Page 7 of Lessons in Heartbreak

Did you sleep with my wife?He couldn’t say the words. Even unsaid, they sliced straight through my chest.

How did we get here?That was the thing I wanted to ask. How had my life ended up in a place where my brother entertained even the slightest notion that I would sleep with his wife?

Stubborn King pride kept both our mouths shut, and briefly, I wondered if his stomach churned with unease like mine, a bitter by-product of keeping those important questions buried deep.

“Does it matter?” I asked with a deceptively casual tilt of my head. “She showed up at my house in nothing but a coat and some tackylingerie, and you think it matters if she was here for five minutes or fifteen?”

Barrett sighed heavily, and I felt a quick, bright flash of pity.

“Less than two minutes,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. His brow furrowed as he studied my face. When he didn’t say anything, I let out a dry laugh. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

“I don’t know what I believe anymore, Griffin.” Barrett shook his head, swiping a hand over his mouth. “You always do this, you know? See something shiny and exciting and fun, and you don’t think about the fucking consequences. Do you know how many times I saved your ass in high school because Coach wanted to kick you off the team for screwing around on the weekends? How close you came to losing your scholarship in college if I hadn’t stepped in and begged them to give you a second chance?”

Anger flared hot, and I kept my arms crossed. “I’ll make sure to send you a gift basket tomorrow for my entire career. Thanks, brother.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, Griffin. You just don’t think things through. Like letting her in here in the first place. What did you think was gonna happen?”

“Now it’smyfault that she showed up on my doorstep? That’s rich.”

“No, it’s not.” He looked so fucking tired as he shook his head again. “But she showed up here because she knew you’d be the only other person who might hate me as much as she does. Can you blame me for not believing either of you?”

Before I could say anything else, Barrett turned and left, and in his wake, I felt the cold shift of that rift between us. But this time, it was irreparable. Irrevocably broken.

My jaw tightened dangerously at the memory, the pressure building up underneath my cheekbones as I pressed my teeth together.

“The King brothers aren’t inseparable now, though,” the journalist said easily. “But he’s certainly making a statement by taking this job, isn’t he?”

With a snort, I tossed back the rest of my drink and sighed.

Barrett King never backed down from a challenge. Neither did I. That’s what made us so dangerous at our respective jobs. Dangerous to each other too.

“Every game we play against each other will be dissected by millions of people, and I have no desire to live underneath that kind of scrutiny, like a fucking bug trapped under the glass.”

“Ahhh, so should we be on the lookout for news of a transfer?” she asked lightly, like she hadn’t just baited the absolute hell out of me.

I didn’t pay attention to the look on her face, staring down instead at the melting ice in my highball glass. Maybe if Ihadlooked up, I’d have seen that sharp-eyed interest that covered every journalist’s face when they got a big, juicy bite on a story.

“My brother is obnoxious when he wins, because he always prepares as if there’s no other possible outcome,” I said, only the slightest tinge of bitterness coloring my tone. “And hopefully, he’ll be a very ungracious loser in his new divisional team, whoever he goes up against. I can’t wait to see it.” The moment the words came out, I pinched my eyes shut. “Shit, I shouldn’t have said that.”

But what I didn’t say wasCan you keep that off the record?

She merely hummed, sitting back in her seat and studying me openly. “You two certainly generate enough headlines to keep us busy all year round, don’t you?”

I quirked an eyebrow. “You asking him about me too?”

This particular reporter was enough of a professional that she merely answered with a small sphinxlike smile. “You know I can’t kiss and tell, Griffin.”

I leaned in, holding her relentless eye contact. “Kissing my brother would be like sucking face with a dead body. He has no sense of humor.”

Her wineglass immediately went in front of her face, and if she smiled at what I’d said, it was well hidden. After a long sip, she set it down. “Off the record, I will say this—you are definitely the fun one of the King twins,” she whispered, moving in closer so I could hear her clearly.

I sat back in my chair and gave her a smooth smile, the kind that showed my dimple. “Of course I am. My brother wouldn’t know fun if someone shoved it up his ass.”

Her delighted laughter had my smile growing wider.

Until the moment her article hit the internet, the entire thing had felt so innocent. Like I could’ve been sitting with a teammate or a buddy who knew exactly why my older-by-two-minutes brother drove me up a fucking wall. Like she just wanted to commiserate about some slightly complicated family dynamics over a drink.

Oh, we’d commiserated all right. Right up until the article ran, front and fucking center in the biggest sports publication in the world. Sound bites from that tiny mic sitting right in the middle of the table were blasted everywhere. The one about kissing a dead body was a particular social media favorite. Women and men made countless videos saying they’d happily compare, if the King twins were down for sharing.

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