“For personal trainers?” Oliver’s eyebrows scrunch up as he gnaws on a jumbo turkey wing that’s dripping with sauce. “I can’t imagine that there’d be a huge market out here for personal trainers. Especially for guys like you who’ve made a career working with pro-level hockey players.”
Rocco just shakes his head. “I don’t have to limit myself to working with pro hockey players,” he says in that stubborn way of his. “I could work anywhere, with anyone.”
“Well, you’ll probably be taking a big salary cut.” Easton gulps from his jumbo plastic cup.
“It’s not all about money,” Rocco argues. “Sometimes you just need a change.”
“And you still won’t tell uswhyyou suddenly need this change?” Oliver shakes his head. “Why you’re willing to give up your spot with one of the best hockey teams in the league? Just throwing it all away?”
Rocco growls with frustration. “Look—all I know is that I need something new. Something different. Because the way I’ve been doing things, it’s not working for me anymore. Sometimes, a man just needs to be honest with himself and admit that the old way just isn’t a fit for who he’s becoming. And it’s time to grow the hell up and do the hard thing.”
My mind swirls.What the hell is he running from…?
Easton pushes out a heavy breath. “I can talk until I’m blue in the face, but at the end of the day, you’re going to do whatever you think is right for you, little brother. I can only hope that you make the right decision.”
Rocco nods slowly, thoughtfully. “Yeah. I just know it’s time for me to stop being scared and follow where my gut leads me.”
“Hopefully, your gut doesn’t lead you to the unemployment line,” Oliver mutters, and Rocco smacks the back of his head.
On a laugh, Easton looks across the park. His face instantly lights up. “Holy shit! There’s my girl!” he shouts when he finally notices Alba with her group of friends across the way. “Babe! Babe!” He waves an arm in the air. Without a glance back, he’s out of his seat and running to meet up with his wife.
When Alba sees him, she runs and leaps into his arms. He catches her, spinning her around before they promptly start making out.
Rocco chuckles. “That guy is a fucking goner. Whipped, I tell you.”
Staring in that direction, my eyes catch Jules’s again. I’m sitting over here, salivating over her like a dumbass with zero self-control. Meanwhile, she glares long and hard at me before dismissively looking away again.
Take a hint, loser. She doesn’t like you. Especially not after last night.
Why is it I have no common sense when it comes to that woman? My mind goes back to mistake number one—telling Jules I care about her. I should have kept my cards close to my chest. It’s just that, in that still, quiet living room as we were sitting alone in the dark, I felt like I could let my guard down and be real with her for once.
But all I did was give her ammunition. Now I’m holding my breath, waiting to see how she’ll use those bullets against me.
Oliver points his chin over to that side of the park. “Hey. Isn’t that Jules?”
“Yeah,” I mumble bitterly, taking a gulp from my bottle of ginger ale.
“Aren’t you gonna go say ‘hi’?” He stares at me, clearly confused.
I grab a wing and gnaw on it violently. “Nah. I’m giving her space.” The piece of chicken I’m eating tastes like cardboard. I slather it with honey mustard sauce. That doesn’t help.
Oliver’s eyebrow jerks upward. “You’re giving her space? The day before your wedding?”
When I say nothing, Rocco shakes his head, scrunching up a napkin and throwing it at me. “Look, Oliver. There’s something we need to tell you.”
“What?” our youngest brother asks cluelessly.
I sit there, forcing myself to eat while Rocco basically spills all my business. He tells Oliver that my upcoming nuptials are fake, that Jules and I are getting married with less than pure intentions.Big mouth.I thought he promised to keep this between us.
I don’t try to stop him, though. At this point, I’ll take any words of wisdom I can get. Even from my youngest brother.
But I don’t get wisdom. Instead, Oliver leans across the table and shoves my shoulder.
“Again, I droveeight hoursfor this?!” he barks.
“Sorry,” I mumble.
“So,that’swhy you’ve been looking constipated all day,” he muses with a look of disgust on his face.
