“Got slashed in the game last night.”
“I remember. And this is the result?”
“Broken middle finger,” he says and holds it up so I can get a better look at the blue medical tape and metal splint. “Luckily it’s not severe. No tendon damage or anything so Gabs will just freeze it before the next game.”
I shake my head, but I’m not surprised. Hockey players never say die. Not in playoffs. My dad once played with two broken ribs. Tate turns toward the office. I left my curtain open. He sees the couch, which is in couch form not bed form. “That’s your quarters?”
“Yeah.”
Tate turns and his eyes, which are a mix of my mom’s green and my dad’s blue, narrow on me. “I’ve lived with you forever, Ten. And You don’t make your bed let alone fold a couch back up.”
“I’ve changed my ways.”
His disbelieving expression deepens instead of lifts. “Nash bitched at practice just last week that living with you was like living with a tornado and you never made the bed.”
"Well, brother-of-mine you have two choices," I say with a sparkling smile. "Option A, I have changed my ways and am now a diligent bedmaker. Or… Option B, I have been sleeping somewhere else in this loft that only has one other bed… with your teammate in it."
Tate's face darkens. He opens his mouth and I lift a hand to silence him before he can say a word. "Do not give me any shit about your team pact. Crew blew the whole 'don't sleep with your teammates' relatives' right out of the water. And also… I'm married."
I wave my left hand in his face and he sees the ring for the first time, his jaw hitting the floor. “Is this thing real? What the fuck, Ten?”
The door buzzes again. I give my brother a shove. “It’s not as fake as it used to be. Now go away so I can greet his parents.”
“Is that why he punched Bryce? Were you and Bryce…”
“Shut up. No. Ew. Go!” I shove him again and he begrudgingly makes his way down the hall.
I take a big breath, plaster a smile on my face, and swing the door open. "Hi, Mr. And Mrs. Westwood."
“Avery and Steph,” Stephanie advises. “Please, Tenley, we’re family.”
“Sure. Right. Well, come in.”
She gives me a smile and squeezes my arm as she enters. Avery just nods with a grimace on his face. He’s still upset about everything, and I don’t blame him, which is why I gathered everyone.
After forty minutes of breakfast and small talk I set up Dylan in the office with an iPad and a cartoon movie and everyone else joins me in the living room. I avoided coffee this morning because I didn’t want to be shaky when I explain everything, but yet I still am. I sit on one of the chairs because my knees are wobbling. I swore I would never talk about this… but I need them to know because it will make things better for Nash.
“So I need you all to know why Nash punched Bryce last night,” I begin.
“Ten, no. You don’t have to say anything,” Nash says, limping toward me from the kitchen where he’d been cleaning up.
“I want to,” I promise and when I turn back to my family and his, they are all staring at me with serious expressions. I close my eyes and blurt out the truth. “When I was fourteen, at Uncle Luc’s charity event, Bryce groped me.”
Mallory gasps. Stephanie stands up and walks toward me. Tate is frozen and the look on his face is one I will pray I can forget one day but doubt I ever will. “I’m fine. It wasn’t… he was stopped immediately by my fist to his face.”
“Oh my God,” Tate murmurs. “He didn’t hurt himself in the gym.”
I shake my head. "And before you any of you say a thing, I was young. I blamed myself. I didn't want to ruin Uncle Luc's event or cause a crapload of stress for Mom and Dad. I also… I also didn't want to have to defend myself and I know that sounds horrible, but this was before Me Too, and who was going to believe a mouthy little rich kid?"
"I would have believed you, Tenley," Avery says in a quiet, unwavering tone.
I can’t look at him. I can’t look at any of them anymore. I don’t feel shame but I feel… guilt. I didn’t cause what happened, and I didn’t deserve it, but I handled it all wrong. “I’m going to tell Mom and Dad, but I wanted to clear the air with you all first so you know why Nash did what he did when he saw Bryce cornering me in that hallway.”
Tate looks at his teammate. “She told you when?”
“She never told me it was him,” Nash says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I figured it out on my own and I just… I couldn’t stop myself.”
“Thank you,” Tate says. “You only punched him a couple of times. I would have murdered him. I still might.”
