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Some guests are drinking, some are playing an NHL video game on the big-screen TV, and gorgeous women are scattered around the room. How are there this many pretty girls in one apartment anyway?

"Rooks, I have an early morning. I can’t stay. This party is exactly why I’m here." I pull my wrist free and step away from him. "You need to turn the music down. It’s ridiculously loud."

I practically shout the last part over it, which should make my point for me.

He looks toward the speakers. "Is it?"

I nod, trying not to roll my eyes at how obvious it is. "Yes."

"Okay. I'll turn it down." He grins again. "Are you sure you can’t stay? For at least one drink?"

I shake my head, but a small smile slips out at the sad puppy-dog face he gives me. Rooks is hard to stay mad at. "I really can’t. I have dozens of cupcakes to frost before my delivery route tomorrow."

"You’re finally doing it, huh?" he says.

"Doing what?" I ask, playing dumb. Rooks ate enough of my rejected batches growing up to know exactly what I wanted to do.

"The baking thing. You were always good at it. Beau must be happy you’re finally doing it."

"He is." I smile. "So am I."

"Good to see you, Baylor."

"You too." I look past him at a kitchen twice the size of mine. The floor above my apartment offers two- and three-bedroom apartments, while my floor has only one-bedroom apartments and studios. "When did you move to Seattle?"

"I didn’t. I’m playing in Germany now, but I had wrist surgery. The team approved me finishing rehab here."

"Here in Seattle?"

"I’m working with a trainer here. Trying to get the strength back in my wrist so my shot doesn’t suck next season. Home’s still Boston." He gestures around us. "I’m staying with Wolf. This is his apartment."

My stomach drops.

"Wolf…" I repeat. As if he must have misspoke.

"Yeah…" he nods and then tips back his longneck beer bottle to his lips and takes a sip.

"As in Wolfgang Ziegler? As in the player who nearly ended Beau’s career?"

Rooks tips his head. "Come on, Baylor. Don’t be like that. Beau’s playing for San Diego now. He’s getting real minutes. He got an assist last week. That’s good, isn’t it?"

Rooks and Wolf played on the same team in college–Boston College. The same college that Beau wanted to attend. Wolf got the starting spot at right defense, so Beau chose the rival school where he’d get more time on the ice–Boston University.

Both were being scouted. Neither could afford to spend those years on the bench.

"Of course it’s good. Beau spent six years trying to get healthy enough to make it to the NHL." I fold my arms. "And the only reason it even happened is because Second Shift Sports Foundation paid for his surgeries and therapy. My parents couldn’t have covered what their insurance wouldn’t. It’s not like Wolf did anything to help after that hit."

Rooks’s grin fades. "I know it was bad, Baylor. Wolf didn’t mean to hurt him like that."

Not meaning to hurt him didn’t get Beau off the floor after surgery or make his knee bend when the therapist asked. Wolf got ejected from that game but went on playing for the rest of the season. My brother went home on crutches.

"It was a late hit. Rooks," I say. "Beau lost the rest of his senior season. Wolf finished his senior year with an NHL contract waiting for him."

Of all the doors I could have knocked on in a building with 206 apartments, I found Wolf’s.

I knew some of the Hawkeyes lived here. Between my weird hours and their travel schedule, I’d managed not to run into them. Apparently, my luck just ran out.

Wolf grew up in Boston too. He and Beau have been competing for the same spots since they were kids. A rivalry was one thing. Watching my brother leave a game in an ambulance was another.