“Yeah, well, you’re not my type either.” I rolled my eyes and stood up.
Jackson raised his brows at me like he could read my mind. “We both know that’s the truth. We obviously have the same type.”
I really wanted a hot shower and a hot meal right now. But I also needed to speak to Dean, too. “Grab something to eat with me when I’m done washing up?”
He nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”
I LOVED PLAYING HOCKEY. It was what I wanted to do the first time I put on skates and held a stick in my hand, but what I didn’t like were the puck bunnies. The desperate women who thought they could sleep with a hockey player, convince them to fall in love, and marry them. Unfortunately, it was something that came with the game. And as Jax and I left the arena, there were plenty of them waiting outside.
“Jackson! Is it true you’re engaged to the drummer from Mulligan Downtown, Maverick Frost?”
“Jax! Can I get a picture?”
“Beau, can I get a picture with you and Jackson?”
“Beau, how about I give you my number for later?”
We ignored them, because it’s what you had to do. Most of them were there when we showed up for practice and would still be there when we showed up for the game later this evening. Some of them would travel to the next game in Montreal. How they could afford to go from game to game was beyond me, but that was none of my business. There was a time, after I lost Trish and I was lost, I might have engaged in it. A lot of us did, but now I was older and a lot wiser. Before I met my late wife, I’d had myshare of one-night stands, but I didn’t do that anymore. And I had Dean now.
We slipped into the waiting Uber. “Jesus, they don’t know when to do stop, do they?” Jackson muttered. “How did they even find out about Maverick? We haven’t told anyone but our friends and family.”
I shook my head. “They’re vultures, man. They found out about Cole before Trish and I even announced his name to the press. They’re better than any private detective out there.”
Jackson didn’t say anything as he stared out the window of the car, and I knew he was worried about Maverick. He was already struggling with his mental health. “Do you want to take a raincheck on lunch? Do you need to call your fiancé? I totally understand if you need to make sure he’s okay.”
“I mean, he was going to hang out with Sam today. Your sister is good with him.” Jax dragged a hand through his auburn curls. “I’m just nervous Maverick is going to look at social media and see something that might upset him.”
I nodded. “Sam can handle Maverick. They were going to breakfast...” And that’s when I realized I hadn’t checked my own phone. I yanked it from my pocket.
Sam:You’ll never guess who we ran into at breakfast this morning, big brother.
And right there was a picture of Maverick, Dean, Sam, and Cole. Son of a bitch.
Sam:You didn’t tell me Dean was friends with my nephew. You wouldn’t happen to know where those hickeys came from, would you? The four of us are heading to my place so I can fix Dean’s hair.
“Why do you look like that?” Jackson asked.
I showed him the picture, and he threw his head back, laughing. “I don’t know why you think this is so damn funny.”
“It’s a little funny. I mean, if you and Dean are going to do whatever it is you’re doing, you have to start telling people. They’re going to figure it out,” Jackson reminded me as the car pulled up in front of the restaurant.
I huffed. “She’s going to make me suffer.”
“Isn’t that what siblings are for?” He held the door for me as we went inside. The scent of fried food hit me hard, and my stomach growled in protest. How long had it been since I had a big, fat greasy cheeseburger? It didn’t matter. I would stick to my diet because that’s what I did.
Once we were seated, our food ordered and water before us, I leaned toward him. “Speaking of siblings, how’s your brother? You ever see him?”
“He’s not good.” Jackson chewed on his bottom lip. “He’s back home with my parents now, but I don’t think he’ll ever play again.”
Tom, Jackson’s younger brother, had a hockey accident which had left him horribly injured and with a serious case of PTSD. “Do you talk to him at all?”
“We text when Tom wants to text. Which isn’t often. He only goes out to his therapy appointments.” Jackson sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. “He’s angry. I get that, but he’s not going to get better by hiding away in Canfield the way he does.”
I couldn’t even imagine what that was like. I had seen the highlight reel. Hell, everyone had. It was gruesome. “You should go see him.”
“I’m planning on it. I want Tom to be my best man.”
My phone buzzed again, and when I opened it, it was a picture of Dean with his hair damp with green hair dye, a big grin on his face. My heart thumped against my chest as a smile slid over my face.
