Page 4 of Off-Ice Misconduct
“And? I’m sure you’re capable of achieving all this by yourself. You don’t need me corralling hockey players.”
He huffed, scrubbing a hand through his thick hair. “McKinnon,” he said, like that explained everything.
“McKinnon?”
“His dad basically bankrolls the program.”
“Okay.”
“McKinnon graduates this year, and we’ll lose that funding. I need to put my focus on finding donors, I can’t be worried he’s gonna fail out of his eligibility, especially while I still need him. McKinnon’s also the reason we sell so many tickets.”
“I think you’re putting way too much focus on this kid, Tate.”
He made a frustrated sound. “I knew you’d say that, but you don’t get it. In the world of hockey, a lot hinges on him. If only you’d seen him on the ice, maybe I could explain it better. There’s just something Gretzky about him. People know a once-in-a-lifetime player when they see one. They come from far and wide to watch him, Luke. Agents and teams are chomping at the bit to sign him. He’s said no to all of them. Who says no to an NHL contract? He knows what he is.”
Tate paused as if he was taking a moment to imagine this “McKinnon” on the ice. Jesus. But there was just no way. There is no other Gretzky. I would know. He was my favorite player, and I followed that man through his entire career. I would have loved to play hockey myself, but it wasn’t going to happen for me. Uncle wouldn’t allow it. One of the many things Tate was able to do because of my intervention. The most I got to do was help him practice on the ice early mornings before school.
Still, Tate wouldn’t say something like this lightly. If he thinks this McKinnon’s that good, he means it, but it’s definitely also a bread crumb trail for me. He knew I would find it hard to resist a lure like that.
I could always just buy a ticket to a game, though.
“Do this for me, and I’ll finally do that thing you’ve been asking me to do,” he mumbled.
Now there was something actually complicated. A lot more complicated than this McKinnon character. It involves a will and our devious, dead uncle. Long story short, Tate needs to get married by his fortieth birthday, or I’ll be forced to give up the fortune meant for me—well, for us. Everything I did was for me and Tate.
I haven’t pushed the issue because I’m not selfish enough to force my brother into a marriage he doesn’t want for money.
But I have asked about it several times. I’ve poked, prodded, and coaxed.
Uncle’s fortune means more to me than the fortune itself. It represents my lost fucking childhood, including the teenage years, and on into my young adulthood. I was finally free of the old bastard when he died—or so I thought, but he left me with a final lesson.
Your faith was always misplaced, Lucas.
His last words for me, read by his uppity lawyer, have rung in my head since that day. I’d always put my faith in Tatum despite how many times I got burned. We were all each other had after our parents died. Uncle hated that I put my faith in our brotherhood. He wanted me to put my faith in him—it was the only thing he couldn’t take from me.
It’s his claws reaching beyond the grave to take that too, or at the least, rip the everlasting faith I have in Tatum away and bury it in the abyss with him.
So, I wrestle with it. Wrestle with just leaving him be and pushing the issue. Just because our uncle decided this was a marker of faith, that doesn’t mean it is. It’s an outrageous thing to ask someone. But Uncle had conditioned me this way. The trials, the punishments, the pain disguised as training—all of it to show me who I was, to see if he’d broken me yet. In a sick way, the tests became my light in the darkness.Was I broken yet?My barometer was always Tate. How far would I bend before I’d stop choosing him?
It's another one of Uncle’s mindfucks, but it fucks me well.
Thatneedto know. It itches. Breeds questions.
I gave up years of my life and my sanity; wouldn’t Tatum do the same for me?
Fuck, I don’t even want him to. But now the question burns. Still, I don’t want to officially ask him. Maybe I think it’s too much, or maybe I’m afraid of what the answer will be.
“I haven’t asked you to do anything,” I clarified.
He scrubbed his hand over his face again, as if he hoped doing that would restart me like a computer, trading “Disagreeable Luke” for a more agreeable one.
Nope, it’s still me, little brother.
“I guess you haven’t technically asked, but how can I say no? Don’t really have much of a choice, do I?”
When the will was read, I didn’t think it was going to be an issue. Tate’s always wanted a partner, but he’s been dragging his feet, diving deeper into his career. Now that he was on this “mission to become commissioner”, his finding a partner was further away.
“You have a choice, Tate.”
