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"I know."

"I love you, Baylor."

My throat tightens. "I love you too."

"I’m sorry about how I reacted. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that."

I look at his hands again. "And the rest?"

His jaw shifts before he answers.

"I’m sorry I hurt you."

I nod slowly. He means it. I believe that. But he still hasn’t said Wolf’s name.

Beau reaches for me, and I let him hug me. I’ve hugged my brother after wins, losses, surgeries, and more bad days than I can count. This time, I rest my hands against his back and wait for him to let go.

"I didn’t want things to get like this between us. I don’t like feeling out of touch with you," he says.

"Neither do I."

Someone near the stage gestures for him. He looks over, then back at me.

"I have to go over the introduction."

"Okay."

He waits another second, and I know what he wants. A smile. Something that tells him we’re fine.

I can’t give him that yet. Not until I hear from Wolf, at the least. I need to know he’s okay. Hearing it second hand is better than nothing but it’s still not enough to settle my nerves. I need to hear his voice myself.

He heads toward the stage, and I turn back to the display.

These are my people. My parents. My brother. I’ve spent my entire life loving them and knowing they loved me. I just don’t know what to do with how far away I feel from them tonight.

By the time Beau takes the stage, the room is full. My assistant has the replenishment schedule, the extra boxes are where they’re supposed to be, and Ellie has convinced me to sit down long enough to eat.

I make it through half my dinner before getting up to check the display.

She watches me pick up my napkin. "They’re still cupcakes, Baylor."

"I’m just checking."

"Try to come back before your dinner requires a microwave."

Beau waits for the applause to settle, then adjusts the microphone.

"Most of you know I play for San Diego. What you might not know is how close I came to never playing professionally at all."

I stop beside the dessert table.

Mom watches him with her hands folded beneath her chin. Dad sits straight in his chair, his attention fixed on the stage.

Beau talks about the surgeries and rehabilitation. The days when walking without pain felt ambitious enough that thinking about hockey seemed pointless.

I remember those days. The appointments, the arguments when he wanted to do more than he was ready for, the way Mom would go quiet after opening another bill.

"The foundation paid for treatment my family couldn’t have managed on our own," he says. "It gave me a chance to keep working toward something I wasn’t ready to give up."