“No way. You were—”
“Very sure of my own fucking skills? Oh, yeah. Not interested in learning or listening? For sure.”
It was not what Trevor had expected him to say.
“Listen, kid—”
“Not a kid,” Trevor interrupted.
Mo made a face. “Sorry, when you turn thirty,everyonefeels like a fucking kid. Listen,Trevor, nobody expects you to be perfect. Nobody expects you to know shit. But we do sure expect you to listen.”
“But Lane . . .” Trevor broke off, making a face. He hadn’t really anticipated how it would feel for Lane to coach him. To give him advice. Not after they’d kissed. Not after Lane had touched him like . . . well,letTrevor touch him, actually.
“Lane what?” Mo asked, surprisingly kindly.
But Trevor wasn’t ready to talk about it. Not with Mo. Not with anybody, probably.
“Nah. Nothing.”
“You wanna talk about it with me, instead? Would that be easier. I know Lane’s your—”
“My friend. Or my teammate?” Trevor finished for him.
It was funny, because before Trevor had been drafted to the Thunder, before he’d come to Toronto and moved in with Lane, he’d had no issues with people calling Lane his stepbrother, or even his brother. They’d just been words. Trevor didn’t realize how hehadn’tfelt that way about him, at all, until the last week.
But now he didn’t want to hear anyone say it.
“Right, okay, yeah. Your friend. That can be tough, having criticism come from a friend.” If Mo hesitated over the wordfriend, well, Trevor couldn’t say he even blamed him, because it was weird.
No wonder the rest of the team called them the demon twins.
They were weird as hell about each other.
Or not that weird, actually,Trevor thought, remembering two nights ago. That had been shockinglynotweird.
“Lane said Wes had to throw the ball early and I wasn’t paying enough attention to the defense. Iwas. I fucking had my hands full with the corner who was on my ass.”
“Yeah,” Mo said casually. “Hewas. He’s good. But you gotta keep an eye out for your QB too, you know? Make sure you two are on the same page. You can’t do your job in a vacuum, Trev.”
“I wasn’t—” But Trevor broke off, because he was pretty sure he had been. He hadn’t really been paying attention to Wes at all or how intense the pass rush had been. But it had clearly been pretty rough, if Wes had needed to throw the ball before he’d wanted to. Before Trevor was really ready to catch it.
“I guess I wasn’t paying enough attention,” he admitted. It hurt. It sucked. It washumiliating.
Mo slung an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in. “What did I say to you before?”
“Which thing?” Trevor couldn’t help the bitterness in his tone.
“You don’t know shit, and you’re notsupposedto know shit. If Lane’s trying to help, it’s because hedoesknow shit. He’s been doing this three years now. And if he doesn’t know, then I probably got an opinion about it.”
“And if you don’t know?”
Mo laughed and let Trevor go, giving him a last supportive pat. “Then you’re shit out of luck.”
“Guess so,” Trevor said.
“Just keep an eye on your QB, okay? That’s your guy. You can’t do it without him, and he can’t do it without you.”
“That why you came back to Toronto?”
