Liam opens the chips and pushes them across the counter for me. Pierce has dropped one hand, but he hasn’t let go yet. And I don’t want him to. I don’t feel right, and it’s freaking me out. But I can’t talk about it just yet. It’s like Pierce knows that, like he knows I just need to come down for a bit.
There’s a full sandwich-making station coming together on the island counter. If it weren’t so late, Liam would have been taking out steaks.
I try not to sigh as I lean into Pierce’s hand. He traces my bottom lip again, and I close my eyes. I just don’t want to see the concern there. Things haven’t been right for a while now. I haven’t been right. And we’ve been walking on eggshells since our pack anniversary dinner.
Pierce hates the fuss, but he gives into it for Liam. And I think Liam always wants to make a big deal about our pack anniversary for me. We became a pack just as I got signed to the league. I got traded after my first season and was devastated. It was my childhood dream to play for Detroit, and it was a blow to know they didn’t want me. The Scorpions signed me, with a raise even,and we spent that first off-season basically burning through that money. Liam made us all get dressed up for our first anniversary here, and we make it a ritual to go back to the same place every year.
Except this year, it was awful. Pierce was late and was a dick about it. He and Liam fell into a weird pattern of being chipper but not actually talking to each other, like they were filtering their conversation through me. I caught them more than once having a hushed shouting match through gritted teeth and then acting as if nothing was wrong. So, I called them out on it. Pierce got pissy and stormed out of the restaurant. Liam followed, as usual.
Pierce finally lets go as Liam puts a plate in front of me. Roast beef, provolone, and salami on a hoagie roll. I look down at the food. Liam knows exactly how I like my sandwiches. And how I like my shirts folded when he does my laundry. That I want the left side of the bed when we sleep together. We’ve been a pack for eight years. He knows everything about me. I’m an open book, but sometimes I feel like they aren’t.
Pierce and Liam grew up together. They can do that thing where they have a whole conversation with raised eyebrows and half-smiles. I met them one summer while I was at a hockey clinic. They were over the top and instantly became the only thing I cared about besides hockey. And when their best friend died in a horrific car accident, they took off for a fresh start and joined me in Detroit.
That first year was rough. They were grieving and dead broke, but it didn’t matter. They threw themselves into my career, helped me train, practice, anything and everything. When we finally settled in Nashville, they built me my own gym for the off-season, then they opened it to other players and their packs. Now, it’s a thriving business.
I roll my shoulder and play with the food on my plate. They’ve nursed my injuries, put me back together when Detroit traded me. And yet, there’s still this wall I can’t get past.
“Tell me what?” I say it quietly as I pick sesame seeds off the bun.
“Nothing, just money stuff,” Pierce says.
Pierce lies.
He has a hang-up about money.
“I make five million dollars a year. There is no money stuff.”
“Drop it.” Pierce flashes to pissed off and storms to the other side of the counter, taking all his warmth with him.
“I can’t do this.” I put my hands on the counter and hang my head.
Liam fidgets and dumps chips on my plate. The crinkling of the bag feels extra loud in the dead silence.
“After eight years, you can still make me feel like an outsider in my own pack.”
“You want me to apologize for dinner again? I’m sorry. I was a shithead. You didn’t deserve that. I’m a bad person.” Pierce crosses his arms and leans against the fridge.
“You ice me out all the time.”
“Don’t be dramatic.”
“I chalk it up to you two growing up together,” I say to my plate. “Childhood trauma bonding and losing Reed.”
I can feel them both flinch when I say his name. I met him that summer too. Reed had more confidence than anyone I’ve ever met. But he was cool-headed, where Pierce was not. They presented as alphas the same week, or so they said. And when he died in that car crash, they were both devastated. Hell, I was too. Having spent the summer running around with them in between training, I was in love with him too.
“I keep telling you, you’re projecting some weird insecurity,” Pierce says, but Liam cuts him off.
“Let’s not do this.”
“No, let’s. Let’s fucking do this. That is exactly what you said at dinner, and it’s still just as insulting.” I push the plate away. Any desire to eat is gone now. “If I’m being insecure, it’s because you’re making me insecure. It’s like when we first got together all overagain. You two would always whisper behind my back, hiding how much you were hurting over Reed. And then it was all the money bullshit. We’re a pack, it’s all pack money. That’s your insecurity right there.”
Pierce makes a disgusted noise. “I’m not insecure about money. There is no money issue.”
Liam squeezes his eyes shut.
“Then you just lied to me. Both of you.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Let’s not do this right now. Finish your sandwich and go to bed.” Pierce throws his hands up and stomps toward the door.
