“Never let anything go when it comes to protecting my team.” I hold his gaze. “Or the people I care about.”
Jonah snorts, but it lacks the edge from earlier. “Is this your roundabout way of saying you care about my sister?”
“No.” I set my glass down. “This is my direct way of saying I’m in love with her.”
The words hang in the air, simple and true. I’ve never said them aloud before, but they feel right.
Jonah’s eyebrows shoot up, genuine surprise replacing anger. Then his expression shutters again. “Love? That’s a big word for someone who pushed her out the door the minute she mentioned LA.”
“I was protecting her.” I run a hand through my hair, frustrated. “From me, from my mess, from...”
“I know.” Jonah leans forward, his voice low and intense. “So was I, but here’s the problem. You’re both miserable without each other. I can see it. Hell, everyone can see it.”
“But there’s LA.”
Jonah rolls his eyes. “There’s no fucking LA—there never was. My sister didn’t even make it forty-eight hours there. That place represents everything she’s not.”
“Oh.” My heart lifts with hope. “Sydney...” I struggle to find words adequate to explain what she means to me. “She makes me want to be better. On and off the ice.”
It’s the easiest truth I know.
Understanding dawns in Jonah’s eyes. Another silence stretches between us, leaving only the sound clinking glasses, murmured conversations, and thrums of music.
Finally, Jonah calls me on my shit. “Then grow a pair and go tell her everything. That’s my sister, man. She deserves to know the truth and make her own choice.”
“You sure you mean that?”
“You’re Brooks Kingston. The guy who drove three hours in a snowstorm to pick me up when my car broke down. The guy who sat with my mom all night in the hospital when Dad had his heart attack.” He leans forward, his gaze intense. “Underneath the bullshit, you’re a good guy.”
The words hit me with force.
He continues. “I think my sister wants to be with the guy who makes her laugh. With that snort thing she does. The guy who blew her mind with some orgasmic coffee and taught her how to skate backward.” He pauses, his expression turning hard. “But she can’t make that choice if you don’t tell her the truth. All of it. No more secrets, no more noble self-sacrifice bullshit.”
I nod slowly, the weight of his words settling into my bones. “You’re right.”
“Of course I’m right,” Jonah says, his usual cockiness returning. “I’m always right. Especially about my sister.”
“Nope, not even close.”
We both laugh, the sound easing the last of the tension between us. When it fades, Jonah’s expression turns serious again, and so does mine. The fear that’s been gnawing at me since this all started finally breaks free. “So you want your sister to be with me, even if it means she ends up with a dying man?”
Jonah reaches across the table, gripping my shoulder. “Yeah. I do, brother.” His eyes gloss. “I’d rather see her with someone she loves and loves her back, even if it can’t last.”
I stare down at my hands, overwhelmed. Years of protective big brother instincts warring with the desire to see his sister and best friend happy. Even if it has toend long before it should.
I fight back emotion as I raise my glass. “To a new bro code?”
“To you and Syd.” Jonah clinks his empty glass against mine.
33
Head Games
BROOKS
Hockey rinks have a smell that’s impossible to describe to someone who’s never spent half their life in one—ice and sweat and rubber and hope, all mingled together in a scent that hits me like a physical force as I step into The Boise Arena. Home. The word floats through my mind, and I try to shove it back down where it belongs.
Is this home? I’m not even sure now, with my shoulder held together by prayers and medical tape. But the crowd doesn’t know that. To them, I’m still The King, the prodigal son coming back to save the Trout’s up and down season. If only they knew how close I am to shattering into a million pieces, right here on the freshly Zamboni’d ice.
