“Brooks,” I say softly.
He holds up a hand. “It’s fine. I accepted a long time ago that I wasn’t good for her. But—”
“Now, you have to see her every day.”
It’s hard for me to believe that the brother who’s always supported me, who makes me laugh, and has one of the kindest hearts I know, wouldn’t be good for someone. But he’s struggled with depression and addiction for half his life, mainly in secret. Even now, while in recovery, he still can’t see himself as I do.
“You’re a different person now,” I say.
He sharply shakes his head. “I’m not. I have better tools at my disposal, that’s all. But I’ll always have the same brain. I can’t change that.”
“Well, I like who you are. I’m sure this woman will too, once she gets to know you better.”
He laughs hollowly. “She hates me, especially now that I’m encroaching on her domain.”
“Wes and I didn’t like each other at first.”
“So, you admit it,” Brooks says. “You have feelings for him.”
I throw my head back. “Oh, my God, stop.” I point a finger at him. “And don’t think you can turn this around on me.”
“Can I offer you advice?” He strides into the kitchen, snagging a glass from the cabinets.
“Breaking my mind this morning hasn’t been fun enough for you?”
He opens the fridge and begins filling the water from his filtration container. “Don’t fuck it up. You deserve the best, I. Let yourself have it.”
I lean against the counter, taking a long sip of my coffee. “So, what? I should throw caution to the wind, let some guy whose presence I couldn’t stand—”
He holds up a hand. “Be serious. You never couldn’t stand him. You hated that you liked him. And Wes seems good for you.”
“Well, this has been fun, but I’m going to get ready to see the guy who’s apparently in love with me.” I gesture behind me, over my shoulders. “Don’t want to look like a shlub.”
Brooks shakes his head a little, clearly exasperated with how I sidestepped this conversation.
“I’ve gotta go into town for an appointment. I can drive you in…fifteen minutes?”
“Sure, if you zip it on the love talk.”
“It wouldn’t bother you if it isn’t true,” Brooks croons as I stride toward my room.
I give him the middle finger. His answering laughter chases me down the hall, but it’s his words that linger far longer.
Wes’s car is the only one in the lot when Brooks drops me at the rink thirty minutes later. I find him smacking pucks into the net from the blue line with an impressive amount of concentration.
He’s so focused that he doesn’t hear me enter the rink, not turning until I’m halfway through lacing up my skates. Within seconds, he’s in front of me.
“Hey.” One side of his lips tugs up.
He looks fucking hot decked out in his hockey gear, sweat-soaked brown hair hovering above his collarbone. His cheeks pink from exertion. I want to jump him.
“Hey.” I return his smile.
He slides onto the bench next to me. “How long have you been here?”
“A few minutes. I wasn’t sure it was safe to interrupt your display.”
“You can always interrupt me, Isla.”
