Butshedid.
“A brother,” I slowly repeat.
She nods gently. “I don’t know his name. I wouldn’t allow myself to learn it. Why should I burden my mind with uselessinformation? But what Idoremember is that they looked a lot alike. I think they may have been twins. So, you may not have seen Adam today. Maybe you saw his twin brother.”
Hadn’t Bodhi asked me if I knew his manager? He’d said his name was Ashton Dessen. And he seemed strange about it. But…
“They don’t have the same last names,” I realize aloud. Am I losing my mind? Has my lack of sleep finally caught up to me? I bury my face in my palms and groan loudly into them. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”
Kourtney rubs my arms in comfort. “You’ve been working a lot, and it’s close to their anniversary. It could be triggering things. I think about them a lot this time of year. I wonder what they would have been like as grandparents. If they would like Brad. Don’t give me that look. I know you hate him. But he’s been good to me.”
I refrain from rolling my eyes because that won’t end well. I didn’t come here to fight with her.
“The point is,” she says gingerly, “I think about them nonstop. I miss them. Sometimes, I think I see Mom when I’m shopping. Especially when I pass by the yarn aisle.”
Our mother wanted to be a knitter so badly, but she was terrible at it. She’d make us scarves and hats, but they’d have holes in them and fall apart after one wash.
“I didn’t hallucinate him, Kourt,” I defend.
She frowns. “I’m not saying you did.”
“You’re totally saying that!”
She sighs. “Okay, maybe I’m insinuating that it’s apossibility. But maybe you also saw his brother or a close relative. Fairbanks isn’t that big. Everybody knows everybody. We’re infamous around here, just like the Burgess family is for all the wrong reasons. If he did change his name, I can’t say I blame the guy. I wouldn’t want people to know who my brotheris. There was a lot of media coverage on the trial. They televised it for the local news channels.”
I stare down at our conjoined hands and swallow past the lump in my throat. I’d forgotten about the cameras inside the courtroom. There were always reporters outside hoping to speak to us as we’d walk to our car. People would shout questions at us about how we were feeling. I’m pretty sure Kourtney told them to fuck off with their ridiculous questions once. There had been an article in the paper a day later with a picture of her flipping off the camera and a headline aboutherrather than the man who’d taken two lives.
“They would have been obsessed with Luca,” I finally tell her, swiping the back of my wrist along my cheek. “Mom always talked about having a grandbaby to spoil.”
Kourtney nods, a nostalgic, sad smile on her face. “She always wanted a boy to break up the estrogen fest.”
I giggle, remembering her saying that to us. Dad was always quick to agree, adding that he didn’t want a grandbaby anytime soon though. If he were still alive, he’d choose to believe we were both virgins. Even if one of us had a baby.
“Sorry for coming here and blubbering,” I apologize, frowning. I look around her classroom. “Everything looks cute so far.”
She stands, pulling me up. “Since you’re here and probably not showing up to work looking likethatanytime soon, I’ll take advantage of the extra set of hands. Come on.”
I ignore the backhanded comment about my disheveled appearance and spend the next two hours being blissfully distracted by boring science facts while being directed in a million different directions until Adam, Ashton, and work are the last things on my mind.
Even if there’s still a tug that pulls at my gut that says there’s so much more to this story that I don’t know.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Moskins
My muscles screamin the best possible way after three hours of grueling conditioning with the boys. I’d forgotten how much I love the competition that arises in the weight room to push three more reps, go ten pounds heavier than someone else, or run two miles more on the treadmill than the person next to you. It’s nothing compared to the testosterone fest on the ice when we gear up to practice.
People think we’re violent against our rivals, but very few people see the way we slam each other into the boards trying to get the puck. It doesn’t matter who we’re facing off with; we all want to prove ourselves worthy.
“Christ, it’s like you never left,” Clarkson says, clapping me on the back once we get off the ice. He gestures toward the bloodied tissue pressed against my face. “How’s the nose?”
“Doc said it wasn’t broken,” I tell him, voice muffled by the packing. I can still taste the faint metallic tinge of blood on my lips from when Jackie Dawson slammed me into the boards and knocked off my helmet, then had Richie Head run into him until my face met the plexiglass.
I’m assuming their aggression is a combination of adrenaline and the fact that someone named them Jackie Dawson and Richie Head. According to the former, he claimed his mom’s favorite movie wasTitanic, but she wanted her son’s name to be unique. Richie’s parents just hate him, apparently.
I like both the defenseman though. They’re nearly a decade younger than me, and make me feel old as fuck, but they’re good players. Rich is a rookie, and Dawson used to play for the Islanders.
Hoffman took me off the ice to get checked by the team doctor, who’s far too young and attractive to surround herself with the likes of us and not be corrupted. Something tells me it was Mikhail’s personal choice to hire the young blonde who looks a little too much like Winter for my liking. He may give me shit for the things I’ve done, but he’s no better. The only difference is that he’s kept his infidelity under lock and key.
