When I leave the locker room, hood pulled over my damp hair and duffel bag slung over my shoulder, my brother is waiting for me.
“Nicky,” he says, pushing off the wall. He’s wearing the proper attire of suit and dress shoes, but all of his top buttons are undone and his tie hangs loose, like he couldn’t be bothered to do the knot.
“Nicky?” he says again, and now there’s a hint of insecurity in his voice.
“Yeah?” I croak out, my throat suddenly dry. I haven’t spoken a word to Nate since our fight, and now that he’s just a few feet away from me, the emotions crash into me like a tsunami. I’ve missed him.
I’ve missed himso fucking much.
“Oh, thank God, it’s you,” he laughs, and I hear his nerves in every syllable. “I was afraid I made a mistake because I’m not wearing contacts right now and I think my eyesight has gotten worse and–”
I cross the distance between us with three big strides, throwing my arms around him to interrupt his nervous babble.
“Shut up,” I tell him as I pull him close. “And just wear your damn glasses.”
Nate’s arms tighten around me as he leans into the embrace, his breath hitching next to my ear. “I don’t like them. They make me look ugly.”
“We look literally the same.”
“Yes, that’s how I know what they would look like on me.”
I snort at that and then, the next moment, I cry.
I hate crying, because the aftermath makes me feel like a kindergartner throwing a tantrum, paired with the headache of a college freshman, but I can’t hold it back.
I cry over what happened today. Over losing people I trusted and missing my brother. Over the dream I used to have—when I thought hockey was for everyone and my knee was still alright.
I cry and cry and cry until there are literally no more tears and the light in the hallway dims.
Nate is the first one to move, only leaning back a fraction so I can look at his face. His eyes are red and his nose is snotty, and seeing that makes me feel better and worse at the same time.
“Don’t cry,” I tell him uselessly.
He snorts, then reaches into his pocket to produce a pack of tissues for both of us, offering me one first. It’s the most Nate-like thing condensed into one single gesture.
“Are you still mad at me?” he asks as I blow my nose. The sound echoes louder than the trumpet of an elephant, causing him to huff out a laugh.
“Yes,” I sniff. “I’m mad that you didn’t trust me with your goals.”
“You had so much going on, Nicko.”
I shrug at that, just squeezing his elbow. There’s nothing more important going on in my life than my brother. I don’t say it out loud, but Nate must read the thought on my face.
“There’s Xander now,” he reminds me quietly.
“He’s not more important than you,” I grumble, heart squeezing in my chest. I instinctively look around for him, but we’re alone.
Nate chuckles at that, nudging our shoulders together. “But also not less.”
I won’t argue with that, mostly because it doesn’t matter anyways. Xander’s season is officially over now, so he’ll probablysign his contract in the upcoming week. And with that, whatever we had will be officially over, too.
“Look, I’m so–” Nate starts, but I interrupt him immediately.
“I know. It’s fine.” I just want to skip the apologies and have our fight be over.
Nate shakes his head. “I know you know, but I still need you to hear it: I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the Utonagans. And I’m also sorry I lied about the Pioneer Scouts.”
“You meant well,” I hum. “And you were right. I did need an intervention to get my head out of my ass.”
