“Hard feelings,” Lane blustered. He’d not actuallywantedRamsey, no matter how hot he was.
“Lane,” Nate said intently, “I know you weren’t really interested, but I want to know why you bothered to pretend.”
He didn’t want to have this conversation. Between Nate being preoccupied getting him and Ramsey settled into their new condo and making time for his boyfriend when he was actually around and Lane doing what he could to avoid it, he’d been pretty lucky so far.
He had a feeling his luck had just run out.
“Who says I was pretending? Maybe I’m eating my heart out with jealousy every fucking night, imagining you and the hockey player fucking.”
Nate just rolled his eyes. “You’re not. But why are you even pretending you are?”
Lane didn’t trust himself to say anything—the rightorthe wrong thing—so he just stared moodily into his empty glass. There were only twenty minutes until midnight, only thirty or so minutes before he and Trevor would head back to his condo. He could have a glass of champagne for the toast, but another tequila was definitely a bad idea.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Nate nudged him firmly in the arm. “Bullshit everyone else, but don’t bullshit me, okay? What isupwith you? Ever since you showed up this season, with Trevor in tow, it’s like you’reoff.”
A horrible thrill went up his spine at even theideaof being able to tell someone. If he told anyone, it would probably be Nate. He was the safest possible choice, not being related to either Lane or Trevor, but at the same time, Nate was also on the team with them.
He wouldnotput it past Nate, and his new captain responsibilities, to try to fix it. Or even worse, he’d tell Aidan, and that would be a total fucking nightmare.
“You’re imagining things now,” Lane protested.
“Is it Trevor? Is there something up with him? Is he not being supportive? I always thought he seemed like a solid ally—”
It would be the easiest choice for Lane to let Nate believe that the problem lay with Trevor. That he was shitty and homophobic, and that had fucked Lane up. But he couldn’t do it. Not when Trevor had never, not once, given him a moment of hesitation about showing his true self.
Not his true feelings, okay, but that wasn’t on Trevor. That wasn’t his responsibility.
“No,” Lane interrupted firmly. “Heis. It’s not about that at all.”
“Okay, but there’s a reason they call you the demon twins. You’re like two peas in a pod and then it’s like a switch flips and you’re bickering and fighting, andGod, Lane, I can tell it’s you. You pick fights with him. Why? Is it family shit?”
Lane sighed. “Was it too much to ask that you didn’t pick twenty minutes before the ball drops on New Year’s Eve to interrogate me?”
“You’ve been avoiding me,” Nate said frankly. “Seemed as good a place as any to corner you.”
“Fuck,” Lane muttered.
“So, what gives?” Nate asked, much more gently this time. “You want another drink before you tell me about it?”
“No, no, I can’t—” Broke off before Nate could demand to know why he was keeping himself on such a short leash, especially on New Year’s Eve.
Nate raised an eyebrow.
“Ishouldn’t, anyway,” Lane said.
“And that’s ever stopped you before?”
“Fuck you, I’m growing as a person,” Lane said. At least itseemedlike he was. Drinking less. Fucking less. Staying in. Working out more. Studying harder. Playing better than he ever had. He kind of hated that he could traceallof that back to Trevor’s appearance in his life.
“Why are you picking fights with your stepbro?” Nate asked.
“Do you know how old I was when they got married?”
Nate shook his head.
“I was eighteen. I’d just graduated from high school. And before you ask if it’s family shit,no, it’s not. I like Trevor’s dad. Tom’s great. Loves my mom a lot. Never overstepped with me. It’s just . . .” Lane wet his lips. Didn’t know if he could actually get the words out. He’d swallowed them down for so long.
