawn’s laughter follows, loud and obnoxious.

“I swear to God if you burn that sauce—” Jacob is standing at the stove, his sleeves rolled up, a smudge of flour on his cheek that I’m going to give him hell about later, and Shawn is leaning against the counter, sipping from a bottle of beer, looking far too amused.

“Dinner and a show,” Shawn drawls, lifting his beer in mock toast, then approaching Riley to tug her flush against his body and deliver a long, slow, passionate kiss. He pulls back, licking his lips. “Now that’s what I call delicious.”

Riley grins and studies the stove with interest, approaching Jacob even though he’s giving off strong don’t-fuck-with-me vibes. When she presses a kiss just beneath his ear, his shoulders loosen. “It smells amazing,” she whispers into his ear. “Ignore him.”

“Ah, so a descent into domesticity is what it takes to get Riley’s appreciation,” Shawn teases.

“Well, he looks so good doing it.” With a slap to Jacob’s ass, she flounces over to the counter to grab a bottle of beer, earning a wry shake of Jacob’s head and a smile that lights up his face like the Fourth of July.

Well, now I’ve seen everything.

“Don’t distract the chef unless you want to eat charred spaghetti.” Shawn wraps an arm around Riley’s waist, smiling when she leans into him.

“Don’t ruin spaghetti for me,” she warns.

“Spaghetti Carbonara,” Jacob says in a shamefully bad Italian accent.

“Fancy,” Riley grins.

Shawn leans towards her and whispers loudly into her ear. “See? This is why he doesn’t cook often.”

Jacob turns, pointing a wooden spoon in Shawn’s direction. “One more word out of you, and you’re on dish duty.”

“You sound like Dad,” Shawn grumbles, and Jacob stiffens, his face falling, his hand freezing, suspended over the creamy sauce.

“I think we should leave Jacob to it,” I say, sweeping my arm toward the door and hoping Riley and Shawn will get the hint. They do, and Riley touches my arm gently as she leaves, her eyes wide with questions. I follow, and when I’ve made sure Riley’s comfortable in the lounge, I double back to help Jacob.

He’s still stiff as a board, dark like Shawn snuffed his light out with one thoughtless comment.

“This smells so good,” I say. “Riley’s going to be impressed.”

“It’s nothing fancy.”

“Well, I think it is, but it doesn’t matter either way as long as we’re together.”

He exhales tightly, hand still gripping the spoon with too tight fingers, but as he begins to heap the creamy pasta into wide bowls, some of his tension leeches away.

We call the others back, and Riley digs into her plate, moaning when she takes her first bite. The sound sends a ripple of heat straight through me, and a smile overtakes the tension in Jacob’s jaw.

“This is amazing, ” she says, her eyes wide.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Shawn says, twirling his fork. “I could’ve made this.”

“You couldn’t make toast,” I shoot back, and Riley’s laughter fills the room, bright and unguarded, and I swear it’s the best sound I’ve heard all day. Shawn, of course, can’t let me have a moment of victory.

“Don’t listen to him, Riles,” he says, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. “I make a mean PB and J. Perfect bread-to-spread ratio.”

“That’s true,” I deadpan. “He makes them in bulk, usually after he incinerates whatever he actually wanted to cook.”

“Lies,” Shawn says, grinning. “You’re just jealous of my culinary mastery.”

“Mastery?” Riley raises an eyebrow, her lips quirking. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

“Damn right.” Shawn winks at her. “You’ve never had one before, so you wouldn’t understand. It’s a proprietary blend of peanut butter and jelly, all spread to perfection by these artists’ hands.”

“And crumbs,” Jacob mutters, his tone dry as he takes another bite of pasta. “Don’t forget the crumbs you mix into the peanut butter and jelly every time you make the stupid sandwiches.”

“Gotta add texture,” Shawn quips, unfazed.

“It’s why I buy my own spreads. I can do without the texture.”

Riley laughs again, shaking her head as she twirls more spaghetti onto her fork. “You guys… you’re so different.”

“Different from what?” Jacob asks, passing Riley some of the homemade bread he rustled up to impress her.

Riley takes some and chews, her gaze focused elsewhere, taking time to think through her answer. “Different from how I expected you to be… different from how you used to be.”

“Not really,” Shawn says. “I’m still the only one with a sense of humor. Jacob still has a stick stuck up his ass, and Hayes is still a hermit.”

Jacob ignores the stick-up-the-ass comment, his lips twitching into a smile. “We like to think we’ve matured. Hayes even uses moisturizer now.” Ugh. If this is him proving he has a sense of humor, I’d rather he kept the stick in place.

“ Once. ” I groan. “I used it once because my face was chapped.”

“Moisturized Hayes was weird,” Shawn says, pretending to shudder. “Too smooth. Like an eggplant.”

“Let’s not pretend you’re flawless, Shawn,” I counter, pointing my fork at him. “What about the time you manscaped your nuts a little too close and couldn’t skate for three days.”

Shawn groans, shifting in the chair as if the memory still stings. “That is not a mistake I will ever make again.”

“His nuts probably looked like an eggplant,” Jacob says dryly.

Riley claps a hand over her mouth, her eyes sparkling with laughter. “I don’t wish I’d seen that.”

“You’re laughing now,” Shawn says, pretending to pout. “But it was traumatic. I was struggling to walk.”

“I’d argue it improved your personality,” I say, dodging a piece of bread Shawn throws at me.

“What about you, Riley?” Jacob asks, steering the conversation back to her. “You got any embarrassing stories we can use for cheap laughs.”

“Me?” She blinks, caught off guard. “Oh, no. No stories. I’m perfect.”

Our eyes meet, and I think about the memory she confided in me. The one that had been the catalyst for her initial rejection of us. Our cruel words and her hurt. I know she found that embarrassing, and I don’t want her to trawl it up again.

“You’re still perfect,” I say.

Shawn makes a gagging noise, and Jacob rolls his eyes.

“Our brother thinks he’s smooth. Now he’s got a woman who wants to share his bed.”

“I was smooth before,” I drawl, then mutter under my breath. “Smooth and tense.”

“So tense,” Shawn agrees. “You’re a much nicer person since you released some of that stored-up jizz.”

“Errr… no jizz talk when I’m eating carbonara,” Riley says, screwing up her face. “Like, I know you guys are dudes, but you have to drop the disgusting talk when I’m around. So not cool.”

“Technically, you’re in our house, and there are three of us, so you have to talk about what we want to talk about.”

“ Technically ,” Riley mimics, stabbing at her pasta and pointing her loaded fork at Jacob. “I’m the one with the pussy, and if you want some, you’ll drop the gross talk right now.”

“Technically, she’s got us by the balls.” Shawn shakes his head, feigning disappointment, but the dude is flushed from laughing so much, and even Jacob has this happy vibe that he hasn’t worn in a long time. Maybe even ever.

“The shiny eggplant balls?”

“They’re not shiny anymore. I learned my lesson.”

“Now it’s just his forehead that’s shiny,” Jacob quips.

“Do you guys ever stop?” Riley asks, shaking her head though she’s smiling.

“No,” Shawn says easily.

Jacob rolls his eyes, but there’s warmth in his expression and contentment. For all the jibes and the back and forth, his posture is relaxed, and the groove that perpetually scores the space between his brows is as smooth as Shawn’s eggplant balls.

With more beer, we finish our food and talk about everything from our favorite sandwiches to the places we want to travel to, from hockey to our high school years, and everything in between. Eventually, Jacob stands and begins clearing plates. Riley moves to assist him, but he shakes his head. “Sit. Relax. You’re a guest.”

“I want to help,” she insists, taking a stack of plates from him.

“Let her,” I say, giving Jacob a pointed look.

Jacob grumbles but doesn’t argue.

I sink back into the couch, my eyes drifting to Shawn as he balances a spoon on his nose, as an unguarded laugh from Riley drifts from the next room. Her laughter carries through the space, warm and infectious, and for the first time, it hits me: everything I didn’t realize I’d been searching for has quietly fallen into place.

***

By the time we’re all back in the lounge, the energy has shifted. The teasing banter has softened into something quieter, more intimate. Jacob sits in one corner of the couch with Riley curled up next to him, her fingers threading through his hair. His expression is calm and peaceful. It’s a startling contrast to the Jacob I’ve come to know lately, the one who wears his frustration like armor.

Shawn’s earlier comment about Jacob sounding like our father lingers in my mind. There’s truth in it. The impatience and the sharpness are all there. And yet, I know it doesn’t come from the same place. It’s not bitterness, but weight. A weight I suspect he’s chosen to bear, thinking he needs to shoulder responsibility for all of us.

The idea makes me ache. He’s the oldest, but by mere minutes. That doesn’t mean he has to carry the weight of the world for me or Shawn, though I know he would if it came to it.

Shawn, true to form, has claimed the floor, stretched out on a pillow like he’s king of the universe. The TV hums softly in the background, playing a comedy special that earns the occasional chuckle.

When Riley’s free hand slips into mine, a wave of quiet contentment washes over me. There’s a rightness in her touch, a grounding calm.

“This is nice,” she murmurs, her voice warm and soft, like the evening itself.

“We didn’t scare you off with all those embarrassing stories?” I ask, squeezing her hand gently.

“She’s still here, dude,” Shawn chimes in with a lazy grin.

“Still here,” Riley echoes, a smile tugging at her lips.

Jacob tips his head back just enough to glance at her, his voice low and teasing. “She must like us.” His eyes flutter shut again, and Riley lets out a quiet laugh, shaking her head.

“You ready for bed?” I ask, my voice quiet.

She stifles a yawn. “I think we all are.”

“Jacob’s put us to sleep with all the pasta and bread,” I say.

“Nah.” He kisses Riley’s forehead. “I’ve provided the fuel for what comes next.”

Her eyes sparkle as her gaze drifts between us and anticipation surges.