Page 87 of Hard to Handle

“Don’t fuck with our season, Kincade. Maddox is a huge part of it.”

“He’s an old friend. I’m allowed to reach out and make sure he’s okay, considering it seems like he’s dealing with some shit. That’s just the person I am, so you can either appreciate the help in taming your out-of-control star, or you can tell his agent to do his job himself. While I may be able to heed your threats, they only succeed in pushing your star further away.”

“I need the Cup.”

“I have no doubt Maddox is going to lead this team and get it for you.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

HUNTER

I SIT ON A FROZEN metal bleacher in the freezing fucking cold and stare at the players.

My attention is rapt on the two kids on the ice. Two boys who are laughing as much as they’re practicing. Two boys who every now and again skate past each other and wrap an arm around the other’s neck in brotherly affection.

My decision to come here to try and remind myself how it used to feel rewarding.

You’re burned out.

I watch them with tears burning in my eyes.

Two kids having fun. Learning to play a sport and love a game that has been humming in my blood for as long as I can remember.

Two kids pretending to be someone like me when all I want to do is go back and be like them. Innocent. Unjaded. With my brother back at my side.

Fucking fried.

What are you going to do, Maddox? Lie down and die? Walk away from the game?

Or win the Cup for Jonah with the club he told you to play for? Win the Cup he should have won in a game he was always so much better at?

My insides are a fucking jumbled mess. Shit stirred up I don’t want to acknowledge. Shit Dekker’s presence brought to light.

Fuck.

And thinking of her—hell, I feel like that’s all I’ve been doing is thinking of her—screws me up even more.

I scrub my hand over my face and breathe out a huge sigh as the boys’ laughter floats over to me.

“Nah-uh. Dad’s never going to let us be on the same team,” the taller of the two says.

“Why not?”

“Because then we can’t both be stars, silly.” He pushes his brother from behind so he’s shoved forward, and they both start giggling hysterically and look over to where their dad sits in his truck, engine running, heater probably on, as he eyes the crazy man sitting by himself in the bleachers to gauge if he’s a creeper.

I don’t care, because all I hear is what the big kid just said: because then we can’t both be stars.

Such a simple solution we never got the chance to figure out for ourselves.

The loneliness hits me even harder watching them, but so do the memories. The laughter. The secrets. The bond we shared on and off the ice.

It never mattered that he was the star and I was the second string. It only mattered that we were there together. It only mattered that we understood each other. It only mattered that I played the sport I loved with the brother I loved more.

I lift my head to the clear sky and close my eyes for a beat.

I’m so sorry, Jonah.

I’m going to win you that Cup you deserved.