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NINE

Beck

“ L ook who the fucking cat dragged in,” my oldest brother, Walker, said as I came into the conference room of my family’s corporate office.

It had been a while since I’d been here.

My main contributions came in the form of financial support when they needed liquid cash to put down on a piece of land or to vote on the location of a new restaurant after my siblings did the tedious task of researching why the different spots would benefit our brand.

But since I was in town for a decent stint, I figured making the weekly strategy meeting would be a good place to see everyone at once.

I clenched Hart’s shoulder as I passed him, his black suit jacket and red tie making him look sharp as hell this morning.

Only two years older with the same height and build as me, he should have been a professional athlete, but Hart, like Walker, had had his sights set on building this business from the ground up.

“Welcome back, brother,” Hart said as my fingers left him.

I gave Eden, the youngest, a kiss on the cheek before I sat between her and Colson, pounding fists with my second-to-oldest sibling.

“Are you doing all right?” Colson asked.

I wasn’t surprised the only parent in the room had inquired about how I was doing. Although any of them would eventually, Colson always asked.

“Hanging in there.” I lowered the hood of my sweatshirt and ran my hand over my head, my strands still damp from the cold plunge I’d done before coming here.

“But I’ll be honest— dragging couldn’t be a more accurate description.

” I leaned back in my chair and rested my hands on top of the table.

“It’s been a long couple of weeks on the road. ”

“Is the body hurting?” Walker asked, wearing his chef’s whites, the brightness of it glowing under the overhead light, showing there wasn’t a single stain on the fabric. Within a few hours, I was sure that would all change.

“Something fierce,” I answered.

“Well, you look half dead.” Eden turned in her chair to face me, her blue eyes locked right on me. My sister’s assessment and opinion were forever honest and so fucking dead-on. “When was the last time you slept?”

I whistled out a mouthful of air. “I got about six hours last night.”

“It wasn’t enough. Your body needs more,” Colson said. The dude was so laid-back, unlike Hart and Eden. He was wearing a polo instead of a button-down. “That was a long stretch on the road. You’re home for a week or so, yeah?”

I nodded. “Thank fuck.”

“You’d better be taking care of yourself while you’re here,” Hart added. “You’ve got the usual treatments scheduled?” He had a pile of folders in front of him that he leaned his arms on.

A pile that told me today’s meeting was intended to be all business.

“Massage, hydrotherapy, hyperbaric chamber treatments, chiropractic work—all of it.” I held the back of my head, my arms bent, elbows pointed out. “I’ll be good.”

“I’ll stop by and prep some meals for you,” Walker said.

Walker had been born with the same talent as our father.

He could turn simple ingredients into a masterpiece.

But the pressure that came with that skill was immense, especially given the business we’d built.

He was in charge of the menu and new recipes at Charred, our steak houses, and Toro, our seafood and raw bars, constantly having to keep our restaurants fresh and competitive.

And even though I loved the guy, his attitude reflected what he was feeling at all times, and that was fucking stressed and usually pissed off.

“You don’t have time for that,” I told him. “You’re running the kitchen of LA Charred and controlling operations at hundreds of our restaurants.” I looked at Hart and winked. “I’ll have Hart cook for me.”

Hart laughed. “Don’t hold your breath, asshole. Things behind the scenes are as busy as our kitchens. I don’t remember the last time I even cooked for myself.”

“Which is why all of you have a personal chef.” Eden rolled her eyes.

“Let’s stop wasting time talking about things that aren’t ever going to happen—like Hart cooking for you—and let’s discuss the elephant in the room.

” Eden reached across the space between us and held my cheeks as though she was inspecting my face.

“What was under your nose at the press conference?”

I chuckled. “I can’t believe it took you this long to ask me. You’re slacking. That’s not like you.”

“We had more important things to discuss through text message”—she pointed at the pile of folders in front of Hart—“like some of that.”

“Speaking of that”—I nodded toward Hart’s pile—“how many more locations of Charred are we opening?—”

“Nope,” Eden said, cutting me off. “First, we’re discussing the face crumb. Then, we can talk about work.”

“This one is relentless.” I smiled. “I had a bite of a chocolate chip cookie before I went out to the press conference. What’s the big fucking deal?”

“The internet thinks it’s a big deal. They’re having a blast, coming up with theories of what the crumb was. Listen to this: Vegas is even allowing people to take bets on whether it was a protein bar or a piece of your helmet.” Her hand slapped the table—her attempt to really drive in her point.

That was why my agent had called the next day and asked what it was—Vegas probably needed him to confirm the answer.

The expression I gave her backed up this point. “You know I give no shits about what the internet thinks.”

“But you do give a shit about what you look like.” She crossed her arms. “Which has me wondering …” Her eyes narrowed as she stared at me.

“I’m with Eden.” Walker pushed up his white sleeves. “You’re the prettiest one out of all of us.”

“And the king of being camera-ready,” Hart contributed.

I waved both of them off, even though they weren’t wrong, and said, “Wondering about what?” to my sister.

“A few weeks before, there was the ice-humping scandal”—she covered her eyes with her black-painted nails—“something I don’t even want to talk about—I’m scarred for life because of it.

” Her hand dropped. “Now we have the face incident. So, yes, both of these things have me wondering: Are you trying to stay in the limelight for reasons other than hockey? Are you raising your middle finger to someone? Or …” Her brows furrowed.

I replied, “You’re reading too much into it.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think I am.”

Of course, the fucking detective of the group had called me out. I wasn’t surprised. I just wasn’t going to admit why that piece of cookie had been on my lip. The person who had needed to see it did. That was what mattered.

I looked at Walker, Hart, and Colson, knowing the three of them were probably stirring and that this wasn’t the first time they had heard our sister bring this up. “Do any of you have anything to say? Or can we talk about what’s in those files?” I nodded again toward Hart.

Hart smiled at me, the kind of grin that said he was up to something. “Let’s talk about Boston.” He licked his lips, leaning even further onto the table. “How was it?”

“Out of all the places I played at during this stretch of away games, you want to talk about Boston?” I was rocking in my chair, but stopped. “It was fine. Why do you ask?”

Hart’s brows rose. “It was just fine ?”

“I walked into a fucking lion’s den this morning.” I let out a loud laugh. “Do you have something to ask me, Hart?”

“Do you have something to say?” he countered.

There was no question in my mind who could have told my brother this information. Not that I gave a shit. I didn’t hold back anything from my siblings—minus the reason for the face crumb—but I was going to dig into my goalie for this one.

I laughed. “Nah. I’m good.”

Hart rubbed his hands together. “I bet you’re real good after those three nights.”

“Oh my God,” I groaned with a grin. “Here we go. Lay it on me. Give me everything you’ve got.”

“Hold on a second. Is there tea?” Eden asked. “That only Hart knows about?” She glared at Hart. “How dare you not tell me!”

Hart pointed at his chest. “It’s not my story to tell.”

“Fuck, there is no story,” I said to my sister, and when I glanced around the table, I could tell that not a single face I looked at appeared convinced. “Things happen when you’re on the road. It’s the same shit on a different day.”

But that wasn’t true. At least not the latter part.

Jolie wasn’t like anyone I’d ever met.

I never spent three consecutive nights with a woman or even three accumulative nights. The way I lived my life, I considered that a fucking commitment.

And it was a commitment I’d been thinking about nonstop since I’d walked out of that hotel.

Eden turned her chair even more, her body fully facing me, and she crossed her legs.

“We all know that things happen on the road. We’ve heard your stories.

You’re not one to hold back when it comes to us.

Which is why this suddenly feels strange …

because you’re not sharing what happened during those three nights.

And that, Beck, is not like you at all.”

My hands dropped from behind my head, and as I placed them on the table, I glanced down.

I had shelves full of LA Whales sweatshirts, like the one I was wearing, but my favorite was the one I’d given to Jolie.

At this moment—and so many fucking moments before this one—I wanted nothing more than to fuck the LA off her.

“Here’s what I’ll say …” I looked up, immediately connecting eyes with my sister. “I met someone in Boston and spent those three nights with her. But neither of us is in a place where we can make anything of it. What happened there, it’s going to stay there.”

Eden’s expression softened—something that wasn’t common. “That’s too bad.”

I waited a second before I asked, “Why do you say that?”

“Because what I’m hearing and what I’m seeing are showing me how much you like her.”

“There isn’t an inch of my fucking body that isn’t screaming right now.

” Landon winced as he unlatched the straps of his shoulder pads and chest protector and lifted the heavy gear over his head.

Every new piece of equipment he took off, he set it in front of his locker.

“Today felt more like a game than a practice.”

The gray T-shirt he wore beneath his pads was soaked with sweat, and while he still had it on, I punched his shoulder. “Pussy.”

“Fuck that.” He shook the sweat out of his hair. “Even you were fucking hard on me.”

“I was the hardest on you—get it straight.” I pulled my grays over my head and tossed the wet T-shirt into the laundry bin. “That’s what you get for ratting my ass out.”

He froze as he looked at me and then started laughing. “Oh shit, Hart said something to you about Jolie?”

“I’m surprised as hell that he waited until this morning to bring it up, but yeah.” I took a seat in front of my locker to untie my skates. “How did he get it out of you?”

Landon stood next to me, holding on to the side of his locker.

“He reached out after the Boston game, asking where we’d gone to celebrate.

He wanted to buy the team a couple of bottles.

He said he called you and you didn’t answer, so he tried me.

That’s when I dropped the news that you were no longer at the bar. ”

I rubbed my chest, the muscles in there and my biceps and shoulders all sore from today’s stick work and shooting. “Dirty bastard.”

His head hung. “I knew he’d give you shit for it, especially when he texted me during our flight to DC to follow up and ask how things were going between you two. Hopefully, he didn’t lay it on too hard.”

“It’s all good, my man.”

Landon was friends with my family, and since he didn’t have any here, he’d spent a few holidays with mine. I wasn’t at all shocked that he’d told Hart—he’d probably assumed I would tell him anyway—nor was I bothered by anything he was admitting.

“Have you talked to her since you guys were texting on the flight to DC?” He sat beside me to unlace his skates.

“No.”

He paused to look at me. “Do you think you will?”

Each locker was built out of wood and framed like a cubby. I leaned into one of the separating walls, pushing my back into the edge, letting the hardness work into my muscles.

“I’ve thought about it. But it’s a situation that won’t get any easier.”

Not with her being a sophomore. If it were her senior year, we could possibly wait it out since maybe there’d be a chance her dad would let her work from home and that home could be LA.

But as a fucking sophomore, at a school on the other side of the country, she was years away from having any freedom.

And with a schedule as inflexible as mine, that really made things impractical.

“If we talk, it’ll make me want her more, and she can’t give me more.”

More? Fuck . Who would have ever thought I’d want that?

“And if you don’t talk to her?” he asked.

There was this feeling in my chest that I didn’t like. To try to tame it, I bent forward and rested my arms on my hockey pants. “I’m going to miss her like hell.”