Page 105 of My Brother's Teammates

I watched last night’s car crash of a game from the comfort of my temporary home. When it was over, I grabbed my keys, stormed out of Meghan’s new apartment, and sat behind the wheel of my car for like an hour.

Those sixty minutes were spent in equal parts—talking myself into going to see the guys, and talking myself out of it. In the end, I figured they would have enough going on without me wading in to say… what? What could I say to fix any of this? My heart hurts that you tanked on the ice, and I wanted to give you all cuddles and stroke your hair?

Sure, that’s helpful. And absolutely going to magically fix everything.

But as the final seconds of the game ticked down to zero last night, it hit me like a lightning bolt. If we’re going to get anywhere, as a group, or even on a one-on-one level, I’ve got to talk to my brother.

I’d rather have a Turkish barber shave my flaps with a straight razor in front of a room full of people than talk to Harry right now.

But here we are.

Meghan very kindly offered to come with me as a buffer, emotional support friend, or body disposal buddy if I needed her to help hide his remains, so we bought tickets without involving anyone on the team. I didn’t want them to know I was here, in case I chicken out and run away instead of actually facing my brother like a grown-ass adult.

With every passing second of this game, my soul shrinks. My boys are clearly off their game. Roman’s back between the pipes, and he’s mean-mugging the puck like it owes him money. He’s determined, focused, but from the way he’s holding himself in the crease, he doesn’t look comfortable. Being benched last night probably threw his confidence, but I know my routine-loving goaltender has probably been thrown off balance by the fractures in his team.

Jace and Harrison aren’t even on the same planet, never mind the same line. The coach has even tried splitting them, but that’s not helping things either.

I can’t watch. I drop my head into my hands as Roman comes under fire again.

Meghan rubs my back. “It’s okay. We’ll fix this.” She uses the royal ‘we’ like there’s a solution she can help with. But what if I can’t solve this problem? What if Harrison is truly done with me? Done with his friends?

Halfway through the second period, one of the Las Cruces Lynx crashes into Roman. He bounces back onto his skates without a second thought, but Mateo isn’t happy. He charges the offensive player and cross-checks him from behind, which then pisses off one of the other Lynx players—who throws his fist at Mateo’s face.

I’m on my feet, clutching my chest with one hand and scrunching Meghan’s Phantoms shirt in an iron-clad grip with the other. Teo took a nasty hit last night during the game. He was cautious to get up and skated gingerly off the ice. He played again, but his shifts were short and sporadic. Was he hurt?

I tug my hair at the roots. I should have texted them, called them, something other than the total silence I gave them. What if Mateo is concussed from last night? And now he’s standing there, taking a hit to the face by this fucking goon.

In less than a second, Teo’s gloves drop to the ice, and he returns fire at the player who’s still throwing punches at him.

This needs to stop.

My stomach twists as Mateo and the offensive player scuffle. The lines-people pull them apart, and they both get sent to the box. On his way, Teo looks into the stands, and for a moment we lock gazes. At least, I think we do. With this many people in the arena, it’s kind of hard to tell.

Or rather, it would be, if he didn’t wink at me. The dormant butterflies in my stomach flutter to life, flapping their wings so hard it makes me breathless. From the way he sits in the penalty box, leg up on the bench, arm slung on his thigh like he’s chilling in a sauna and not sitting on the naughty step, I know he’s okay. But is it for show?

I can’t take not knowing. I can’t take not being there with them, around them, talking to them, helping them. Pieces of me are missing, and to get them back, I’ve got to talk to Harrison.

My hands are sticky by the time the third period winds down. Despite Roman’s best performance in a while, the team takes another heavy loss, and they all trudge off the ice with their heads down.

My already in-tatters heart crumbles just a little more at the dejected way he skates off the ice behind his teammates. No one skates back to console him, not even Mateo. Is that on purpose? Has Roman told them all to leave him alone? Or are they all blaming him for the loss of the whole team?

My heart pinches again. It’s not his fault. I swept into his life a couple weeks ago and upended his whole routine. Hell, I even knocked his Sudoku time out of whack.

Stomach sour, lungs tight, I make my way down to the not-so-secret exit to wait for my brother to appear. I give Meghan a quick hug. “You sure you don’t want me to wait around?”

I wave her off. “I’m sure. I’ll see you at home.”

She throws her arms around me, planting a sloppy kiss on my cheek. “If you need me, just call. I’ll come back for you, okay?”

I nod.

She hesitates before backing away. She spins before bumping into someone and disappears into the crowd.

It doesn’t take long for Harrison to show up. Did he even shower before throwing on his suit?

When I step out from the shadows, he stutters to a stop. Our eyes meet, and I jam my hands in my pockets. The urge to launch myself at him and bury my face in his shoulder is overwhelming, and if he doesn’t reciprocate or pushes me away, it will break me.

His kit bag hits the concrete, and he charges at me, throwing his arms around my body, picking me up and spinning me around. By the time he puts my feet back on the ground, I’m crying so hard my lungs burn and my vision’s blurry.

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