“Haven’tyou had enough to drink?” Josh Grentley stands by the galvanized metal tub full of Iron City beer, arms crossed, as if he's been assigned to guard the contents.
“Are you fucking serious right now? This is my brother’s wedding.” I shove him aside and reach for one of the bottles. I wasn’t even planning to have another one until this asshole decided to insert himself.
I was aiming for the cucumber water since I’m already drunker than I wanted to be, sweating in my dress shirt and loose tie.
I twist off the cap and flick it right at Grentley, laughing into the neck of the bottle when the cap bounces off his shoulder and hits the deck with a clink. He scrunches up his face, nostrils flaring.
“You going to do something about it? Here?” I gesture around the sea of Stags and all the rest of our teammates.
He stares at me for long enough that I worry I missed him saying something, but then he stoops, picks up the cap, and slides it into his pocket. “We were both in the team meeting, Stag. It takes sacrifice and discipline to be a champion.”
I want to pour my beer on his shoes, maybe pee on his pants while I’m at it. But my mother is here, and I have just enough dignity left to walk away.
“I thought so,” he says, when I turn toward the party.
Oh, fuck this guy sideways. I drop the beer and grab his shirt. “You think I don’t know how to win, asshole? I already beat you, and you didn’t even know there was a prize.”
“You’re drunk, Tucker.” He wrests his shirt from my grasp and runs his hands down his chest while I look around, not sure what to do with the rage throbbing beneath my skin.
A knock on the deck railing behind me makes me jump.
"Tuck? You good?" Alder's voice carries concern. I relax all the way down to my cells and drape an arm around his shoulders. My twin takes one look at my face, and his expression shifts from concerned to alarmed.
"What happened?"
"Nothing. Just—" I run a hand through my hair, making it stand up even more. "I need to get some air."
Grentley shoves past us, striding toward the grass, where he stands facing the river with his hands shoved in his pockets. I move to follow.
"Tucker." Alder blocks my path, using the same immovable presence that makes him an elite defenseman. "What's going on?"
I glance around the party. This isn't the place for this conversation.
"Not here," I say.
He studies me for a long moment, then nods. “Let’s walk.”
Gunny and Emerson got married in the backyard of their apartment building, right along the Allegheny River. Alder leads me along the gravel path away from the extended Stag family. String lights twinkle overhead, and the setting sun casts everything in gold. But I feel like I’m wearing lead shoes.
"Talk," he says, sitting down on a bench and fixing me with that twin-telepathy stare that says he already knows this is serious.
I stand and stare at the river, thinking about Grentley’s stupid face, about Sloane coming around my cock. The water makes me remember the pool, talking to Sloane in the sunshine, thinking I found myself an actual,living goddess.
I can’t tell my brother about any of this. And I know he’s hiding shit from me, too.
Why the hell did Sloane have to be married to Grentley of all people?
My goalie. The guy on my team who treats everyone like they're gum on his shoe. The guy who's been extra hostile toward me all season, though I'd chalked that up to his general asshole demeanor.
I hooked up with my teammate's ex-wife. Twice.
And I knew it was a terrible idea. And I did it anyway.
And, god, if given the chance, I’d do it again.
“I know you’re banging the dentist,” I say, rather than air my own hockey gloves.
He kicks me. “Knock it off. Don’t talk about her that way.”
