He stands beside his SUV with the door hanging open, and I watch the calculation happen in real time. My arms around his sister, my hand in her hair, her face pressed against my chest. Not a drunk kiss at Gianna's. Not something he can file under "Howie being Howie."
This is what it looks like when two people are together.
"What the fuck is this?" he says.
Ella pulls back from my chest, but I keep one arm around her shoulder. Instinct. Protective. Which is the wrong move because now I'm standing between her and her brother like a wall, and Jason's eyes track the gesture, and his jaw goes tight enough to crack a mouthguard.
"Jason," Ella starts. "Let me?—"
"I'm asking him." Jason points at me. His hand shakes. "I'm asking you, Howie. What the fuck is this?"
My brain runs through a dozen responses. Lies, deflections, jokes. The Howie playbook is full of exit strategies for uncomfortable situations. I could tell him it's nothing. I could tell him she was upset about her boards, and I was just comforting her.
Instead, I say, “This is exactly what you think it is.”
His face goes dark. "Excuse me?" He steps forward. "You're fucking my sister?”
"I'm with your sister. There's a difference." Ella gasps, a tiny sound I can’t analyze right now.
“The hell you are,” Jason shouts, stepping closer, leaning back. I know the look of Rookie gearing up for a fight, and I’m not about to let that happen within arm’s reach of the woman I love.
A low sound rumbles from Rookie’s throat. “Since when?"
I don't answer fast enough. Ella says, "Since — it's been?—"
"Since when, Howie?"
"Weeks," I say, because he deserves the truth even if it kills us.
The sound Jason makes isn't a word. It's something from the back of his throat, raw and animal, and I see his fists clench at his sides, and I know what's coming because I've seen Jason Rujkowski throw a punch a hundred times. On the ice, in the locker room, once in a bar in Minnesota, when a guy grabbed a waitress. He's fast, he's mean, and he doesn't miss.
"I told you to stay away from her." His voice is low now, which is worse than the yelling. Jason quiet is Jason dangerous. "I told you, man. One rule that mattered. One fucking rule."
"You actually have three rules, Rookie, and they're all immature." I try to move Ella further away, out of Rookie’s wingspan, but she’s rooted in place under my arm.
Her brother’s face goes dark. "Excuse me?"
I mock his voice, not caring what this does to his temper. “Don't wear your gear. Don't eat your food. Don't touch your sister. Those are the rules of a twelve-year-old, Jason. We're not kids anymore."
“You mother fucker.” He steps forward and shoves me with both hands, hard enough to knock me back against the bumper. Ella grabs Jason's arm, and he shakes her off.
"Don't touch me right now, Ellie.”
"Jason, stop?—"
“Did you plan this?” He’s in my face now, close enough for me to see the vein in his temple, the redness in his eyes. “Is that why you told me about this stupid test? You wanted me to come up here and see you?”
“I told you to text her, asshole. Like maybe ask her how things are going.” I have both my feet under me again, my shoulders tense, ready to trade blows.
Behind me, I hear Ella grumbling. "Jason," she says, and her voice is steady now, the trauma nurse voice, the de-escalation voice. "Bernard has been good to me. This isn't?—"
"Good to you? He's been lying to me for weeks. You've BOTH been lying to me."
"Because you would have reacted exactly like this!"
"BECAUSE HE’S MY BEST FRIEND!” Jason has both hands in his hair now, which at least means he’s not about to hit me with them. “What the fuck do I do when he fucks you over, Ella? Stop speaking to my best friend?”
To my surprise, Ella steps up in his face and snarls at him. “I never asked you to defend me. And I never had a chance to show you I’m perfectly capable of fighting my own relationship battles because YOU SCARED ALL MEN AWAY FROM ME WITH YOUR STUPID RULES.”
