I want to be her hero
“OWEN MCKAY IS YOUR BROTHER.”
Gigi voices the curt, unhappy words when we drag our worn-out asses into the hotel room around three in the morning. We’re spending the night in her supermodel cousin’s suite. The penthouse, of course.
I’ve been waiting for her to say something, but I’m glad she managed to hold it together until now. After Owen dropped his bomb earlier, I could tell she still had a million questions. But there was no way we could make small talk, let alone engage in deep conversation, amidst the deafening music in a nightclub on New Year’s Eve. I was relieved when she didn’t push, but knew she was only biding her time. She spent the rest of the night shooting uneasy glances between Owen and me.
Well, not the whole night. We also spent a decent amount of time on the dance floor. I didn’t dance so much as let her grind all over me until the clock struck midnight, and then we made out on the dance floor surrounded by supermodels, professional athletes, and a rapper named Vizza.
Wild night.
Afterward, we piled into Alex’s private car, Owen included. He and Alex disappeared into her room, and for a girl who made fun of Gigi for being into hockey players, she sure is screaming one’s name right now.
I close the door, providing a barrier between the sexfest happening on the other end of the suite.
“All right. Let’s have it,” I say with a sigh.
“You lied to me,” she answers flatly.
“I didn’t lie.” I bite my lip, forcing myself not to avoid her increasingly angry eyes. “I told you I knew Owen from Phoenix—I just left out the part that he’s my brother.”
Gigi leans against the door, arms crossed tight to her chest. “You lied by omission.” She shakes her head in disapproval. “I just introduced you to my family, and you couldn’t be bothered to tell me you have a brother?”
My teeth dig deeper into my lip. I force myself to stop, licking away the sting and taking a breath.
“I didn’t intentionally keep it a secret,” I finally tell her. “The first time it came up that I knew Owen, I hadn’t told you about my dad yet, and I wasn’t ready for all that shit to come out. So I played it off like we were just friends from Phoenix. And then later, it sort of slipped my mind.”
“It slipped your mind,” she echoes in disbelief.
“Because it never even came up again. We never talk about Owen,” I point out.
“Yeah, and why is that?”
I sit on the edge of the mattress and run both hands through my hair. “Because I hate talking about my past. You know that.”
“You also said you’d make more of an effort.” She sounds frustrated.
“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just…I’m not good at this.” I let out a breath, regret flickering through me. “He’s my half brother. We don’t share the same dad.”
Just the same dead mom.
I quickly swallow the lump in my throat.
As if sensing the pain building inside me, Gigi comes over and sits beside me, still clad in the shiny silver dress I couldn’t take my eyes off all night.
“Why were you in foster care?” she asks in confusion. “I mean if you have a half brother. And Owen mentioned his parents more than once tonight. Why didn’t his family take you in?”
A sick feeling crawls through me. “They just didn’t.”
“How much older is he?”
“Two years. He was eight when Mom died. But he wasn’t living with us at that point,” I explain. “Mom and Owen’s dad got divorced when Owen was one. Then she met my dad and got pregnant with me almost right away. Owen lived with us until about a year before she died.”
“Were you close?”
“Best friends. Still are.” I hold up my wrist. “He’s the BFF you like to rag me about. Got these fucking things when we were sixteen, and they still haven’t fallen off.”
She smiles. I can sense her anger melting away. “That’s a good sign, I think.”
“Anyway, when he was seven, his dad remarried. Really nice woman, Sarah. She had her own daughter from a previous marriage. Russ, Owen’s dad, wanted them to be family, so he fought my mom for full custody. Told the courts he could offer a better environment for his son. He had a higher income, lived in a nicer area. Mom couldn’t afford to hire a lawyer to fight him, and eventually she gave in. It wasn’t like he was trying to keep her out of Owen’s life entirely. He just wanted to be Owen’s primary residence. So she agreed, and we got Owen on weekends and holidays. That hurt her a lot, though. She missed him.” My voice thickens. “We both did. He went to live with his dad and stepmom, and I stayed with my parents. And a year later, my dad put a bullet in Mom’s brain.”
My chest clenches. Suddenly I find myself breathing hard, spitting out a ragged curse.
“What is it?” Gigi pushes.
“I will never forgive him for what he did.” My throat is burning. “She wasn’t a perfect mother, but she was mine.”
Tears sting my eyes and I avert my gaze. But Gigi’s goddamn perceptive, and of course she notices. She wriggles toward me, the fabric of her dress swishing, and forcibly lifts my arm so she can tuck her head underneath it.
I instinctively hold her.
She rests her head on my shoulder. “And Owen’s dad just let you go into foster care after you lost your mother? That’s cruel.”
The frank assessment is sort of depressing. “I wasn’t related to him, so he didn’t care. Owen’s dad is…” I try to be tactful, then wonder why I’m bothering. I’m not a tactful guy, so why start now? “He’s a fucking prick. And Sarah, sweet as she is, is a total pushover. I think if it was up to her, she would have taken me in.”
I think about the handful of holidays I spent with the McKays. It was only a few, and only because Owen begged his dad to let me come.
“Russ never liked me. I think I was just a reminder of my mom, his ex-wife. He claims she cheated on him with my dad, but I don’t know if that’s true. Maybe she did.”
I probably wouldn’t blame her if that was the case. Russ has always been a difficult, abrasive man. Strict, with impossibly high expectations for Owen. It’s a damn good thing Owen was phenomenal at hockey, considering how hard Russ pushed him growing up. If Owen didn’t possess the talent and the necessary passion for the game, he would’ve crumbled under that kind of pressure.
“Russ didn’t want me,” I say simply. Nobody did. I clear the sudden rush of emotion out of my throat. “I was a reminder of a life he’d put behind him.”
“But Owen’s been a good brother to you?”
“The best.” Guilt squeezes my chest.
She doesn’t miss the tension. “What?”
“Better brother than I deserve,” I admit.
“What does that mean?”
“My father killed his mother, Gigi. That’s not something either of us could ever forget.”
“Does he hold it against you?” She sounds concerned.
“No, but he should,” I say flatly. “If it weren’t for my piece-ofshit father, he would still have a mom.”
“Yes, but that’s not your fault.”
“All I’m saying is, I wouldn’t blame him if he blamed me.”
My throat feels tight again. Whatever. There’s no point thinking about any of this. Talking about any of it. It doesn’t change anything. Doesn’t fix the past or—
“Don’t do that,” Gigi says softly. “Don’t bury it down. I can feel you doing it.”
I flinch when she grasps my chin. Forcing eye contact.
“You want so badly for this to not be your past, but it is. I understand how much that sucks, and I’m so sorry. But none of it was your fault. You’re not responsible for it. Your father is.”
“I know.”
“Then stop taking ownership of his actions. Let yourself have a good relationship with your brother. You don’t need to feel guilty.”
“But I do feel guilty,” I mumble, and it’s the first time in my life I’ve ever said those words out loud.
I’ve never even told Owen how I feel.
It scares me that I can tell her everything. Just be vulnerable this way. And I’m not scared of her reaction. There’s never even a trace of fear that she might judge me.
I wrap my arm around her waist and gently lower her onto her back. One hand cupping her cheek, I gaze at her gorgeous face. My heart’s always in my throat when I’m with her. When I think about her.
I lean in to kiss her.
“I’m not good enough for you,” I whisper against her lips.
Alarm fills her eyes. “Ryder—”
“I don’t know if I’ll ever be. But I want to try.”
And I do. I mean that. I know I have my flaws. But I need to level up to be with this woman. She forces me to be better.
I want to be better for her.
I want to be her hero.
Emotion clogs my throat.
“Hey,” she says, reaching up to touch my chin. “What’s going on?”
“I love you.”
Her breath hitches.
I’ve never said those words before. But I mean them with every fiber of my being. She’s the one. She’s the only one.
“Say it again.”
“I love you, Gigi.”
A brilliant smile fills her face. “I love you too, Luke.”
That does something to me. The name I’ve loathed for so long, the name I’ve recoiled from, leaving her lips. Hearing it now, coming from that sweet voice and gorgeous face, accompanied by those three words, well, I guess I don’t mind being Luke.
I’ll be whoever she wants me to be.
Pulling on a T-shirt, I duck out of the bedroom early the next morning and find my brother in the full kitchen of the lavish suite. Gigi’s sound asleep behind the closed door of our room. Alex must be too because she’s nowhere to be seen.
I walk toward my brother. “Morning.”
“Happy New Year. You want a coffee?”
I nod. “Please.”
The suite is equipped with an expensive coffee maker and the gourmet kind of coffee you find in those super bougie hipster cafes.
“Fancy,” I drawl, and he chuckles.
A minute later, he hands me a cup, steam rising from the rim. We wander over to the living area and sit on the plush couch. We didn’t spend any time in this room last night, so it’s in pristine condition.
“So. You’ve got a girlfriend.” He chuckles. “You neglected to mention that the last time we spoke.”
“I was still wrapping my head around it.”
“I like her.”
“Me too.” I nod toward Alex’s closed door. “Is that gonna be a thing?”
“Yes, bro. I’m going to marry a supermodel. Come on now.”
“Aren’t you a famous professional athlete? Don’t supermodels go hand in hand with that?”
“That girl is wildfire. She’ll get bored of me in a week, tops. She’s leaving for Paris tonight on a private jet.”
“Yeah, and you’re leaving on your jet back to LA.”
“Oh fuck off. I’m flying commercial.”
“First class?”
He hangs his head in shame. “Business.”
I snicker. “How was Christmas with your parents?”
“All right. How about you? You spent it with the Grahams, huh?”
I sigh. “Remember when Garrett Graham hated me for being late to practice? Well, now he’s got an even bigger reason. Dude can’t stand me.”
“I’m sure you’re exaggerating.”
“Trust me, I’m not.”
I notice him eyeing me over the rim of his mug.
“What?”
“You look happy,” Owen says. “Can’t believe I’m fucking saying that. But you do.”
“Hell’s frozen over, right?”
“I mean…yeah.”
Grinning, I set my mug on the glass table. “So what’s your upcoming game schedule like?”
“We’ve got a stretch of away games.” He runs a hand through his messy brown hair. “It’s a grueling schedule. Being on the road is exhausting.”
“You love it.”
“I do.” He pauses. “You’re going to love it too.”
“Yeah, if Dallas doesn’t change their mind about me.”
“They won’t.” He takes another sip. “We’ve got a couple games against the Bruins next month. You should come to one. Watch the game in the box and grab dinner with me and the team after.”
“Sounds good.”
“Bring your girlfriend.” He winks.
“You really like saying that word.”
“Yeah, ’cause it’s you and you don’t do girlfriends. I’m gonna keep saying it forever just ’cause I know it makes you uncomfortable.”
Speaking of uncomfortable, I suddenly remember what Gigi said last night. About how I can’t take ownership of other people’s actions.
I hesitate for a long time, watching Owen sip his coffee and scroll on his phone. I would normally never discuss this. Never dream of bringing it up. But maybe my “normal” doesn’t cut it anymore. Maybe it’s time to change the way I handle shit.
“Do you blame me?”
He lifts his head, confused. “For what?”
“For Mom.” I stare at my hands for several seconds, then force myself to meet his gaze. “Do you see him when you look at me?”
He recoils. “Fuck no.”
I can’t even describe the relief that shudders through me.
“You didn’t hurt her,” Owen says quietly.
“I didn’t save her either.”
“You were six. Trust me, if I’d been there, I wouldn’t have done much either.” Regret digs a crease into his forehead. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. I couldn’t do anything for you after it happened. I begged my dad to let you come live with us, but he wouldn’t hear it.”
“I know. It’s not your fault. I know what he’s like.”
“Yeah, but I still felt bad. I’ll always feel bad about it, that I had a family while you got shuffled around to different foster homes. My dad’s an asshole, but it’s nothing compared to the hand you got dealt.”
“It wasn’t all bad,” I assure him. “I got to play hockey, didn’t I?”
“True.”
A brief regretful silence passes between us.
“I can’t believe he’s up for parole,” I say flatly.
“Me neither.” Owen’s tone is grim.
We texted about it a while ago after I finally returned Peter Greene’s call. Like me, Owen was asked to—and has no desire to—speak at the hearing.
“And no, Ryder. Just to answer that question again. When I look at you, I don’t see him—I see you. You’re my little brother. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
We sit there in silence for a while, drinking the rest of our coffee as the sun begins to rise above the Manhattan skyline.
“You should be prepared,” Owen eventually says, glancing over to grin at me.
“For what?”
“You’re gonna marry that girl.”
