Page 94 of Stick It
“Shit, Thorn,” Ethan mutters, regret deepening his voice. “Sorry.”
“What about your mom?” Jax questions, and I sense he’s been wanting to ask that since the night I fell apart in his arms.
“My mom and dad…their love was like a fairy tale.” There’s aheaviness to my words, the weight of grief tugging them down. “Losing him broke something in her.” I shake my head. “I’ve barely seen her since… She’s more of a ghost than a parent anymore.”
Neither of them says anything for a moment, but I don’t feel pity from them. Just…understanding.
Jax leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Yeah. I know what that’s like.”
I glance at him, waiting.
He shrugs. “I didn’t really have parents growing up. They were in and out, and when they were around, they were more into each other’s drama than they were into raising me. I lived with my aunt for a while. My uncle after that. Spent most of my childhood bouncing between them until I got old enough to look after myself.” He flicks a crumb off his plate. “Never really felt like I belonged anywhere.”
“What age were you when you started looking after yourself?” I ask, curiously, my heart aching at the thought of a young Jax getting himself dressed, making himself breakfast, going to school in wrinkled, day-old clothes.
“Ten.”
I frown. That’s even younger than I’d expected. I don’t know what to say to that, but I don’t think he expects anything.
Ethan exhales, shaking his head. “Jesus. This got depressing fast.”
Jax smirks. “Don’t act like you’re exempt from the shitty family stories.”
Ethan rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue. “Fine. My dad owns a mechanic shop. Been working there since I was a kid, cleaning up oil spills and handing him tools. He made me earn every penny I needed for hockey gear, lessons, and camp.”
I tilt my head. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”
Ethan’s jaw tenses. “It wouldn’t have been. If he didn’tspend every second reminding me I’d never amount to anything more than he did. Laughing at me for thinking I could ever do better. Ever be anything more than a lowly mechanic—the guy with grease under his nails.” His fingers drum against the table, giving away his agitation. “It never mattered how good I was, how well I played. He’s just waiting for me to fail and come crawling back.”
Jax lets out a low whistle. “Holidays must be a real treat.”
Ethan snorts. “Which is why I typically spend them here.”
That thick silence settles in again. It’s strange. I don’t think I’ve ever sat with them like this—no teasing, no sharp edges. Justthem. Justme.
Ethan stretches back in his chair, and I don’t miss the way his T-shirt rides up as he lifts his arms above his head, the flash of white skin and taut muscle before it falls back down. “Jesus, we sound like a bad therapy group.”
I chuckle. “Same time next week?”
Jax huffs a laugh while Ethan flashes me that boy-next-door grin of his. Pushing back his chair, he grabs my plate along with his. “I’ll tidy this up. You and Jax go pick a movie?”
Dinneranda movie? This is beginning to look a little bit like a date. Admittedly, a weird-ass one where there aretwoguys. “Uh, sure.”
We’re interrupted by a knock at the front door. Jax glares in that direction, not looking pleased at the interruption. “Who the hell is that?” he grumbles, setting his plate back on the table before stalking toward the hall.
Moving to help Ethan while Jax talks to whoever is at the door, I’ve just added Jax’s plate to the pile of dirty dishes when voices and the stomping of feet have me spinning.
“By all means, invite yourself inside,” Jax grouses, each word dripping with sarcasm as Griffin marches into the kitchen. His sharp gaze darts around the room before locking on me.
Ethan bristles immediately. “What are you doing here?”
“Why aren’t you at practice?” I ask, knowing this is the time when he’s typically on the ice.
“Like I could focus on anything else when I know you’re under the same roof ashim.” He jerks his chin toward the stairs.
Ethan makes an exasperated noise. “We’re perfectly capable?—”
“Is he here?” Griffin demands. His hands clench at his sides as though pitching for a fight.
