Page 94 of My Brother's Teammates

When I throw in a pair of jeans, Mateo plucks them back out again. I ignore him hugging my jeans against his chest and throw in my curl bonnet and the fuck-me heels I wore to dinner.

Mateo takes the shoes back out of the case, too.

When he steals my toothbrush, I round on him. “Teo… please. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

He points my toothbrush at me. His eyes are glassy, and he’s chewing the inside of his cheek. “This isn’t a good plan, Red. We should stay together.” He looks at Roman for reassurance.

Ro steps up to Mateo’s side and puts his arm around him. “I agree, Charlotte. Running won’t solve anything.”

I nod, extracting my toothbrush from Mateo’s death grip. “And we will figure it out together. I just need some distance, some time to figure out what’s going on in my mind.”

Time to figure out how the hell to fix everything.

“I don’t like it.” Mateo purses his lips, and Roman strokes his biceps.

“I don’t either, Teo.” I turn my back to him so he doesn’t see me blinking back more tears, or my quivering lip, or my shaking hand. “It’s just for a little while. We need to reset. I can’t be here while you’re trying to work as a team and Harrison wants to kill you all.” I risk a glance at Roman. Out of all of them, he’ll understand the most. Or at least, he should. He lives by routines, by systems, by not letting anything upend him.

“The playoffs are coming up. You guys can’t play like a team if you’re not even talking to each other.”

It’s about the team logo on the front, not the name on the back.

I know the score. Shelve your personal problems and play for the good of the team. I’ve watched Harrison swallow down petty bickering with teammates before, all in the name of getting the job done.

This isn’t much different, except it’s not really petty.

I just hope they can all hold it together enough to do what needs to be done.

Roman nods. “She’s right, Teo. Let’s just get through the last games of the season. We’ll regroup, figure things out, and find a way through… together. Okay?” Roman holds my stare, the intensity burning into me. “Right, Charlotte?”

I swallow down the retort on the back of my tongue, telling him I can’t come back, and nod. “Right.”

Great. Now I’m lying to my boyfriends, too.

My stomach is in knots as I shove the last of my things into the suitcase and zip it shut. With a heavy heart and that damn lump still stuck in my throat, I drag my case through the living space toward the front door. With every forward step I take, my heart splinters even more.

It’s not lost on me that this whole journey started with me bent over this case only two weeks ago, and now I’m dragging it out of yet another apartment, with yet another relationship—or three—in tatters.

“You want some help with that?” Roman points at the suitcase. Mateo can’t look me in the eye, but from the way he’s working his jaw, flexing his cheeks, and clenching his hands, he’s not happy.

“I’m good. Better if I do it myself.” I don’t need to explain why. I’d rather not cry in the parking garage or have Mateo run back inside with my luggage.

One of them sniffs behind me, and I’m too chicken to turn and see who. I give them a small, dismissive wave over my shoulder, push down the fresh tsunami of tears building in my eyes, and leave.

THIRTY-FIVE

Mateo

I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve cried since my dad had a heart attack and died. Taking a puck to the balls, my first—and so far, only—Stanley Cup win, and now, watching the woman I love walk out the door, not knowing if she’s ever coming back.

Ironically, the man standing a couple of feet away from me has been there for three out of those four times.

Until today, I thought the biggest betrayal, the biggest punch to the gut, was finding out my dad, the man I’d looked up to my whole life, had been cheating on my mom for years before his death. We found out at the funeral when the other woman came up to my mom and told us how sorry she was. She claims she didn’t know—didn’t know he was married and had a whole fucking family.

That’s why I don’t like secrets, lies. They only hurt. I should’ve known better than to agree to Jace’s rules. Hiding this from Harrison was only ever going to cause so much hurt and resentment he wouldn’t be able to see straight.

But I never thought I’d fall in love with his sister and my best friend. Actually, the first real friend I made when I joined the NHL. Roman and I were rookies together up in Washington. I was there early in the season and spent my first couple months doing what all twenty-one-year-olds do when they get grown-up money. I spent way too much of it and spent a lot of nights with girls I barely remember. When Roman showed up, he put a hand on my shoulder, looked me square in the face, and told me I was being a dumbass.

We’ve been inseparable ever since.

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