Page 110 of My Brother's Teammates

Jace: I don’t think that’s accurate.

Mateo: Tomayto-tomahto.

Jace: Roman, are you going to be home soon? I just got to the apartment and this man is running around in his underwear, shoving all sorts of weird shit between the pieces of fabric.

Mateo: It’s called a butt plug. You might like it if you ever pulled the stick out of your ass.

Jace: I’m going to murder him.

Roman: I’ll be home in twenty.

Roman: Everything okay…?

Roman: Hello?

Roman: All right, you guys are starting to freak me out. Is someone dead?

Roman: Mateo? Jace?

Jace: Sorry, I had to stop him from spraying every piece of lace with his cologne. This place smells like a department store.

Mateo: An expensive one.

Mateo: Hey, guys?

Roman: Yes?

Mateo: Do you think she’s coming back?

Jace: I sure as fuck hope so.

Roman: Me too.

FORTY

Charlotte

The Phantoms probably won’t make the playoffs.

Try as I might to brush it off like it’s not my fault, the heavy weight in the pit of my stomach and the sourness I can’t shake definitely makes it feel like it’s all my fault.

Rationally speaking, I know one person can’t make or break a team’s success or failure, I do. But fuck if I don’t feel like this is all on me. As the netminder, I bet Roman feels equally responsible, which just makes my heart crack a bit more.

After my chat on Saturday night with Harrison, he came and picked me up on Sunday. We played mini golf, went to an arcade and played air hockey, and watched a double feature at the movies. He filled every minute of the day with ‘just us’ stuff.

Gotta admit, it was kind of nice to have some one-on-one big brother time, especially since the guys were an off-limits topic. It was just me and him. Him and me—and some friendly sibling rivalry.

While I was out, it seems three very sweet, burly hockey players moved my stuff into Meghan’s new place so I didn’t have to go knocking for my sewing machine all over again.

Monday, Lydia hauled Harrison’s ass off to Ikea to pick up some furniture she’s wanted for the whole season. She didn’t even give him a couple days to lick his wounds from a weekend of loss, she just dragged him out furniture shopping.

He said she didn’t even let him stop for meatballs.

Savage.

Who the fuck goes to Ikea and doesn’t get meatballs?

What. A. Weirdo.

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