Sara: I’m mad at you.
Me: You’re mad at me?
I SMIRK. This’ll be good.
Sara: Yeah, I’m mad at you because you don’t give me phone sex.
I cough to cover up my laugh. War snaps up straight beside me, so I spin so he won’t see my phone.
Me: Phone sex?
Sara: I’m sitting with Becca. She says she gets phone sex when the team is on the road.
This time, I laugh out loud, leaning against the lockers and shaking my head. War takes this moment of weakness to snatch the phone from my hand.
His eyes go wide, then he snorts as he scrolls through her commentary. “Oh, she’s typing again,” he warns.
I grab it back just in time to see the dancing dots turn into a message.
Sara: And don’t even come at me with the nonsense that I travel with you. I DESERVE PHONE SEX.
My chest rumbles, and I can’t wipe the smile off my face.
“What’d she say now?”
War grabs for the phone again, but I bolt upright and hold it to my chest.
“Come on, man. I want to smile. Let me smile.”
Still clutching the device, I shake my head. “Get your own girlfriend.”
This has been the status quo for the last few months. Pure happiness. Smiling. The team is playing as well as we did last year. Life with Sara is amazing.
We travel together, and when we’re in Boston and not at the arena, we’re wrapped up in one another. Cooking together, making love. We finished every season of Dawson’s Creek, and I’m not afraid to admit that I was fucking sweating at the end when I worried Joey might actually pick Dawson. If she had, it would have totally ruined Sara’s declaration of love.
But like Joey and Pacey, Sara and I are forever. Best friends and everything else.
Sebastian’s a nonissue these days. I barely speak to him when on the ice, and I never speak to him off it.
I surprised Sara by flying her family up for the holidays. If I have it my way, we’ll spend every Christmas with both families under the same roof. While they were in town, we made sure Ethan got to experience another Bolts game. The smile affixed to Sara’s face the whole week they were in town was priceless.
Liv gave birth to the twins two weeks ago. We all breathed a sigh of relief when Beckett didn’t immediately start calling them Thing One and Thing Two—or even worse, Girl One and Girl Two.
June “Bug” and Maggie “Mae” were born prematurely but spent less than two weeks in the NICU. Now they’re the center of Beckett’s world, right alongside their older siblings and Liv.
Late February in hockey means we’ve all got our heads in the game. Playoffs are around the corner, trade deadlines are looming, and now is when the exhaustion can easily set in if we’re not careful.
We’re facing New York at home tonight. It may be late in the season, but there isn’t even a hint of exhaustion in Boston. We’re hungry for another cup.
Aiden jumps up onto the bench and belts out “Bolts’ Paradise,” his unique version of “Gangsta’s Paradise,” by Coolio. When he’s done, we head out of the locker room, focused and with our blood pumping, ready to kick New York’s ass.
The chirping starts early. Vin is in Aiden’s face from the moment the puck drops.
Aiden tries his best to brush it off, but he gets aggravated quick. War tries to interject, slicing his stick between them multiple times, but it’s like Vin and Aiden don’t even see him.
My little brother doesn’t fight, so whatever that ass is saying to set him on fire must be bad. McGreevey and Parker are pure muscle tonight, keeping New York’s offense out of the crease and making my job slightly easier.
It isn’t until the third period that New York gets even close to my net. Naturally, it has to be Vin. The cocky motherfucker comes at me, but McGreevey is on him, and when he steels the puck, instead of chasing after him, Vin allows the center and winger to duel it out.
“How’s the girlfriend?” he yells at me.
I keep my focus on the puck and the puck alone rather than acknowledging him. During the game, not even Sara can pull my focus. I’m certainly not going to let this asshole do it.
When I don’t reply, he skates closer. With a huff, I push him back out of my net. What the fuck is this guy doing? Is this a play?
Refusing to let his antics get to me, I keep my attention fixed on the guys who are still fighting over the puck in the corner.
“You think I can have a go at her?” he jeers.
I grind my teeth and bite back a growl.
Ignore the motherfucker. He’s not worth it.
The puck breaks free, and Parker sends it to Aiden, who’s hustling down to New York’s net.
“Game’s over there,” I taunt, repositioning.
Instead of hauling his ass toward the action now that his net is in play, he sticks far too close to me.
“Come on. Just a taste. It’s a family rite now. First it was Uncle Seb, then you. I’m sure Gavin’ll be itching to hit that soon. It’s only fair that you let me test her out before that.”
It’s not his taunts that get me. Guys will say all kinds of shit to rile the goalie. It’s not even his nasty insinuations. It’s his knowledge of the history between Sara and Seb. The only way he’d know is if my uncle told him.
Why the hell would he go around talking about her like that? Did he really tell his asshole nephew, of all people, that he cheated on my aunt and slept with my girlfriend?
Something deep inside me snaps. My vision goes red, and rage takes over. I heave him forward, out of my way, and skate for the bench, pushing off the ice with all my strength.
As I approach, the eyes of every coach are bugging out. They’re hollering and waving, and then the refs are blowing their whistles like crazy.
But when I set my sights on my uncle, the chaos disappears and time ceases to exist.
Anger floods my blood, a dark poison taking control, spurring me on and pushing me forward. Strangling any logic out of me until all I want is my uncle’s blood dripping from my fists. I drop my stick and toss one glove to the ice, then the other, flying toward the Bolts’ bench. My helmet gets tossed last. In one fluid movement, I hop the boards, the weight of my gear not even a factor.
“You motherfucker!” I roar when he’s within swinging distance.
My uncle doesn’t have time to block the first hit. In fact, his eyes go wide like he didn’t expect it at all. He topples to the ground under the force of the blow.
I don’t stop there. I climb on top of him, the tips of my skates digging into the flooring and my vision tunneling.
“Fucking her over wasn’t enough?” I land a punch to his nose, relishing the way it crunches under my fist. “Lying to her wasn’t enough?” A hit to his jaw. “Cheating on Aunt Zoe wasn’t enough? You had to go run your mouth to fucking Vin about your affair with Sara?” With every word, I hit him harder. My vision has gone dark. All I can see is a blur of blood and flesh beneath me.
A flash of blue appears, and cool skin presses against my cheek. Then there’s a hand on my arm, holding it back. The sweet scent of pumpkin spice envelops me with another cool compress. This one on my other cheek, pushing, forcing my head to one side.
“Brooks, baby. Brooks, calm down. War, I think he’s going to pass out. He’s not responding.”
It’s the panic in her tone that shakes me from my haze. “I’m okay,” I mutter, pushing back onto my haunches, blinking the world back into focus.
“Holy fuck.” War is at my side now too.
Gavin is the next one I spot. His eyes are wide and horrified. He’s dressed in his usual suit, kneeling beside the medics, who have also appeared. Both are bent over my uncle.
“The fuck did you do?” My brother’s voice is just as unrecognizable as the bloody man laid out before me.
“Help me get him up,” Sara begs. She’s still in front of me, her hands on my face, but she’s pleading with War.
I don’t move. “It’s me or him, Gavin.”
“Get him out of here,” he says to Sara, his lips curling. He keeps his gaze averted, turning back to Seb.
Sara stands and yanks on my arm. “Please.” Her voice cracks, garnering my attention.
I tip my head up, still stunned. Her eyes are glassy, and tears run in rivulets down her face.
The refs are heading my way, ready to toss me from the game. That gets me moving. With my skates still on, I haul myself up and grab Sara’s hand. Then I lead her to the tunnel. The noise in the arena is deafening. Screams and cheers and boos follow us as we walk right out of the arena. I don’t stop to change. I don’t grab my things. I pull off my skates and I don’t look back at the place I may never set foot inside again.
