1
Jude
Ilock my car and make my way across the hospital parking lot. It’s a gorgeous day—the sun is shining in the cloudless sky, and the temperature is a perfect seventy-eight degrees. I’d be bitching about having to spend it indoors if it weren’t for such a good cause. Today I’m doing a meet-and-greet at the children’s hospital with a few of my teammates and the Stanley Cup, the second in a row for the San Francisco Thunder. The only thing that beats lifting that Cup above my head on the ice after our win is sharing it with kids.
Not everyone is back from summer break yet, so it’s a small but excited group. I normally wouldn’t be back in San Francisco yet either, but this hasn’t been a normal summer for me. Nothing has been “normal” for me in a long while. It’s not that things are bad; they’re just…different. And I have been realizing I am not the best with dealing with changes on my own.
The last big change I’d faced in my life was being traded to San Francisco from the Milwaukee Comets, but I didn’t do that alone. They traded my teammate, my best friend since I was seventeen, Levi Casco, as well. And then there was my dad getting sick, but I had my family to go through that with me.
As I reach the sidewalk where the team is gathered, I see my youngest sister and Thunder publicity dynamo, Dixie, pacing a hole in the concrete a few feet from a bunch of guys from the team. I make my way toward her, stopping to hug and high-five a couple of the guys on my way by. Dixie’s got her face buried in her phone, which is typical when she’s working. She doesn’t look up, but somehow she knows I’m coming. As soon as I’m standing beside her, she says, “Are you sober? Are you hung over? Oh, and no hitting on the moms or nurses.”
“Nice to see you too, sis,” I reply and roll my eyes.
The word “sis” finally gets her blue eyes off her phone screen. They land on me with an expression that could wilt flowers. “Do not use that word in public, Jude.”
“Sorry.” I roll my eyes again, and she frowns. “And FYI, I’m sober, and I will keep my dick out of the staff and mothers. Thanks for thinking you have to tell me that, though.”
“Of course I have to tell you that,” Dixie replies matter-of-factly. “Unfortunately, I know your dick and your brain are mortal enemies. Anything your brain says, like‘don’t bang people at team events,’ your dick purposely defies.”
“You are a total weirdo,” I tell her for what’s probably the millionth time since she was born into the family. “And you need to stop saying ‘dick’ in front of me.”
She stops pacing, just out of earshot of the team. She shoves her phone in the pocket of her off-white summer blazer and tilts her head up to hold my eye. “If it makes you feel any better, this is Dixie Wynn, publicist for the San Francisco Thunder, talking, because it’s my job to keep the dick of our best player in its pants at public events. It’s not your sister Dixie Braddock talking. That said, both of us—Dixie Wynn and Dixie Braddock—are still disgusted your Little Jude ended up on the internet.”
“There’s no proof it’s my not-so-little Jude. And you don’t think it’s weird that your job is to keep my dick in my pants?” I can’t help but ask because, damn, she could have gotten a job anywhere else. My two other sisters, Winnie and Sadie, are living and working in our hometown of Toronto.
“Oh, it’s weird,” she agrees and gives me a humorless smile. “But you know what’s really weird? You’re the only player on the entire team who needs to be reminded to keep his dick in his pants at team events. Not even creepy Eddie Rollins needs the reminder.”
Ouch. I must look as wounded by that as I feel, because her expression softens for a second before her eyes dart around to make sure no one is watching. She’s ridiculously anal about keeping the fact that we’re related a secret from the rest of the team. A lot of the management is aware, but no one from the team except Levi knows. It’s kind of weird that no one has guessed. Especially since we have almost identical blue eyes and high cheekbones. We’re both blond too, but my hair is more of a sandy color than hers is.
“We’re scheduled to be inside in five minutes,” Dixie tells me, and I simply nod as her eyes scan the players gathered on the sidewalk. “Where’s Levi? He’s never late. In fact, he’s usually the first one here. Can you call him for me?”
“No.” She frowns at my quick and assertive response.
“He called you a lot this summer,” she counters.
“Yeah, because he thought my dick was on the internet, and management made him,” I reply. Her frown deepens, as does that little crease between her eyebrows she gets when she’s annoyed. The truth is Levi had called me a few times this summer, and some of the calls came before the dick pic scandal. I just ignored them because I was still pissed at him for dating my ex-girlfriend behind my back.
In an effort to avoid Dixie’s judgmental stare, I look away, and my eyes land on Levi. I knew he’d never be late. He’s the same old calm, reliable, emotionless Levi. Only I can’t help but notice as he gets closer, he doesn’t look like that Levi anymore. His posture is loose, his hair longer than I’ve ever seen it, careless stubble covers his jaw, and his smile is light, jovial. Everything about him seems to be the opposite of the cool, emotionally detached, almost moody guy who was my best friend until two months ago. Now he looks like someone I don’t know, and that stings, like a sunburn inside my chest.
He glances up, our eyes connectand he gives me a Levi smile I recognize—tight, small and quick. I smile back, but it isn’t completely authentic. This is what we are now. This is what we’ve become. Best friends with a deep crack running through the foundation of our friendship. One I don’t think can or will ever go away. And it’s eating at my soul to admit that. But I don’t know how to get around the fact that he started sleeping with my ex-girlfriend without telling me.
“Hey!” Levi reaches out and grabs me in a hug. I hug him back, but it’s awkward and brief. “How was your vacation time?”
I shrug and keep my smile light. “Fine. Not long enough.”
We are due back for training camp in two weeks, after only ten short weeks off. Levi nods. “Yeah. It’s gonna be a long season, but it was worth it.”
He rolls his shoulder, probably without even thinking about it. He was injured last year in the playoffs, and I’m sure the shoulder is still not one hundred percent. “When did you get back to San Fran?”
I shrug again. “Two weeks ago. I went back to Toronto for a while, but after the picture thing happened, I came back here. Needed some alone time.”
His brown eyes grow dark, and he nods tersely at that. I’d sworn to him it was a misunderstanding, the picture wasn’t me, and in true Levi fashion he didn’t believe me but backed me up anyway. Between his support and the fact that the dick pic taken by the puck bunny didn’t have my face in it, the team management decided not to cut me loose. Thankfully.
“How’s your dad doing?” Levi asks, his face filled with sympathy. It’s the only unfiltered expression he gives me now. I know he truly is gutted about what I’m going through with my father, who was recently diagnosed with ALS, and I do appreciate his concern. My family is also like a family to Levi. He became an honorary Braddock the summer after high school, when he lived with us.
But the fact he’s been like a brother to me is why the shit he pulled with my ex hurt me so much.
“He fell this summer. Had to spend a couple days in the hospital with a fractured wrist and some broken ribs, but you know him, he’s bouncing back,” I explain quietly. I’m still having a hard time dealing with the fact my big bear of a dad may only have a year or so left.
