Page 12
Brogan
There’s a strange magic to one of my special winter nights—like the cold can freeze your memories in place, preserving every ache and secret you’d rather leave buried. Tonight, Miner Arena gleams like a jewel box on Main, all the town’s best faces scrubbed and suited, chasing a few hours of glitter before the world gets gray again. You can feel the hope and the history in the air—the weight of a thousand could-have-beens swirling under the chandeliers, the promise that maybe, just maybe, someone might finally take a risk tonight. In Sorrowville, everybody knows your past, but on nights like this, if you squint hard enough through the sparkle and the bourbon, you can almost believe in new beginnings.
Playlist: First Day Of My Life by Bright Eyes
The team’s annual holiday bash is always a spectacle, and this year’s no exception. The grand ballroom of the Miner Arena is decked out like some high-roller’s fantasy—crystal chandeliers dripping with light, tables cloaked in shimmering gold linens, and an open bar that’s already drawing a crowd. The guys, all scrubbed up and stuffed into tuxes that itch in places we can’t scratch in public, are muttering about the formal wear but brightening up every time a tray of hors d’oeuvres swings by.
Bennett, Shep, and I are huddled by one such table, my brother frowning at his bow tie like it’s a personal insult. “I swear, this thing is a damn noose. Remind me again why we can’t just wear jerseys to these shindigs?”
Shep, balancing a plate stacked dangerously high with mini quiches, chuckles. “Because, my dear caveman, this is what civilized looks like. Plus, seeing you choked up by a piece of fabric once a year is a highlight I wouldn’t miss.”
I’m about to join in, ribbing Bennett about his perpetual scowl that’s probably scaring the waitstaff, when the crowd parts like the Red Sea. And there she is—Joely. I’ve seen her a thousand times, in jeans, in sweats, in Slammers gear, behind the bar... but tonight, damn, she might as well be stepping out of a painting.
I wanted to pick her up—offered, insisted, argued my case—but Joely said she’d rather meet me here. ‘It’s just easier,’ she texted, followed by a winking emoji and the kind of final period you don’t mess with. Now, seeing her walk in under her own power, chin high, wild hair tumbling over that sparkly black cocktail dress, I get it. She wanted to make an entrance.
She’s glimmers under the ballroom lights, that dress hugging every curve I swear I’ve never noticed before like it was tailor-made to knock the wind right out of me. Her hair is blown out in these sexy waves that makes her look like a Hollywood diva, and her smile—God, her smile—lights up the room brighter than any of the fancy chandeliers overhead.
All conversation dies on my lips. Bennett nudges me, a knowing smirk playing on his lips as he follows my gaze. “Breathe, Brogan. It supports life,” he murmurs, too low for Shep to hear over his enthusiastic devouring of hors d’oeuvres.
I try to pull myself together, to form a coherent thought, but it’s like my brain’s been rewired to focus on one thing only—Joely. The way she laughs at something one of the wives says, the graceful way she moves through the crowd, every step and turn is a punch to my gut. It’s like seeing her for the first time. No, not like a sister, not like a buddy, but as someone... shit, as someone I want in a way that’s got nothing to do with friendship.
Why did I tell her this evening wasn’t a date? I want to junk punch myself.
“She cleans up nice, huh?” Shep says, finally catching on and following my stunned gaze across the room. His tone is light, teasing, but there’s a sharpness to his eyes that tells me he’s putting two and two together.
“Yeah,” I manage to grunt out, still unable to take my eyes off her. “Nice.”
Bennett claps me on the shoulder, his grin wicked. “Looks like the winger’s finally got the puck on his tape. What’s the play, Brogan?”
“Play?” I echo, my voice rough with emotions I’m not ready to unpack, not here, not yet. “I’m still trying to figure out the rules, man.”
My swagger’s shot to hell. For the first time in years, I can’t coast on charm or play it off. I can’t even look at her the same way—hell, I can barely breathe. Every time I glance over, Joely’s just… more. More woman, more light, more dangerous than I ever let myself notice.
I keep shifting my weight, fiddling with my cuffs, hyper-aware of how sweaty my palms are. It’s like all my easy lines, all my practiced smiles—none of them work anymore. I want to go to her, say something clever, make her laugh like I always do. But my tongue’s tied in knots and every joke in my head just sounds stupid now.
Every guy in the room keeps looking at her and my skin itches, this ugly little stab of possessiveness I’ve never felt before. I want to be the guy she glances for, the one she lets in when the music gets loud and the party goes soft around the edges. And in an instant, I’m not sure what I am to her anymore—or if I ever really was what I thought.
I’m terrified. That’s the truth of it. Because if I take a run at this and blow it, it’s not just a bad night or a bruised ego. It’s losing her—the one person who’s always been in my corner, even when I didn’t deserve it.
So I hang back, swallowing my nerves, watching her glide through the crowd like she’s in her own universe. I’ve never wanted anything this much. Never felt so damn out of my depth. For the first time, I’m not Brogan the hockey player or Brogan the wise-ass. I’m just a guy realizing too late that he’s been falling for his best friend all along.
And I have no goddamn clue what to do about it.
The bar at the Miner Arena’s grand ballroom is three deep, which just figures because right now I need a drink more than ever. I press my chest against the polished wood, signaling the bartender with the kind of ease that comes from spending half your life in a place run by your own family. Beside me, Bennett’s appeared again like a bad penny, nursing what looks like his second scotch, his expression more sour than usual—if that’s even possible.
“You look like a guy who has experienced the awakening,” he remarks without preamble, eyeing me like I’m a rookie who missed an easy pass.
I snort, rolling my eyes, though my gut tightens just a bit. “You’re full of shit.” I order a couple of drinks, one for me and one for Joely, and glance over at her. She’s chatting with Mom, laughing at something, and damn if she doesn’t look stunning doing it. “What’s the awakening?” I ask, partly to keep my brother talking and partly because I’m not sure I want to know his definition.
“The friend zone has melted like ice in spring. And much like seeds in warm dirt, Little Brogan is dancing in your pants. That… is the awakening,” he declares, straight-faced. “Now you’re calculating the odds of surviving a tentpole situation in a rented tux.”
“Did you just refer to my dick as little?” I fire back, my face heating up despite the coolness of the bar.
“That’s how I remember it,” Bennett shoots back with a smirk.
“I was three! And nothing is dancing in my pants,” I grumble, taking the drinks from the bartender. The weight of the glasses in my hand doesn’t stop my heart from racing, a sure sign Bennett’s words are hitting closer to home than I’d like. “You’re such an asshole.”
He shrugs, smug as hell. “Hey, I’ve been there. But trust me, man, you’re not fooling anybody. Especially not yourself. That thing is wide awake. Because it turns out that our little Joely is a total smokeshow.”
I grip the drinks, forcing myself to breathe, willing my brain (and everything else) to calm the hell down. I shoot him a glare. “I’m doing my best to keep it in a deep sleep. But you’re not helping.”
I watch Joely across the room—smiling, radiant, dangerous—and I know I’m screwed. There’s no putting this back to sleep. Not tonight.
“So, since your dick is in a deep sleep, you don’t mind that Shep is coming in hot,” Bennett adds casually, his gaze flicking past me to where Shep’s making his way through the crowd, probably headed right towards Joely.
“Shep? He’s my best friend. He wouldn’t… fuck.” The word slips out, harsh and a little desperate, as I set the drinks back down and push away from the bar. “I’ll be right back.”
“You better not be right back, you moron,” Bennett calls after me, but I’m already moving, my focus narrowed to the figure weaving through the glittering crowd.
Every step I take is fueled by a mix of irritation and a protective instinct I didn’t even know was there until Bennett pointed it out. Shep’s like a brother to me, sure, but the thought of him playing his unconventional, Woooooo!, hand me a flare, my dick is huge, pickup routine on Joely twists something deep in my chest.
As I close the distance, I see Shep reaching Joely, his hand touching her elbow lightly, his head bending down to say something that makes her laugh. That laugh, her laugh, it’s supposed to be for me, isn’t it? Or maybe I want it to be. Shit, this is all kinds of messed up.
I’m a few feet away when I pause, my hands clenching at my sides. Bennett’s words echo in my mind, a taunting reminder that whatever this is—whatever I’m feeling—it’s new territory. But it’s territory I’m desperate to claim.
As I make my way through the crowd, a slow boil starts in my gut when I see Shep flashing his trademark grin at Joely. He’s leaning in now, probably dropping one of his cheeky one-liners that no girl at this party—or any other—could resist. But this isn’t just any girl; it’s Joely, and in the blink of an eye, the whole ‘sister’ joke isn’t funny anymore.
I catch Bennett’s eye across the room, and he’s barely containing his laughter as he raises his scotch in the air, obviously enjoying the spectacle of me about to short-circuit. The guy loves a good drama as long as he’s not the star of it.
Shep, oblivious to the storm brewing just a few feet away, reaches out to tug Joely towards the dance floor. She hesitates, her eyes scanning the crowd—landing on me. There’s a question in her gaze, maybe a little alarm, and that’s all the invitation I need.
I close the gap with a few determined strides, cutting in with a quick, “Mind if I cut in?” that’s more statement than question. Shep’s smile falters, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.
“Bro, seriously?” Shep chuckles, but there’s a challenge in his tone. “Trying to keep your little sister safe from the big bad wolf?”
“Something like that,” I mutter, not in the mood for his games. I position myself between him and Joely, offering her a tight smile that I hope she reads as apologetic.
Shep backs off with a shrug, his eyes darting between me and Joely, finally getting the memo. “Alright, man. But remember, the TikTok crowd voted me least likely to date a sister for a reason!”
Bennett’s laugh cuts across the noise of the party, and I can almost hear his next jab about family zones and friend zones blurring lines. But right now, all that fades into the background as I take Joely’s hand, leading her away from Shep and whatever line he was about to cross.
“It’s just a dance,” I tell her, trying to convince us both that it’s all it is. “Um… not… with him.”
But as she places her other hand on my shoulder and we move to the slow rhythm of the music, everything else just kind of fades away. It’s just Joely and me, and the rest of the world can wait.
I take her hand, but my heart’s doing overtime. Her palm is warm in mine, her fingers soft but sure. She lets me draw her close, close enough that I can smell her perfume and feel the whisper of her breath against my neck. The lights blur, the crowd goes fuzzy, and then there’s just music, and her, and the shudder in my chest.
We settle into the rhythm, swaying, every inch of space between us charged with something wild and unfamiliar. She glances up at me, her mouth quirking like she’s about to make a joke, but instead, she just… looks. Really looks. I don’t know what she sees, but I feel seen. Exposed.
I swallow, struggling for words. “You look pretty,” I say, voice hoarse. Stupid, but it’s all I’ve got.
She laughs, low and a little breathless, and her fingers tighten on my shoulder. “You don’t look so bad yourself. For a Slammers forward.”
“Low bar,” I joke, but my chest aches. “That label includes Shep.” My hand drifts to the small of her back and stays there. She doesn’t pull away.
The song changes, a little slower, a little sadder, and for a second, I forget where we are. I let my hand drift, just barely, tracing the curve of her waist. She shivers, maybe from the air, maybe from me. Her voice is soft, too soft, right against my ear.
“Brogan, what are we doing?” she whispers. “You didn’t really need an official date for this party.”
I freeze—just for a second. I could play dumb, but something in her tone won’t let me.
“Crossing a line, I think,” I admit. The air between us goes tense.
She doesn’t move, doesn’t let go. “Is it a mistake?”
I could lie, but my mouth has other plans. “Not for me.”
And just like that, the moment hangs there—undeniable, unfixable, very real.
We stand that way, breathing the same air, hearts pounding, until the song ends. Only then do I realize how close we are, how far from the safe zone we’ve drifted.
But before any of that, the crew makes damn sure to wring every last drop out of the night. Somebody requests the band play 1999, and then everyone’s back on the portable dance floor—boots thudding, laughter echoing, Bennett and Boone pretending they’ve got rhythm while Gage tries to moonwalk in his socks. Virgil passes around his ancient flask, and Lynsie ends up teaching a dozen grown men the electric slide using only curse words and brute force.
Joely’s propped on a high-top chair, dress still glittering, getting her cheek kissed by every auntie in Sorrowville and accepting it like she’s royalty. Someone drags me into a conga line—Shep, probably, judging by the aggressive jazz hands. For a while, it’s just noise and shots and joy and every kind of bad decision that makes a night unforgettable. By the time the music cuts and the lights come up, we’re sweaty, out of breath, and grinning like idiots—drunk on the company and the chaos.
By the time we step apart, the party has started to fade—lights brighter, voices softer, the band packing up. People filter toward the exit in twos and threes. But nothing feels settled. Not between me and Joely.
She clears her throat, glancing away, cheeks flushed. “I… should probably find my coat.”
“Yeah. I’ll get you home,” I say, my voice a little too rough. “Because you… are… my date.” And tonight, getting her home safe isn’t just about being a good guy. It’s about holding on to whatever the hell just happened between us.
Everybody mills around, but the knot in my stomach only tightens. I keep glancing at Joely, trying to figure out how the hell the night flew by so quickly, and how it ended up like this—with me needing to make sure she gets home safe. It’s not just the gentleman thing to do; it feels necessary, like breathing.
Lynsie ducks out early, herding a stumbling Heath toward the exit. Franklin and Pru, always the mom and pop of the group, start rounding up the stragglers, and that includes Joely.
Bennett cocks an eyebrow at me. “We can take her home, you know. No problem at all.”
“Yeah, I know.” I scratch the back of my neck, feeling the weight of his gaze. “But she’s my date. I’ll do it.”
“Oh, now she’s your date ,” Bennett chuckles, shaking his head. “You couldn’t even pick her up, you goon.”
“She told me she was going with Lynsie,” I shoot back, more defensively than I intended. “I totally asked to pick her up.”
“You have so much to learn,” Bennett mutters, but he claps me on the shoulder, a silent approval passing between us.
People are lingering by the doors, waiting for rides, hugging goodbyes, heels dangling from tired hands. I walk Joely out into the cold night, the aftertaste of that dance still humming between us. She doesn’t say much—neither do I. The city feels different, like it’s watching us, holding its breath.
Bennett fires off one last jab about my lack of game, but even he keeps it lighter than usual, like he senses everything’s shifted. I hold the truck door for Joely and try to play it cool, but my hands are shaking a little as I hand her up, and she slides inside.
By the time I circle around and climb into the driver’s seat, it hits me: whatever we were before, we’re not that anymore. The night air is thick with things unsaid. I start the engine, throw the truck in gear, and we drift out into the city lights—two people caught in a silence that feels anything but empty.
The drive to Joely’s place is quiet. Too quiet. Every now and then, I steal a glance at her, the soft glow of the streetlights playing across her face. She’s beautiful, stunning really, and it’s messing with my head in ways I hadn’t expected.
She groans, breaking the silence.
“What’d I do wrong?” I ask, half-joking, half-serious.
“Nothing. I just realized I should’ve gone home with Lynsie,” she says, a hint of frustration in her voice.
“Why? I’m not drunk. My driving is fine…” I trail off, unsure.
Joely shifts in her seat, the movement drawing my eyes to the delicate line of her neck. “I can’t get out of this dress without help.”
My throat goes dry, and I have to swallow hard before I can speak. “I can help,” I say, my voice a bit too eager.
Joely turns to look at me, her expression unreadable in the dim light. “I guess. I mean… I’m like a sister, right?”
“Sure,” I reply, the word feeling like a lie the moment it leaves my lips. “Totally.”
When we pull up to her house, the air between us is charged, thick with unspoken words and tentative glances. As we walk to her door, my hands are itching to touch her, to pull her close and erase any doubt about how I see her.
Inside, the tension only grows. After she takes her long wool coat off and hangs it on a hook by the door, Joely turns her back to me, her hair spilling over her shoulders, and I see the tiny zipper that’s the only thing keeping her in that dress. My hands hesitate, then reach out, brushing against her skin as I pull the zipper down slowly, agonizingly slowly.
The air is thick with the scent of her perfume, and my heart pounds against my ribs. This isn’t how siblings should feel, is it? This tension, this need, this overwhelming urge to stay close and never let go.
My whole body’s wired tight, blood rushing south so fast it’s almost dizzying. I’m hard—painfully so, honestly—and every nerve ending’s screaming at me to close the space, to take this exactly where I’ve wanted for longer than I’ll admit. Just the brush of my fingers against her skin has me fighting every instinct to keep it together. There’s nothing brotherly about the ache in my chest or the heat low in my gut. I want her—bad. And right now, all my old lines are breaking.
As the zipper slides down, my breath hitches. Beneath the sophisticated exterior of her cocktail dress, Joely’s hiding a secret—a set of black lace lingerie that looks like it’s ripped straight from an Instagram feed, complete with stockings and garters. The whole nine yards.
What the hell is she doing to me?
The fabric parts, revealing more and more of her secret attire, and my hands tremble with the effort of keeping things platonic. But it’s too much, way too much.
“I can get it from here.” Joely’s voice snaps me back to reality, a hint of laughter and warning mixed in her tone.
“Sorry,” I mutter, stepping back as she turns around, clutching the dress to her chest. The room feels ten degrees hotter, and it’s all I can do not to close the distance again.
Joely fixes me with a look that’s all challenge and heat. “Don’t start what you can’t finish,” she says, her voice low.
Swallowing hard, I run a hand through my hair, trying to find my footing in a world that feels tilted. “So… I may have embellished a little about the sister thing.”
“How’s that?” Her eyebrow arches, curious and cautious all at once.
I take a deep breath, the words feeling like a confession. “I could never feel like this about a sister.”
Her lips part. She’s biting down on a smile—or maybe a gasp. There’s a flush on her cheeks, and her fingers tighten around the fabric at her chest like she’s holding onto the last bit of restraint she has left. The urge to touch her is a living thing.
The air between us crackles with the unsaid, with every glance and touch we’ve shared leading up to this moment. Her eyes search mine, looking for the truth in the dim light. There’s a pause, heavy and thick with possibility, as we stand on the brink of something neither of us can fully grasp yet.
For a heartbeat, I just stare at her—those dark eyes burning a hole right through me. Every inch of my body is screaming to move, to take, to finally claim what I’ve been pretending I don’t want.
But there’s this war raging inside. I’m not supposed to want her. I’m not supposed to touch her. All those years of lines, all the jokes, all the brother-sister bullshit—none of it stands a chance against what’s humming in the air right now.
I force out a breath, chest tight. “Joely,” I rasp, voice wrecked and raw. “Tell me to go, and I’ll go. But if you don’t, I’m done pretending. I can’t do it anymore.”
She looks at me, wide-eyed—maybe scared, maybe just as lost. The dress slips a little lower. “Brogan…” It’s all breath, all wanting. “Don’t go.”
My heart slams against my ribs. For a split second, I just stare at her, searching for any sign this is real and not just wishful thinking. Her chest is rising and falling fast. She’s trembling too—God, she wants this as much as I do. That final green light is what undoes me.
That’s it. My last thread snaps.