But,that voice in the back of Trevor’s head reminded him,you’re not really siblings, are you? You’re just your father’s kid, and Lane’s his mom’s son.
“But you’re so good on the field together,” she said, eyes sparkling at him. And sure, he’d known that she knew who he was. It had come up almost immediately. This was a private party, and the crowd was full of pro athletes—not just Thunder players, but hockey players too, from both Toronto and Buffalo, and then also a handful of Raptors basketball players. But the way it kept coming up made him want to grab his drink and make some very transparent excuse to get away.
“That’s totally different,” Trevor said, even though it really wasn’t. Not the way she was meaning it. Because they still were figuring out their dynamic there, too.
It was good, sure, but Trevor wasn’t stupid enough to think they didn’t have alotof improvement to make still.
“Oh? Is it? How?”
Trevor knew he had to extricate himself. She was putting so much effort in, really trying with her questions, and it wasn’t fair when he wasn’t actually interested.
“Uh, well—” But he wasn’t willing to be rude, either, not to her face, and he really didn’t know how to extricate himself.
But before he could make a further mess of things, a hand landed on his shoulder. Maybe before he’d moved to Toronto, he wasn’t that familiar with Lane, but since then, there’d been a hundred casual touches between them, a thousand.
Enough that Trevor could’ve recognized the weight and shape of that hand anywhere.
“Hey,” Lane said, leaning in. “What’s up here? Who’s this?”
“Hi, I’m Victoria,” the girl said brightly, “and you must be Trevor’s brother.”
“Stepbro,” Lane corrected casually, but he swore he felt Lane’s grip on his shoulder tighten and then relax.
Trevor had only called Lane hisbroor his brother, once. He’d learned the hard way Lane didn’t like it. He didn’t knowwhy, but it was enough that Lane didn’t like it. Did he sometimes wonder why? Did he wonder if he hadn’t ever done enough, been enough, to be considered Lane’s brother?Yeah, ’cause it was impossible not to. But he tried not to, just tried to respect the boundary that Lane had set, all those years ago.
“Right,” Victoria said, still smiling but it seemed slightly more strained.
“You were telling me about that thing,” Trevor said, turning to Lane. Maybe he should feel some type of way about using Lane to get him out of this conversation. “That thing you wanted me to do.”
Lane’s eyebrows skidded up. “I was?”
“Yes,” Trevor said. He turned to Victoria. “Sorry, but we’ve got this thing going.”
Her smile went brittle. And the thing was Trevor didn’t think she’d actuallylikedhim, even. She’d probably only liked that he was a football player. Rich and famous. And now she didn’t like that he was leaving before she’d ever gotten a chance to reel him in.
“Right. Well, nice to meet you.” She turned away with a little hair flip, and that made him feel a little guilty, sure, but honestly the biggest feeling surging through him was relief.
“Hey, what was that?” Lane asked when they turned back to the bar. Lane tapped his glass and the bartender headed over to pour him another tequila on the rocks.
Trevor shrugged, sipping at his own drink. “Just wasn’t feeling it, I guess.”
“A hot girl? Why not?” Lane grinned, but there was a brittleness to it that Trevor had come to associate with a subject they needed to avoid. He hadn’t quite put together what commonality every occurrence had, but he knew he’d figure it out someday. Maybe then he’d get down to the bottom of why Lane felt the way he did.
But until then, he was going to respect that boundary, even if he didn’t understand it.
“Just not,” Trevor said. “Do you like every hot guy you see?”
Lane’s grin morphed into a smirk. “I mean,sure.”
But Trevor didn’t buy it. He’d heard stories about Lane’s exploits before coming to Toronto, both referenced by Lane himself and other players he’d known—even several Thunder players had mentioned it—but Trevor hadn’t seen anything like that since showing up.
And helivedwith Lane, so he’d have noticed if Lane wasn’t in his bed, or if there was someone else in it with him. But he was always there, and Trevor had never even seen anyone else in their apartment.
“No way,” Trevor pushed back. He finished his drink and set the glass on the wood bar with a decisive click. “Noway. You never pick up, dude. If you think I care—”
“No, no,” Lane interrupted.
“I’m just saying, it’s your place, youcan. I’m not gonna be weird about it.”
