“Oh…M…”
“The boys have your back and their Slayers are at the helm, ready to do anything, buy anything, deliver anything needed, and so forth.”
Jukes politely nods. “Appreesh.”
“Now, as thebrotherof the Slayer you have…” M suddenly sits up a little higher, t-shirt covered torso noticeably straightening, “I wanna extend my apologies for your suffering.” A sympathetic head shake is given. “Losing someone you love is not the type of shit you’re ever prepared for even when you’re theoretically given time to become prepared for it.”
“It really ain’t.”
“And I also wanna apologize for what I said to you. About you. How I said it. Treated you. The sitch. Th-”
“Don’t.”
“What?”
“Don’t.”
M and I swiftly cut our stares over to the smiling, weary faced individual sitting next to me.
“Look, Coach-”
“Mil,” my best friend casually corrects.
Thayne tilts his head to the side in question.
“When we’re off the ice and not in the barn and don’t have crests on our chests, call me Mil, like my fam does.” He folds his hands together on the counter space in front of him. “And I’ll call you Thayne like my sis does.”
“She calls me Jukes,” he teasingly announces and shoots me a wink, “but the rest of your fam calls me Thayne.”
His eyes relocate to me. “Ourentirefamily knows?”
“Yeah…” I guiltily confess. “Mom and Dad found out first.”
“And they managed to keep this shit a secret?!”
“Impressive, right?!”
“For Dad, especially! You remember how hard it was for him to keep even Christmas presents a surprise?” Post us sharing in laughter, a feeling I have admittedly missed and one I need now more than ever, M questions, “Now, why don’t you want me to apologize for being a fucking pheasant? You wanna drop the gloves? Sort it out that way?” His shoulders innocently shrug. “We can.”
“No.” My finger point is immediate and firm. “No.”
“Nah,” Jukes sweetly brushes off at the same time he gently pulls me closer by my shoulder to resume being in his arms, “one tilly a season’s plenty for me.”
“Then…what?”
“Ain’t no need to apologize ‘cause despite bein’ a coachnow, you’re a d-man.”
M’s mouth slightly cracks in response.
“And you’ll always be one at heart.”
My brother fights the urge to grin.
“That’s all you were tryin’ to do for your sis, and I can’t hate on that even if I do wish you would’ve given me a little more Aretha.”
“What?”
“Respect,” effortlessly gets interjected by me.
