“Shoulder?” I ask under my breath, so Dad doesn't hear and restart the argument about Slade needing to take better care of himself.
“It's fine.”
“It’s not fine,” Dad says, from across the kitchen. So much for Dad not hearing. Can’t get anything past that crafty old man.
Slade's jaw tightens. “It's fine enough.”
“He won't see the team doctor,” Dad says, from behind his coffee cup. “It’s that man’s job to tell you when you’re pushing it too hard.”
“No, his job is to shoot cortisone into my shoulder between periods so I can finish the game.” He rolls his shoulder back. “I’ll get the surgery after the season’s over.”
Tanner slides a mug of coffee Slade’s way. “Here you go. Dark and bitter, just like you. Hey, we gotta start planning your retirement party. I’m thinking we go for a big crowd. Balloons. How do you feel about pink? Or rainbow? Maybe a giant cake that one of your favorite puck bunnies can pop out of. Throw some glitter on you before she takes you up to your room for some TLC.”
If there were ever a more nightmarish scenario devised to torture Slade, I can’t think of one.
Slade’s glower gets darker and darker as Tanner talks. “Keep your balloons and bunnies to yourself.”
Tanner shakes his head. “So sensitive.”
“So fucking dead if you try it,” Slade replies.
Tanner just grins. “Seriously, man, you gotta lighten up a little. What good is all the money and the fame if you can’t have a little fun with it?” His green eyes turn to me. All of us have the same eyes. Our mother’s green eyes. Despite the color being identical, they look different on every one of us. On Tanner they're mischievous and laughing. On me and Slade they're not.
“Same goes for you, old man,” Tanner tells me. “At least youusedto be fun.”
I think of my son. My failed marriage. My career starting to run me instead of the other way around.
I tell him, “Some of us had to grow up, T.”
Tanner's easy grin doesn't fade so much as sharpen. He sets his mug down.
“That so.” His tone is still light and easy, but those eyes are narrowed in anger and challenge. “Because last I checked, growing up and turning into a miserable bastard aren't the same thing. But hey.” He spreads his hands. “What do I know. I'm just the baby bro.”
Slade's eyes move between us, icy and assessing. He's spentfifteen years on ice feeling this, the half-second before a fight breaks out. He looks almost interested.
Dad clears his throat.
He’s spent his life letting us brothers mostly work it out amongst ourselves. His rule used to be, “don’t come to me unless you’re bleeding.” Then it became “don’t come to me unless the blood is spurting.”
That’s life with three boys, I suppose. Four boys, if you count Rafe. Although he’s always been the only sensible one among us.
Dad says, lightly, “Won’t be no balloons or strange women or glitter getting tracked around Wild Rose. Scares the horses. Pollutes the ecosystem.”
Tanner snorts despite himself.
Just like that, the tension goes out of the room.
Slade turns to me. “How’s my nephew?”
“Jonah’s good. Really good, actually. Starting to read.”
“No shit?” Tanner chimes in. “How’d you get him over the hump?”
“Wasn’t me,” I say. “It was my nanny.”
I change the subject before Tanner can get his teeth into it. These are my brothers. They know me too well and see too much.
Besides, I don't have the right words for Sadie Sullivan yet. Or maybe I do, and they're all the wrong ones.Gorgeous. Sweetheart. Brat.
