Page 40 of Hard to Handle

We found a seat in the back corner where we can blend into its dark edges and hopefully have a drink incognito. I’m surprised we’ve skated by this far, pun intended, without anyone recognizing him.

“You drink. I’m the designated driver tonight.” I take a sip of my Diet Coke and laugh.

“What?” he asks

“I’m just thinking of how confused that poor lady was until we convinced her you’re Hunter Maddox’s twin.”

His smile is tinged with sadness and I hate that I put it there. Maybe I was too caught up in the moment during the game to see it then, but I definitely see it now. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—how is your brother?” I ask, feeling like a heel. There’s not much I know about Jonah Maddox other than Hunter thinks the world of his twin, and that he became a quadriplegic after a car accident in their teens.

His brother is a topic Hunter rarely speaks about. In interviews and relaxed conversations, he keeps anything about Jonah close to his vest. I’d probably be the same if it was one of my sisters, let alone a twin.

“He’s fine.” He takes a sip and looks around at the patrons having a good time. “You were quick on your feet with that lady, Kincade,” he says. “Thanks.”

“You have to be in this job.”

A cheer goes up in the bar as some of the Dartmouth hockey team walks in and Hunter’s face lights up at the sound of it. He watches the Dartmouth forward I was scouting walk in and shakes his head ever so subtly.

“Give that kid a couple of years and he’ll be getting the same reception when he walks into The Tank after a game.”

“You think?” I ask, even though I already know the answer—the kid’s that good. But more than anything, I’m happy Hunter’s engaging with me on this.

“Yeah. The kid has it. Skill and that star quality that has you on the edge of your seat waiting to see what he’s going to wow you with next.”

“Kind of like another forward I know,” I murmur with a lift of my brows. I catch the hitch in his movement as he brings the beer to his lips. But he lets the comment go. He doesn’t push or prod or live for the praise that many athletes I’ve repped need to continually boost their egos.

Hunter’s different. He’d rather fade into the background than be the center of attention. I’ve always been curious why a man so brash in personality and bold in his play, hides from the limelight. As if he’s not worthy of such praise. Ridiculous.

“Your dad doing good?” he asks. “Your sisters still a pain in your ass?”

I nod, surprised he’s asking. Small talk was never our thing and this feels surprisingly normal, but maybe we’re stepping into new territory. “They’re always pains in my ass but isn’t that how it goes?” I laugh and think of Lennox and our conversation the other night about the man in front of me, and I have a sudden pang of homesickness. Sure, we fight and annoy each other, but there’s a comfort in knowing they’re there. In knowing we might tell each other we hate each other one moment, but the next, they’d have my back if I needed them to. “We’re all just super busy, always all over the place to tell you the truth.”

He chuckles. “Is that your polite way of saying you guys still don’t get along?”

I run my fingers up and down the condensation on my glass and let the water pool around the coaster. “It’s not that we don’t get along.” I sigh and try to put it into words so that someone on the outside of our family dynamic might get it. “I mean, we all care about each other but there’s a lot of resentment there. I—it wasn’t my choice to be the mom when my mom died. I was the oldest, so with my dad off all the time with clients, trying to provide for us . . . sure, we had a nanny, but the discipline and rules and shit fell on me for some reason.”

“That had to have been hard losing her when you were young.”

I avert my gaze from his and look at the bubbles moving up the side of my Diet Coke. What no one truly understood was that I was never allowed to grieve. To have her be there healthy one day and the next be gone when the aneurism hit without warning. I remember feeling so damn lost and alone. I had responsibilities and emotions way beyond most teenagers, but no one knew I cried myself to sleep every single night. No one saw me turn over the pillow because the case was soaked from the tears I shed.

No one knew how desperately lonely I was.

“It was devastating.” I scrunch my nose to abate the tears and then push away the sadness as I’ve learned to do. “For all of us.”

When he meets my eyes, there’s a compassion I’ve never seen before from him and as welcome as it is, I’m glad when he breaks the moment by speaking. “Why haven’t your sisters realized you were just stepping up?” he asks. “They’re old enough to know better.”

“I’m sure they do . . . and we’re all working on healing from the trauma of it all, but we’re so damn different. It’s like each one of us are different directions on a compass that will never see eye to eye except in those rare moments. For us though, it worked. I mean, our individualism was good because it gave our dad something to have with each of us . . . but it also caused a competitive dynamic that was toxic in a sense.”

“Something will happen that will make you all realize none of the differences mean shit. You’ll realize the fights are love disguised. The competition is fate’s way of making you want more. The laughter is something you’ll hold on to in your darkest moments. And eventually, you’ll reach a point where you appreciate each other and the rest will be white noise.”

I stare at him, his poignant words so unexpected, and wonder where this wisdom comes from. There are so many things I want to say to him, least of all how beautiful his comment is . . . but I know that’s not something he’d readily accept. “Maybe we should already realize that after losing our mom. Then again, maybe we’re just a houseful of stubborn women who’ll figure it out someday.”

“Hey man,” a waiter says as he slides a fresh beer across the table before patting Hunter on the shoulder. “It’s on the house. Your secret’s safe with me. Enjoy your beer in peace.”

Hunter laughs and shakes his head. “Thanks, man. Appreciate it.” They shake hands and then the waiter moves to another table.

But when I look back to Hunter, he’s leaning back in his seat, more relaxed than I’ve seen him this whole road trip, and a soft smile is on his face as he studies me.

“What made you think to bring me with you tonight?” he asks after a beat.