Page 101 of Racking Up Penalties
I pause for a second longer, taking in the room again.
A swell of pride surges in my chest. This is more than just a room—it’s a symbol of belonging. Ethan has carved out a place in our lives and I’m fucking grateful for the chance to get to know my brother.
I’m taking care of him the way I always should have been. I am technically older, even if it’s only a few months.
The house feels different already, fuller somehow, and I can’t help but smile at the thought of the memories we’re going to create here.
“Hey, Liam, coming?” Tristan calls from downstairs, his voice pulling me back to the present.
“Yeah, I’m coming!” I call back.
As I descend the stairs, I feel the weight of responsibility, the drive to protect and nurture this bond Ethan and I have formed. I catch Tessa smacking Tristan as he steals another box from her.
She’s at the center of this and I’ll be protecting that too.
Chapter 44
I push the door open and step into Ethan’s room, the scent of fresh paint and leather greeting me. My gaze sweeps over the chaos of unpacked boxes and haphazardly strewn belongings that fill the space. It’s like standing on the threshold of his life—all the pieces of Ethan Matthews, waiting to be put together.
“Okay, Tessa,” I mutter to myself, the playful lilt in my voice a contrast to the task at hand, “let’s get this sorted.”
I stride over to the nearest box, its flaps open. The contents are a mishmash of hockey jerseys and designer jeans, a vivid depiction of Ethan’s world. I run my fingers over the fabric of a jersey, feeling the softness of the material and the raised embroidery of his team’s logo. My heart skips, pride swelling within me.
With a determined nod, I start lifting out his clothes, folding them with care that might seem excessive to some but feels just right to me. Ethan’s wardrobe is a reflection of who he is—a blend of casual elegance and athletic determination—and I handle each item as if it’s a piece of him.
“Let’s see… shirts here, pants there,” I say, allocating spots within the spacious walk-in closet. The hangers click softly as I line them up, each one bearing a piece of Ethan’s style. I move onto the drawers next, placing socks and undergarments into their new homes, giving everything its own place.
I step back, assessing the barren walls that surround me. In my hands, a roll of posters awaits. I unroll one, a landscape of an icy hockey rink, players in mid-action.
I stretch to align the poster perfectly above his headboard. It takes a couple of tries; the corners curl rebelliously until I secure them with determination.
Nothing feels better after a move than having your room unpacked and ready for you.
The next is a band poster, the kind with dark hues and bold fonts that shout rather than speak. I smooth it out next to the window, hoping the morning light will dance across it.
A satisfied sigh escapes my lips as I step back once more, feeling a sense of accomplishment. The room is transforming, inch by inch, into a space that breathes Ethan.
“Looks great, Tessa.”
Startled, I spin around at the sound of Ethan’s voice. He leans against the door frame, arms crossed, a smile playing on his lips. His eyes roam the room and then settle on me, warm and appreciative.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” His gaze flits to the walls, taking in the newly hung posters. “Thanks for doing this. It means a lot.”
“Of course,” I reply with a smile.
He strides over, closing the distance between us, and I’m acutely aware of every move he makes. My pulse quickens as he reaches out—a gentle hand lifts my chin, and I’m looking into his eyes, deep pools of sincerity.
“Really, Tessa, thank you,” he breathes, just before his lips touch mine in a kiss so tender it might as well have been a whisper.
“They’re almost done with the boxes downstairs. Let’s finish this together,” he suggests, picking up another poster, his tone light but his eyes never leaving mine.
“Let’s,” I agree, and we get back to work, side by side.
The door swings open, and Liam strides in with that easy, lopsided grin of his, his gray eyes lighting up the room. I catch my breath a little—the way he moves, so self-assured and graceful even off the ice, always stirs something inside me.
Even if he was just inside me.
“Hey, Tessa,” Liam calls out, ruffling his blond hair. Before I have the chance to respond, Tristan follows right behind him, his sandy-brown hair tousled and those deep blue eyes of his scanning the room before they settle on me.
