Page 1 of Blocked Shot
CHAPTER 1
NATALIE
Natalie slides the last moving box across the scuffed kitchen counter and props her hands on her hips. The apartment is… fine. Bigger than she expected, honestly. But it still has that impersonal, sterile feeling of something temporary. The walls are too white, the beige carpet looks like it’s trying not to offend anyone, and everything smells vaguely like lemon cleaner and fresh paint.
Jesse, of course, already looks like he owns the place. Her brother drops onto his new couch like it's a throne, stretching his long legs across a half-unpacked moving box. His navy Whalers t-shirt pulls tight across his broadening shoulders, hinting at strength still filling out. A backward baseball cap does absolutely nothing to contain the chaos of sandy-brown curls escaping in every direction. He looks completely at ease, as if he didn't just uproot his entire life and move to a new country two hours ago.
“This place is sick, Nat,” he says, draping one arm over the back of the couch, the other gesturing around. “I mean, look how big those windows are. And it’s got awasher and dryer. I won’t even have to go to a laundromat.”
Natalie snorts, crossing her arms. “You say that like you’re actually going to do laundry.”
Jesse looks up and gives her a mock serious look. “I will.”
“Uh-huh.”
He grins wider, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “And I’m gonna cook, too. You’ll see.”
Natalie arches an eyebrow but doesn’t argue. Her gaze travels back to the boxes stacked like a fortress around him.
“My baby brother, all grown up and living on his own.”
Jesse rolls his eyes and takes out his phone, absently scrolling. “Like you’re not thrilled to get rid of me.”
“What will I possibly do without a teenage boy raiding my fridge and leaving a trail of horrible socks everywhere?” she sighs, shaking her head.
“I assume your life will spiral into crushing boredom,” he deadpans, eyes glued to his screen.
She shakes her head as a familiar mixture of exasperation and fondness bubbles in her chest. Jesse has always barrelled through life with a confidence that makes her both proud and terrified. It’s not that she doesn’t believe in him. She does. She always has. But he’s still only eighteen. Still the kid who once microwaved a frozen burrito without removing the foil.
“Alright, put those big boy pants on then and help me unpack these dishes.”
He groans, pocketing his phone. “Fine.”
Natalie settles into a rhythm, stacking plates into the cupboard while Jesse crams mugs onto a shelf. She bites back the urge to pull them out and rearrange them.
“So what are you gonna do with all your free time now?” he asks, wedging more mugs into the corner. “Take up knitting? Write that novel you’re always talking about?”
She parts her lips, but the words don’t follow. Her eyes drift to the cluttered kitchen counter, the half-unpacked boxes. The question hangs between them, andshe realizes—she hasn’t thought that far ahead.
For years, her schedule, her decisions and her whole sense of purpose has revolved around Jesse. Now, with him settling in and the hockey season looming, the thought of having time and space to herself feels equally thrilling and terrifying. No practices to drive him to. No meals to prep between workouts. Just… space.
Becoming an empty nester at twenty-five feels like the punchline to a bad joke—like she’s been fired from a job she never applied for, but learned to cherish.
“I might finally get the chance to read all those books I’ve been hoarding. When I’m not constantly anxious for you, naturally.”
Jesse abandons the mugs, reaching for his sister’s shoulders and turning her to face him. He grins, but there’s sincerity underneath. “I know you’re worried, Nat. But I got this.”
Natalie stares into her brother’s honey-brown eyes, a shade identical to her own, and gives him a weak smile. She can’t shake the heaviness settling inside her. What if he forgets to lock his door at night? What if he doesn’t eat properly? What if something happens, and she isn’t here?
Her fingers find the fine gold chain around her neck, rubbing it between them in worry. “It’s not that I don’t think you can handle it,” she says quietly. “It’s just… this is a big change. You’re living alone for the first time. You’ll have practices, games, the media. It’s a lot of pressure, Jess. And I’m not going to be here to remind you to, I don’t know, pay your electric bill.”
He rolls his eyes, returning to the mugs. “I’ll put it on auto-pay.”
She huffs a laugh. “Like you even know how to set that up.”
“Okay, fair. But I’ll learn.”
Natalie surveys the small apartment. The space feels too empty, too impersonal. She glances at the couch delivered earlier, still partially wrapped in plastic, and then at the pile of boxes stackedin the hallway.
