“Oh, come on,” Holden says. “We can all agree Adrien is the most responsible of the three of us.”
“Only because he’s the most boring.” He looks at Henry and tips his head towards the front seat as if to say, ‘Can you believe these two?’
Henry smiles broadly at him while still zooming his new car around the confines of his seat.
“And what about Daphne? How’s she doing?”
Sergio strains to listen in from the back seat. Last he’d heard, much to Sergio’s relief, Daphne and Adrien were on the rocks.
“Oh, she’s fine,” Adrien says, a hint of sadness in his voice. “She’s been spending the holidays back home in Paris with her family.”
“I’m a little surprised you’re not in Paris with her,” Holden says. “I know this is tradition and all for us to be together for New Year's, but … you’re not obligated, you know.”
“Sure he is,” Sergio says, stopping his tickling of Henry to reach over the back seat to jostle Adrien’s and Holden’s hair simultaneously. “What would New Year’s be without my brothers?”
Brothers who somehow manage to balance each other when they are all together. Holden works as a bit of a salve thatkeeps Sergio’s and Adrien’s rougher edges from slicing through one another. It’s been like this for ages. The three of them are born and raised New Yorkers who grew up together in the same building, on the same top two floors, in two adjacent penthouses. All of them are wildly rich, talented in their own ways, and genetic lottery winners.
The three are brothers in everything but blood.
“I trust you boys can find your rooms,” Holden says, leading them into his well-lit and warm log cabin-style mountain home. He beelines through the house's wide-open floor plan, heading straight for the kitchen.
“Is that damn cat still alive?” Sergio asks.
“Yes,” Holden says. As if summoned, a white and black cat jumps onto one of the stools lining the kitchen island and glares at Sergio, his tail lazily flicking behind him. “Gus is still alive, and he’s taken to sleeping underyourbed. So play nice.”
Holden pulls three beers from the fridge, twists one open, and then places the other two bottles on the counter. He gently strokes between Gus’s ears, causing the cat to purr in Holden’s direction before hissing at Sergio. “I’m gonna take Henry down to the barn to get Rose if either of you wants to come with me.”
Sergio flips off the cat, then grabs one of the bottles. He twists the top off and takes a sip. A broad smile lifts his lips. “Yeah, I’ll join you,” he says, then looks at Adrien. “Could you take my bag to my room?”
“Absolutely not,” Adrien says. He takes the last beer, then makes a swift turn and struts away from them towards the stairs with his suitcase in hand and his head held high. Gus follows him, walking behind just as proudly.
“Rude,” Sergio calls out to his brother.
“Come on, man.” Holden claps Sergio on the shoulder. “He’s on vacation. Let’s not treat him like your errand boy all week.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You kind of were.” Holden squeezes his shoulder, then jostles him slightly before he begins to lead him out the back door. “Come on, Henry,” he calls out, and the kid immediately comes running after them, his feet skidding on the large-planked hardwood floor.
“So what’s the deal with the new skater? Is Rose trying to keep her a secret or something?”
“Nah.” Holden brushes off the question and gestures towards a barn twice the size of their house, nestled between the tall fir trees. “It’s more that everyone involved likes the privacy of the barn over the public rink in town. Besides, this gave me an excuse to buy a proper Zamboni.”
Sergio bursts into laughter. His eyes spark with mischief. “Do you get to drive that thing?”
“All the time!” Holden’s face lights up with glee and a crooked smile. He takes a sip of his beer. “What a rush.”
“A rush?” Sergio laughs some more. “What does it go, five, maybe ten miles an hour?”
“I can get it up to a good twelve if I really hit the gas,” Holden says, nodding his head in continued excitement as he opens the barn’s side door. It’s warmer inside the barn than it is outside, despite it being an ice rink. Now that the sun has gone down, the crisp winter cold has settled in between the tall aspen trees. “I’ll let you take it for a spin if you like.”
Sergio sips his beer and grins around the mouth of the bottle. “I would definitely like.”
“You will definitely not,” Rose says, narrowing her ice-blue eyes at Sergio and sliding in between the two of them to give him a loose, welcoming hug. “I will not have this menace destroy mydream home ice rink.” She lets go of Sergio, picks up Henry and places him on her hip, then turns to look at Holden. She points at him. “You're lucky I let you drive the thing.”
She turns back to Sergio, but he ignores her and moves on. His attention is now focused on the ice. Or rather, who’s on the ice. He’s staring at two people. One is a tiny woman with rich brown skin and a head of dark, tight, corkscrew-curly hair piled high atop her head. Any loose wisps and curls are held in place by a silk scarf tied around her hairline. She’s stunning and perfectly put together despite the fact that it’s nearing seven p.m. and she’s likely been on the ice since eight this morning.
Working with her is an average-sized man with creamy skin, slightly disheveled, warm, light brown hair, and a smackable ass Sergio immediately recognizes as that of Jeremy Owens. They’d carried on a mild flirtation that went nowhere at the last Olympic Games (where both Holden and Rose won gold. Holden technically won two golds that year, but who’s counting?). Jeremy had seemed interested but ultimately brushed Sergio’s advances aside, claiming he needed to focus on the competition and that maybe they could go out for dinner after the games were done. But Sergio had never heard from Jeremy again.
