Page 39

JACOB

She sent a message in the night.

Riley : Dad knows.

It’s the first thing I see, followed by a litany of other messages from friends and acquaintances asking, ‘Is it true?’ like any of the people asking are entitled to know about my private life.

Fuck them all. And fuck Shawn for being such an ass. When a person is a bad drunk and they’re responsible for a secret, they should know to stay sober. The dude has more apologizing to do, and he’ll be lucky if Riley doesn’t chew him up and spit him out after all the stress he’s caused her.

Jacob : I’m sorry, honey. Let’s discuss and maybe it’s time for us to come over and talk to your dad. Make him see that we’re serious.

I type it out so easily and then study the words as they’re delivered. Serious . It’s a word that defines me to the core. There isn’t much in my life that I’m not serious about. Hockey. My brothers. My friends. My education. Riley. And not in that order.

I have zero qualms about speaking to her father and telling him that she’s ours and we’ll do whatever it takes to win him around. The last time we were in the same room, we were kids, not the men we are today, and when he meets us and listens to what we have to say, I know we’ll have a good chance of convincing him of our intentions.

Or maybe I’m just fucking deluded. My brothers always tell me I can’t will everything I desire into reality simply by being pigheaded. I like to think about it as having a singular focus and a tenacity that can crush steel, and a desire to win that’s so strong it could obliterate the universe as we know it, but there you go.

The edge of a headache comes into focus, and I sit up, dropping the phone into my lap so I can chug a bottle of water and take some painkillers. A clear head is required for challenging days and today is going to be one of the worst.

We have a game tonight, and Coach called us in for a briefing. We’ll have to face our teammates, who by now must know everything. We’re going to have to face Coach, who was mad when Shawn’s pictures caused a scandal and will no doubt be furious now three of his players’ sex lives are being debated on social media.

I scan through some of the comments, dreading what I might find.

“Wow, talk about messy. Isn’t there some kind of rule about dating three men? This is giving Jerry Springer vibes.”

“I thought the Draytons were all about hockey, not some reality TV drama. What a disappointment.”

“Riley’s clearly a gold digger.”

“No one’s going to want her stretched out p*ssy after they’re done with her.”

I swallow the bile that’s risen in my throat because the criticism of us is about our professionalism, but the negative comments leveled at Riley are personal. Who the fuck thinks they have a right to debate my girl’s vagina on social media? Cowards hiding behind their stupid anonymous usernames. If I could find out who they were, I’d tear them limb from limb.

There’s a knock at my door and I yell ‘come in’. Shawn pushes the door open and lingers in the doorway, his eyes bruised by tiredness and his expression drawn. “Is she mad?” he asks. His hands grip the doorjamb as though he’s searching for support.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “Mad is too simple an emotion. It’s just not ideal… she wasn’t ready for her business to be common knowledge. None of us were prepared.”

“She’s ours,” he says, sounding broken. It’s not a confident statement. “Last night, I made a mistake, but I want everyone to know it.”

“Me, too,” I say. “I’m not ashamed of what we have. And I don’t give a shit what anyone else thinks. But people are judgmental trolls, and there’s her dad to consider, and I think we’ve blown it there.”

“I’ve blown it.” He swipes his hand through his messy bed hair and stares hopelessly into the middle distance.

“And the impact on the team and our professional lives.”

“Fuck.” His face contorts with disappointment in himself and pain for the rest of us. I know my brother. He’d shoulder all the impact of his actions if he could. “What can I do, Jacob?”

“Go get Hayes, and we’ll work it out.”

***

We’re the last to arrive at Coach’s briefing, and when we walk in the door, all our teammates turn to stare at us. Coach maintains his focus on something at the back of the room, with a jaw so tight he could shatter diamonds between his teeth and a deeply furrowed brown that I know is our fault.

Shawn trails behind Hayes, his head bowed even though I told him he needs to keep it up. He’s inviting more of Coach’s wrath with his pitiful posture.

“Thank you for gracing us with your presence,” Coach growls just before we take the last three seats.

I lower myself into the chair and meet his narrowed gaze, glancing at my watch to emphasize that we’re on time.

The eyes of our team focus on the floor, but I maintain eye contact with the man who’s about to chew us up and spit us out.

“This team has received bad press because of the actions of a few. We should be talking about tonight’s game, but instead, I have to take up precious time to remind you about conduct.” The last word is spoken as though it’s sour tasting, and Coach fixes his eyes directly on Shawn. “What you do in your private lives is up to you. But when it becomes public, it becomes my problem. Sexually explicit photos, videos, drunken social media posts, drug taking… none of this is appropriate for men who are supposed to be representing this university with athletic excellence.”

“And when it comes to relationships…”

I wait for him to finish, but the pause lengthens, leaving everyone on a knife edge.

“Relationships are complicated,” he finishes, narrowing his eyes at me and my brothers. “There has been a lot of speculation about our team overnight, specifically about the love life of the Drayton brothers. As it’s affecting the team and has become the focus on social media and wider, rather than discussing our chances in the game tonight, I thought I should leave it to Jacob, Shawn, and Hayes to enlighten us.”

Enlighten him? And the team? He wants us to confess all.

At least if he was raging, I’d have something to push back against, but this?

“What do you want us to say, Coach?” I ask.

“You know,” he continues. “A few years ago, a huge scandal surrounded one of the students at Eastern. She got herself involved in a complicated relationship with a high-profile family. It hit the press, and she thought her life was over. But they turned it into a positive story and a reality TV show.”

“McGregors Uncovered,” Buttons whispers under his breath.

I remember that show and how fascinated all our friends were when it aired. We couldn’t work out why ten men, ten brothers, would want to share one woman. There was so much speculation about how it would work and focus on the logistics, but I remember thinking about how easy it would make family relationships.

“The McGregors are important donors to this university, especially the athletics departments. And we have to be careful about the optics of this.”

Optics? Realization dawns that he’s not worried about me and my brothers sharing Riley, but about whether it’s serious and how the university will approach the coverage.

“We love Riley,” Shawn says, his voice cutting through the silence with so much determination that it startles a few of our teammates. “How does that affect the optics?”

Coach nods slowly, focusing on me and Hayes, seeking confirmation that we’re of the same mind.

Hayes nods, and so do I, and Coach inhales deeply through his nostrils, flaring them slightly. “You might not like what I’m going to say next, but you will need to address this in the press conference later. And you’ll need PR to help you construct something appropriate.”

I grimace, and my body stiffens. The idea of having to talk about my private life in such a public forum fills me with fury. What I do with my dick and my heart has nothing to do with my ability to play hockey. But this is the world we live in. People in the public eye can’t have private lives. We have to be willing to sacrifice our privacy for the sake of optics. I fucking hate forfeiting that on Riley’s behalf.

We have to talk to her before this happens. Without her agreement, we can’t do shit.

Through gritted teeth, I say, “Okay, Coach,” and that’s the end of the conversation for now.

***

Riley won’t pick up the phone, so we drive to her place. Hayes shows us the way, admitting to going over without telling us, undermining the unity I thought this relationship was fostering between us. It takes all my strength not to interrogate him about his actions because we need to be united right now, and visiting Riley with anger between us isn’t going to help our cause.

A man’s voice comes over the intercom when we press the buzzer, standing close to the door. “Hello.”

“Mr. Johnstone,” I say. “It’s Jacob, Shawn, and Hayes. We’re here to see you and Riley.”

There’s a pause, which goes on forever as we wait for Riley’s dad to accept our visit to his home. Then the door hums and clicks, and Hayes yanks it open and leads the way.

Tom Johnstone is waiting at the door, looking the same, if a little grayer around the temples. When we were kids, his eyes were always warm, and his mouth smiling. Now, he assesses us steadily, with a grim slash for a mouth. “Come in.”

He holds the door open, and as we step inside, I notice how much we’ve grown. Riley’s standing in the den, tired, bruised swipes of purple beneath her eyes and a pained, watery expression. It’s like she’s on the brink of tears but doesn’t want to show her emotions. I can’t take my eyes off her to look around at this place she calls home. When she sinks into a chair, it’s like all the strength has left her, and my instinct is to go to her and offer comfort, but this is another man’s home, and although she might have shared my bed, she’s under the protection of her father here.

His presence looms over us as we all hesitate.

“Sit,” Mr. Johnstone says, his tone clipped.

Hayes moves first, settling onto the couch without hesitation. Shawn follows, though his pained expression mutes his usual swagger. I’m last, lowering myself into the corner of the couch, careful to hold my posture steady and calm. The last thing we need is for Riley’s father to think we’re here to pick a fight or to bend to his will. If he’s going to tell us we can’t see Riley anymore, I need him to know we’re ready for the fight.

“So,” Mr. Johnstone says, leaning against the wall, maintaining the dominant position. “You’ve come here to say something. I suggest you get to it.”

I glance at Hayes, who looks ready to take the lead, but I need to take on this burden. I clear my throat, forcing my voice to steady, and meet his gaze head-on. “We want to make things right for Riley, for all of us.”

His expression doesn’t change, but he raises an eyebrow. “And what exactly does ‘make things right’ look like?”

Shawn leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “It means owning up to the situation, being honest about our feelings, and standing by Riley no matter what. We’re not going to let her face this alone.”

Mr. Johnstone’s gaze shifts to Shawn, and for a moment, the silence is deafening. Then he nods slowly, almost like he’s impressed. “You were the one who made this public knowledge without consulting Riley.”

Shawn nods, his expression so serious he almost doesn’t look like himself. “It was a mistake. One I regret. I hope Riley will be able to forgive me.”

Mr. Johnstone doesn’t wait for Riley to confirm or deny her forgiveness but turns to Hayes.

“And you? What do you have to say for yourself?”

Hayes’s jaw tightens, and for a second, I fear he’ll clam up like he sometimes does. But then he exhales and says, “Riley means everything to us. I can’t speak for how this looks to other people, but I can tell you that we’re committed to her. All of us. We know it’s unconventional, and people will have questions about it, but we won’t let her down.”

It’s a good, steady, thoughtful answer, but it still doesn’t erase the tension hanging over the room.

Mr. Johnstone shifts his attention back to me. “And you, Jacob? Do you think this is sustainable? Three men in a relationship with my daughter? You’re already causing her more stress than she can handle. Can you honestly say this is what’s best for her?”

His words hit like a slap, and the weight of his question snags in my chest.

“This isn’t just about what’s best for us,” I say carefully. “It’s about what Riley wants. And she chose us despite all the pitfalls we were anticipating. We’re not perfect by any means but we’re doing everything we can to ensure she’s loved and supported. We’re here because we care about her, not because we’re looking for some short-term gratification. We’re serious about this.”

Mr. Johnstone doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he looks at Riley, who’s been silent this whole time.

“This is what you want?” He asks her in a way that confirms he knows but is checking again.

She nods, her voice soft but sure. “Yes.”

Her father’s shoulders sag slightly like he’s carrying the weight of a decision he doesn’t want to make.

“I don’t like this,” he says, his voice heavy. “I don’t like seeing my daughter cry. I don’t like reading about her life on social media. But what I like doesn’t matter. Riley’s an adult, and she’ll make her own choices. That’s the woman I’ve raised her to be, and I don’t get to change my mind just because she’s making a decision I would make differently. I just want you to understand what you’re asking of her—and what it’ll cost her, especially next year.”

Next year.

When we go pro, he means. When we’re not around to protect Riley and when our profiles will only make things worse for her.

“We do,” Hayes says firmly. “And we hate that she has to face any of this. We understand that our profiles will bring increased attention to Riley, and we will do whatever it takes to keep her out of the spotlight.”

The silence stretches again, and for a moment, I wonder if Tom will kick us out. But then he sighs and moves to sit on the arm of Riley’s chair, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m not going to stand in your way,” he says, his voice low. “But you’d better mean what you say. Because if you hurt her, I won’t forgive you. Not any of you.”

“We understand, sir,” I say. “And that’s not going to happen. We will do whatever it takes to protect her.”

I meet Riley’s gaze and find her eyes soft, and lips formed into a gentle, pouty smile that immediately sets free all the tension I’ve been carrying. If I could go to her and pull her into my arms, I would hold on like I never want to let her go, but her father’s attention is still on us, and overstepping boundaries won’t do us any favors.

He nods, and I regret that we’re here under challenging circumstances. His moderate approach to us and his respect for Riley’s maturity and agency are so different from how I imagine either of my parents would have responded to this news. It makes me regret the way I felt about him after our families separated, and I wish we’d had a chance to be proactive about our reintroduction.

I stand, knowing we’ve reached the end of the discussion and our welcome today. There’ll be other days when we can work to repair bridges. My brothers follow, and so does Riley as we make our way to the front door. When we step into the hallway, we all turn to find Riley gripping the jamb, eyes searching.

“We’re playing tonight,” Hayes says. “We’re going to need to make a statement if we’re asked. Are you okay with us doing that?”

She shrugs. “I don’t like that we’re trending, and as Eastern’s hockey social media bod, I’m not exactly relishing having to make a statement about myself, but we knew this was coming at some point.”

“We did,” I say, shoving my hands into my pockets so I don’t reach for her.

“You’re serious about what you said to my dad?”

“Yes,” Shawn says. “Of course.”

The flush across her makeup-free cheeks is so sweet, I can almost taste it. “We know how we feel, Riley. Do you?”

“Yes,” she says quickly. “Yes.”

I turn to my brothers, finding them both grinning goofily.

“Come over later,” I say. “After the game.”

“Won’t you be tired?”

“Yes. But Shawn has a lot of groveling to do, and it’s probably best if he gets it out of the way.”

Shawn chips at the ground with the toe of his shoe. “I’m really sorry, Riley,” he says before looking up at her through his lashes. It’s his trademark way of trying to get away with something bad, and it works because Riley nods.

I punch him on the shoulder. “Don’t try that shit with our girl.”

Riley laughs and steps back inside the door. “I should go before Dad changes his mind. Good luck for tonight.”

“As long as you’re in our lives, we have all the luck we need,” Hayes says.

I’m shocked to find that a part of me agrees with him. Hockey’s always been my central focus, but the thought of losing Riley has swamped my thoughts, even though we’re playing an important game later.

We say our goodbyes without the usual physical affection and step outside into the brisk afternoon air, the weight of the conversation still lingering in the pit of my stomach.

When we’re finally on the road, Shawn lets out a low whistle.

“That went... better than I expected.”

“Barely,” Hayes mutters, his hands gripping the wheel tightly.

“Tom’s right,” I say, staring out the window. “We’ve got a lot to prove. To him. To Riley. To everyone.”

Hayes glances at me in the rearview mirror, his expression unreadable. “Then we start tonight.”

The game looms ahead of us, but the press statement carries just as much importance, and the weight of both triggers the first hot spasms behind my temple.

Fuck. I don’t want to play with a headache. I can’t fucking deal with the press with a vice tightening around my head. I need to get home, and I need more pills.

***

The crowd’s roar is deafening, vibrating the air and pulsing through my veins. Every pass, every hit is magnified, driving us forward and keeping us focused on the win that’s within our grasp.

The puck drops, and I lock eyes with Guy Aubert, the smug center from the rival team. His grin is a razor-sharp precursor to the taunts I know he’ll throw before he even opens his mouth.

“How’s the girlfriend”? he drawls as we bump shoulders, sticks clattering for the puck. “I heard she loves a spit roast.”

I grit my teeth and focus on the puck. Don’t take the bait. Don’t give him what he wants.

I swipe for possession, but Aubert doesn’t let up. He’s on my heels, chirping with every stride.

“Must be tough sharing, huh? Watching your brothers fuck her better than you can. What’s that like? Sticking your dick in your brother’s cum?”

My blood turns to ice.

I smash him into the boards harder than I probably should, and the ref’s whistle blows, but Aubert just laughs, shoving me back.

“Easy, Drayton. Don’t want to end up in the penalty box when your team needs you. Oh, wait... That’s right. That’s the Drayton way. Can’t handle the pressure. Maybe you should quit like your dad before you embarrass yourself.”

The world narrows just to me and him.

I drop my gloves before I realize what I’m doing, my fist connecting with his jaw in a satisfying crack. He stumbles, but I don’t stop. I’m swinging before the refs can pull me off, blind with rage as his words echo in my head.

“Jacob Drayton, two minutes for roughing,” the ref barks, hauling me toward the box.

The crowd goes wild, but my head is pounding, my vision tunneling as I flop down into the box, slamming my stick against the boards.

Stupid. Reckless. Exactly what Aubert wanted. Exactly what we knew was coming.

By the time my penalty is over, the game is tied. The bench is tense; everyone is hyper-focused on the clock as it ticks down.

“Keep your head in the game,” Hayes mutters as I hop over the boards. “Don’t let him get to you.”

I nod, swallowing down the anger still burning in my throat. This isn’t about Aubert. This is about winning. To show all the doubters. To prove I’m nothing like Carl Drayton. To show Riley we’re worth the anguish and humiliation.

It all rests on my shoulders.

The puck comes my way, and I dig deep, skating harder than I have all night. A clean pass to Skarsgard, who threads it back to me as we cross the blue line. The goalie is ready, crouched low, but I don’t hesitate.

The puck rockets off my stick and into the top corner of the net.

The sweet sound of the blaring goal horn vibrates in my skull, and the crowd erupts. My teammates swarm me, their gloves pounding my back as I suck in a shaky breath. Skarsgard smashes helmets and my brain screams with pain.

We’ve done it. I should be buzzing, so why does everything feel on the brink of falling apart?