Page 2 of My Brother's Teammates

I’ve spent way too much of my life making sure Shane was taken care of, paying our bills so he could buy all his recording equipment, and look where that’s gotten me. Nowhere. I have next to no money in my bank account, and definitely nowhere to live.

Fuck me. I’m not sure I can afford a couple of nights in a hotel, and come Monday, I’ll be teaching all week with no time to look for a new apartment.

Shit.

I’m so screwed.

As I’m cramming my heels into my suitcases, I get an idea. It might not be a great idea, but it’s the only one I’ve got.

My brother, Harrison, has technically moved out of his place to shack up with his current girlfriend, leaving an empty room in his teammates’ apartment… A place I happen to have a key to—in case of emergencies—but I feel like if he was here, he’d agree that being cheated on and kicked out of your home by the person you thought was the love of your life qualifies.

He’s a good big brother, he’ll understand.

He’ll have to.

Although, I guess it’s his old roommates I’ll have to convince. At least I’ve got a little luck. They’re all out of town, playing a string of away games, and won’t be back until Monday night. That gives me a little time to gather my thoughts and figure out a game plan that doesn’t involve spending all the money in my bank account.

I might even be able to convince them to let me stay there short-term.

After taking a deep breath, I lean on my suitcases and zip them up. I’ve crammed so much of my stuff into these two bags, I’m afraid they might burst open and throw my pencil skirts everywhere. If there’s anything left, I’ll have to come back for it. There’s no way I’m sticking around here for another second.

When I walk through the apartment, I’m half expecting more patronizing looks from the happy couple, but the living room is empty. It’s not long before I know why. Muffled sounds come from the second bedroom—grunts, pants… I’m pretty sure someone just spanked someone else, as there’s an unmistakable crack of skin against skin followed by a howl. An honest-to-God howl, like one of them is pretending to be a damn wolf.

My gut turns, and my chest tightens as a wave of emotion crashes over me. I try to swallow it down until I leave the apartment, I really do, but I can’t stop the tears that stream down my cheeks.

Two years. I was with this man for two years. I was dedicated to him for two goddamn years, and he can’t even wait until I’m gone to forget all about me. My heart shreds into tiny little jagged pieces.

I can’t believe this is happening. Fucking jerks.

As I set down my suitcases to wipe the tears from my face, I see a note written in Shane’s sloppy handwriting on the dining room table reminding me to return my key. Between heaving sobs, I let several expletives fall from my lips. It takes all my strength not to carve something profane into the hand-me-down wooden table.

He doesn’t deserve my anger. He doesn’t deserve any piece of me.

I slip the key off my keyring and toss it on the center of the table with a shaking hand. Fuck. My sewing machine. I look around at my belongings, shoved into every piece of luggage I own, and do the mental math. There’s no way my two hands are carrying all of this out in one trip—and I’m absolutely not coming back in for any of it right now.

There’s no way I’m sticking around here for another second.

I’ll just have to come back when I’m feeling a little stronger, because today, I don’t have it in me.

As much as I want to bring it, it’s a luxury I can’t afford to carry right now. I’ll have to come back for it, or write it off and replace it. I wince. Mom gave me this sewing machine; it belonged to her mother, but no amount of staring at the pile of bags around my feet makes them shrink, or any lighter to carry.

I can’t linger here any longer. I’ll have to leave it, even if it makes my stomach hurt. I grab my suitcases and drag them down to my car. As I grip the steering wheel and shift the car into drive, I whisper a silent goodbye, wipe the tears from my face, and head to my brother’s old apartment.

Gratitude washes over me as soon as I step through the threshold and into the luxury apartment he called home until about a week and a half ago.

I have two days to figure out what I’m doing. Two days to see if I can find a new place, or if I can come up with a compelling reason for them to let me stay. It’ll have to be one hell of an argument, especially with his best friend, Jace.

He wouldn’t piss on me if I were on fire.

But in the meantime, I need a glass of wine, a pint of ice cream, and a good chick flick I can cry through.

A wheel sticks on my giant suitcase, and I end up dragging it halfway into the living room where I drop it to the floor before falling face-first on their leather couch. I’m fully ready to wallow in my own self-pity when I catch a whiff of something awful.

What the hell is that smell? Did something die in here?

After pushing myself up, I head into the kitchen and stop short as I take in not just a sink full of dirty dishes, but plates and bowls littered with food stacked up half the length of the counter. These boys are pigs, and clearly have no idea what a dishwasher is. I lived with Harrison growing up, so I’m used to messes. But this… Oof. This is gross.

How could they go on a several-day road trip and leave the kitchen looking like this? I don’t know how much they make a year between their NHL contracts and their endorsements, but it’s more than enough to hire a damn housekeeper.

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