I’m an NHL player on the same team as my brother. My twin. The best person I know. Not many people get that lucky, but I did. I know it hasn’t been easy for him to adjust, but he’s getting there. He’s always suffered from anxiety, but being away from family and in the big leagues has been really hard on him. I worry that he won’t be able to handle it or overcome his apprehension. Doesn’t help that our mom is encouraging him to come home. She worries for him like any mother would, but sometimes I think she doesn’t give him a chance to really feel what he is feeling. She assumes, and it makes him feel what she thinks he feels. I just want my brother to play on the same sheet of ice as me and for us to live our dreams together as the lethal duo we are.
Once I pass the arena, I head toward the coastline. My grandma and grandpa on my dad’s side own a beach house out here. They were going to sell it to my cousin Amelia, who is actually married to the captain of the IceCats, Chandler Moon, but Amelia and Chandler found a bigger house for their growing family farther up the coast. They just moved a couple weeks ago, which opened it up for Evan and me. Since we have always shared a room, it left a room for Dart. Now the three of us are living our best lives in a killer beach home with no rent because my grandma and grandpa spoil the shit out of us kids.
Amelia did a lot to the beach house when she was living in it. She painted it a coastal blue with gray shutters. Added an awesome new deck to the back and painted all the rooms fun, beachy colors. I think her plan was to make it an Airbnb. Sorry, cuz. Your baby cousins are taking over. Evan and I share the master, with our two full beds. We’re made fun of, but I don’t think people really think about the fact that we’ve been together since the womb. I hardly go anywhere without Evan. We have the same friends, the same likes, the same taste in everything. We just feel more comfortable together, and for me, it’s not weird.
It’s normal.
But if you ask my date from hell, I’m sure she’ll disagree.
I pull into the driveway on the left, so that if Evan needs to leave, he can. I can’t remember if he has therapy later this evening or if he already went. He tried calling, but I was on my date. Or, sorry, my Spanish inquisition. I get out, locking my doors, and head inside. I find Evan on the couch, watching some sports highlights. I shut the door behind me. “Hey, bro.”
“Hey,” he answers, reaching for the remote and turning off the TV. “I’m guessing since you’re back, the date didn’t go well?”
I give him a dry look. “Did you know my one dimple is a deformity?”
He grins, mirroring me to a tee. Well, except he has two dimples. “Actually, dimples are a genetic mutation. Doesn’t matter if you have one or two.”
“So, we’re deformed?”
He smirks. “Yes, but I’ve never been told that. Only that I’m adorable.”
I roll my eyes. Evan is the model of the two of us. His eyes are a greenish-blue, while mine are blue-blue. We’re both massive in height, with matching dark hair, but I’m stockier. I don’t have the muscle definition he has. Pretty sure I have a thyroid disease like my mom and sister, but I refuse to find out the truth. I just stay a wee bit chubby and use that weight to knock people into the boards. I may not look fit, but I’m fast as hell and know how to use my body to my advantage. I’ve always had a rounder face than Evan. His is more chiseled, but again, I’m not lacking in the good looks department. He may be adorable, but I’ve had girls call me “Daddy” on more than one occasion.
“Well, that’s good to know,” I say, grabbing a soda out of the fridge. After taking a long pull of it, I look over at Evan and immediately notice that something isn’t right. “What’s wrong?”
I’m surprised I didn’t notice at first that his shoulders were slack and he has a wrinkle in his brow. He swallows hard, meeting my gaze. “I had therapy today, and it wasn’t good.”
I come into the living room, sitting on the arm of the couch before putting my feet on the cushions. Dread eats me from within as I ask, “Okay, what happened?”
He hesitates only for a second because he isn’t talking to someone he doesn’t trust. He’s talking to me. His person. “We can’t find a medication to help with my anxiety. I—” He stops, taking in a deep breath. “I may be done.”
All the blood drains from my face. “Done?”
“With pro. It’s too much pressure,” he insists, and I know it is for him. “I don’t even love it anymore, Owen.”
“No way. You love it.”
But he shakes his head. “I don’t. I’m struggling, man.”
My stomach clenches. “Fuck.”
“I know,” he agrees, the emotion thick in his voice.
It hurts my heart to hear him say that. “Are you sure?”
“It’s hard. I know I love it, but I get so overwhelmed before I even hit the ice. I want so badly to be able to go out there and play my game, but I feel like I’m just going to let everyone down.”
“But you won’t, Ev. You are an incredible player. Everyone is proud of you. I mean, we drafted together.”
“Because of you, Owen. Come on, they wanted you, and they knew I was attached.”
“That’s not true. You’re awesome.”
“I don’t feel like I am. I’ve lost all my confidence, which is something I’ve been working on with the doctor, but I’m struggling, dude.”
I swallow past the lump in my throat. “So, what’s the plan? Are you going to quit? Go home?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. I have another appointment tomorrow, and my doctor wants you to come with me.”
I meet his gaze, and I can see the fear in his eyes. He’s terrified. He may not enjoy playing right now, but I truly believe it’s from the anxiety, and if we can get that under control, everything would be fine. “Absolutely. I’m there.”
“Thank you.”
“Can you hang in there for another month? See if we can fix this?”
He doesn’t meet my gaze, which gives me my answer.
No.
But he mumbles, “Yes.”
He says it for me, to help me cope with what’s about to happen.
Problem is, how am I supposed to cope with my twin quitting our sport?
Chapter Three
Angie
* * *
As the sun peeks through the leaves of plants I’ve strategically placed to keep unwanted onlookers from seeing inside, I yawn loudly. I stretch my limbs, my fingers, and my toes, taking in deep, lung-filling breaths. I hear movement outside of my door, but I pay it no mind. I never expected to share a living space like the one I’m in. I adore London Cross. I met her the day I joined the program over at the IceCats’ compound. She’s been working for Dr. Tembalt for three years and actually voted for me out of all the applicants. I guess my own struggles with all the fun stuff that plagues me daily won her over.
Not sure if I should be proud of that or not.
Either way, London is an incredible person. Extremely smart, beautiful, and perfect in all senses of the word. She’s the hottie in the mental health ward, as I hear her called over and over again. I don’t disagree or even doubt the sentiment. She is, and she’s a great person to boot.