“Ha freaking ha.” Ten’s older brother, and hence my uncle, was captain of the Boston Rebels and didn’t go easy, even on his much younger kind-of-nephew. Of course he wouldn’t, we were two grown men, and even though he was in the twilight of his career, he was one of the best in the league. Same as the other two Rowes, Ten and Jamie.
“You were doing some weird shit in that game tonight.”
“How do you even know that?”
“We record your games and fast forward them to all your bits as soon as we come home. You need to… oh, I’m too tired to talk hockey, so if it isn’t hockey you’re calling about, wassup… s’okay little one, I’m here,” he murmured, and I realized that last part wasn’t for me as I heard the soft burbling of Lottie letting Ten know exactly what she wanted. My little sister had it so easy, bottle, poop, sleep, and all on her own schedule, no messy relationship stuff at all.
“Nothing, it’s all good,” I lied.
“You know you can talk to your step-dad, little Ryker.”
“Go fuck yourself, Ten.”
Ten chuckled, murmured to Lottie, and then sighed. “Are you and Jacob fighting again?”
“What? No. Of course not,” I lied again. Why was I lying?
“Okay then, Lottie and I have an appointment with the sofa, you want me to keep you on hands-free so you can talk about whatever has you still awake?”
Did I? What could I say to Ten? Hell, I didn’t even know what I would have said to Dad, let alone Ten, who wasn’t that much older than me. What did Ten know about life and love and marriage?
Apart from being ridiculously happy with Dad, enjoying a glowing career with a team who only just missed the Stanley Cup, and caring for a new baby with the man he loves. No bigshot endlessly rich scientific innovator ready to save the Earth was going to come along and steal Ten from my Dad. Shit.
“Nah, it’s all good, say hi to Dad for me. Night, Ten.” How I kept my tone steady I didn’t know, because that random thought about what might have been at the core of all of this took my breath. I’d known why I lost it so easily, and it wasn’t about sex, or sleep, or not seeing Jacob—it was the specters in our lives. Adam and his job, and his demands on Jacob’s time, and Tate on the team. And the wedding. And the pain in my hip from a bad check. None of my worries ever stopped.
“Night, Ry.” Ten cut the call, and for the longest time I stared at the screen.
Someone banged on the car window, scaring the shit out of me, and I leapt up so fast I smacked my head on the interior. Adrenalin spiked, and I grabbed the keys to get out of here, then realized it was a cop. I turned on the power then lowered my window.
“Hi, Officer,” I said, and I swear that there was guilt dripping off every single syllable.
“License and registration, sir?”
“Sure, absolutely, hang on.” I retrieved both items slowly and carefully, light flashing briefly in my eyes, enough to make me blink and see stars.
“Not a good game for you guys tonight, Mr. Madsen,” the cop said after a pause—all conversational as if he hadn’t just scared the hell out of me and caused me to lose a year of my life.
“No, Boston was tough. We weren’t,” I admitted, falling into a familiar conversation.
“I have season tickets,” the cop admitted, “bad luck last season.”
“Yeah, we were close.”
He handed back my documents. “You want to tell me what you’re doing in a parking lot at one a.m.?”
“Thinking about the bad game,” I lied.
He patted the roof. “The plate was called in by three separate concerned citizens, and you’re on CCTV, so you might want to do your thinking back at home. Let’s move this along, okay?”
“Yes, sir, Officer, of course.” I started the engine and had my finger nearly to the window control when he tapped my roof.
“Also, tonight’s game? The buck stops with you, Madsen, stop hogging the puck,” he suggested and then sauntered away.
I felt like a kid whose peewee coach was telling me to play fair. I was used to fans critiquing my game, and sometimes they were right. He was right. I had so much to prove, to Brady, to the Boston team as a whole, to Coach who told me my head wasn’t in the game, to Jacob proving I was a better man than Adam. To Tate, who probably saw me as second fiddle. Shit, I was a mess. Then I’d frozen out Alex, leading him to dive in front of the puck. His bruised ribs were all on me. Then I’d taken that whole shit fest home even though I promised myself I wouldn’t, and all it had taken was for Jacob to mention Adam and that was it, I spiraled like a stupid ass kid with no filter.
“And I want a wedding to be proud of. Not some hayseed hootenanny in some miserable barn?”
I groaned at my stupidity. Who even says something like to that to their fiancé, when the whole reason I’d fallen in love with him was because he was so grounded? He was my touchstone, the person who kept me tethered so I didn’t do stupid things like lose my shit over one crappy game.
But what if I’d fucked up too much this time and he didn’t need me anymore? What if Adam was showing him a good time in among the seed reports and the business meetings? What if the gorgeous, rich innovator was making moves on Jacob? Was a wedding to impress everyone else what we should’ve been aiming for? Why was I even doing this?
I drove home in a fog, thankful that every light went my way, and that I didn’t get pulled over for cruising the neighborhood in my aimless fashion, until finally I was back at the apartments and turned the engine off. My highly impractical sleek black car looked so wrong next to Jacob’s truck, and I’d never seen anything sadder than those two next to each other. I was flash and money and selfish jealousy, he was solid and stable and working so hard for what he wanted. I knew I worked hard as well, but he had so much on his plate, all the projects and the late night calls and the impossible deadlines.
All I’d done was lose a fucking game, and I was part of the problem in the team.
Jacob loved me, I knew he did, and every couple had arguments; hell, I was sure Dad and Ten argued about things, although I’d never seen it myself. Pulling out my cell, I sent a quick message to Alex, apologizing for the situation I’d put him in, another to Coach explaining I needed to talk to him about the Boston game and pre-empting him calling me into the office, then a final one to Vlad with an apology for being an ass. The only one who replied was Coach, who suggested I wait until Monday and that we all had bad games, and that I needed to leave whatever was messing with my head outside the arena. I didn’t reply with a quip about why he was up so late, because we’d lost, and he was probably restless with questions about what had gone wrong.
Aren’t we all.
Then, there was nothing for it, I had to go up and face Jacob, apologize for being an idiot and not accuse him of something shit, like choosing Adam over me. The devil in my head whispered that Jacob had said some awful things as well, and that he had blown off our one special day together, but the angel in my heart shoved that little red asshole aside. By the time I made it to our apartment I was fried, physically and emotionally, but I needed to climb into bed with Jacob, wake him up, hold him tight, and promise him the world all over again.