“This place could use some major TLC,” I say as I walk around the rink’s edge, my boots echoing around the space.

  “I want to buy it.” His words startle me.

  “You want to buy it?” I ask with a laugh, but when he turns to face me with that lopsided smile of his, I know he means it.

  “Yep.” He shrugs as he takes a step closer, and there’s emotion clogging in his eyes.

  “What is it? Tell me?” I say, stepping beside him.

  “It’s a stupid idea. Never mind.” He starts to walk away, and I grab his hand to keep him here.

  “I think it’s an awesome idea.” I take a step away from him and can see it through the dust and neglect. When I turn back to face him, I can sense his discomfort. “Hey, why are you embarrassed? You can tell me anything.”

  “I believe I already have,” he murmurs, his eyes as quiet as his voice.

  I nod. “Fair enough.” But it’s not. Nothing is fair in this life, and while Hunter knows that better than most, the fear I still have of admitting I’ve let him get too close is in the back of my mind.

  I take a walk to the other side of the rink and run my finger along the dust atop the wall at its edge. The memories come fast and sharp and are ones I prefer to keep in the dark recesses of my mind . . . but he shared his with me. He let me in while I’m still pretending I’ve kept him out.

  The irony.

  “For the longest time after my mom died”—I clear my throat—“I thought I was the one who killed her.” Even the words are hard to say. I appreciate the fact that he stays silent to let me get them out on my own accord. “We’d been playing with those blow-up plastic baseball bats. My sisters and I won them at Coney Island in those games that cost like twenty dollars to actually win things.”

  My smile is bittersweet as I remember everything about the day. The scent of sunscreen and fried foods filling the air. The bickering between us sisters as my parents strolled in front of us, fingers entwined, their laughter easy.

  “Anyway, we came home and were being pains in the asses—probably ungrateful . . . but I refused to get in the shower. I was too busy doing who knows what,” I say when I know exactly what I was doing. I was texting the boy I had a crush on, because God forbid, my parents had taken us out for some family time instead of letting me stay home and stare at my phone waiting for him to text me. “My mom came upstairs to tell me I needed to get in because there were three others waiting for me . . . and one thing led to another. What started with her picking up the plastic bat and swatting me playfully on the butt ended with me grabbing my sister’s bat off her bed and hitting her back. We had a fake sword battle with those stupid bats. We hit each other everywhere—heads, backs, legs, until we were laughing so hard we had to stop.” I smile. I can still hear her laughter, can still remember her calling me Dekky-Doo, can still recall the drop in my stomach when I woke up in the middle of the night to the ambulance and its sirens and my dad’s frantic tears.

  “What happened to her?” Hunter asks as he steps up beside me. I was too lost in my memories to realize he’d moved closer.

  “She had a massive brain aneurysm sometime during that night. For the longest time, I thought it was because I had hit her in the head with the blow-up bat. I hid it from everyone, thinking they’d all hate me for killing her.”

  “Dekker.” My name is a resigned sigh as he places his hand on my lower back.

  “I know now that it wasn’t my doing, but back then, I was devastated. I worried the police would arrest me for murder, that my family would hate me for ruining their lives.” I rest my head on his shoulder. “It wasn’t until years later that I confessed to my dad that I’d killed her.”

  “What did he say?”

  My sigh is heavy. “There were a lot of tears and hugs and reassurances that there was no way I was at fault . . . but I still worried.”

  “I’m sorry.” He presses a kiss to my temple, and the warmth of his breath hits my scalp.

  “Don’t be. It’s life, I guess. You live and you think you know one thing until you learn another. Guilt can be a nasty, ugly bitch, but it can also pull people together.”

  A silence falls between us. One full of mutual respect and understanding that we’re each lost in our own pasts, our own memories, our own reasons for our guilt.

  “No more sadness,” I say suddenly, needing to shake the vibe. “Sadness is definitely not what you need before the big game tomorrow. How are you feeling about the matchup? You haven’t really spoken about it.”

  “I’d name it after my brother, you know.” His words give me whiplash and it takes me a second to realize he’s talking about the arena. “‘The Jonah Maddox Hockey Facility.’ We’d make it the premier place to train for sled hockey,” he says, referring to a modified version of ice hockey for those with physical disabilities. “We’d have camps for kids who are paralyzed, so they could forget the confines of their chairs for a while. No cost to their families. I’d get some of my teammates and friends in the league to come visit them. We’d make it easy for them. The equipment, the access—all the things most kids who want to play need but can’t get at other places.”

  My heart swells, and I can’t hide the tears over the purposeful thought he’s put into renovating this place. And when he looks over at me, there are tears in his eyes too, and that heart of mine swells so large it virtually falls out of my chest, landing at his feet.

  Not that I mind since right now, in this moment, I know it is pretty much already his.

  “I think it’s going to be amazing.” I smile through the tears as he reaches out and links his fingers with mine. Such a simple action, but there’s intimacy in the moment and it’s perfect. Quiet and subtle.

  “You do?”

  I nod, realizing this is Hunter’s way of letting his brother live on forever. This is his way of holding him close when the earth no longer can. “What better way than to let him be a part of the sport he loved while getting to be with his best friend?”

  His smile is automatic. The bob of his Adam’s apple reflecting the emotion that he’s trying to keep at bay.

  “I think you could even create a charity in his name, some kind of scholarship, or something like that. Something for your mom to be a part of. It might give her an outlet after. . .” Jonah passes. I twist my lips and hate that my mind went there, but I can’t imagine living your whole life for someone and then suddenly having a life for yourself but a future without the person you cared for in front of you. I avert my eyes the minute my voice fades off, because Hunter knew what I was going to say and now I feel like shit.

  “That’s a good idea.” His voice is soft but sincere.

  “This place is not only going to be Jonah’s legacy,” I say and squeeze his hand, “but yours too.”

  HUNTER

  “HEY MADDOX.” HER VOICE JOLTS me from my focus as I walk toward the locker room and stops me in my tracks.

  I turn and find her leaning against a wall. She has jeans on.

  “Where’s your Jacks gear?”

  “Where’s your Stanley Cup?” she asks, her smile wide, her tone playful in the reminder of the Dartmouth game when she told me she’d only wear it when I won a Stanley Cup.

  “I’m working on it.” I laugh and walk over to her. “What are you doing here?” I ask, confused and surprised as every emotion in between surges through me.

  “Did you really think I was going to miss your first playoff game?”

  “You said you had a client who—”

  “I know what I said,” she murmurs as she angles her head to the side. The sunlight highlights her hair and the gold lights up like a halo. There’s a thump in my chest, and Christ if this woman doesn’t do things to me I never expected. “But I’m here.”

  “Dropping your duties as an agent, huh? Poor client.”

  “No, dropping an agent’s duty falls along the line of Sanderson,” she teases.

  But it’s out there. The first damn time she’s brought anything up about agents or my agent or any of the shit that’s Sanderson’s job since that night that feels like months ago. The night when we stood outside of whatever fucking arena and she told me the truth about why she was there. About how she feared telling me would ruin whatever this was between us.

  “Sanderson drops the ball?” I ask with a smile on my lips.

  “So I’ve heard.” She nods.

  “And you? Do you drop the ball?”

  The slow run of her tongue over her bottom lip and the devious look in her eyes tells me exactly what she’s thinking about. How the last time we saw each other, her lips were wrapped around my cock as her fingers gripped pleasurably firm around my balls.

  “If you have to ask, Maddox, then I’m doing things all wrong.” Her voice is liquid sex, the smile that crawls over her lips not far from it either.

  I groan in response.

  “You win tonight and we’ll see if I drop the balls again or not.”

  “We’ll win. No worries there. And I’ll be the judge of your grip.” I glance over my shoulder and lift a hand to Katz as he walks into the arena. “Hey Dekk?”

  “Hmm?”

  I take a step forward and lean in. “I never brought up the agent thing because you said it was either one or the other. You as mine or you as my agent. I’m not sure if that’s still true.”

  “Oh.” Her lips shock in an O, and I take the chance to steal a quick kiss before taking a step back and smiling.

  “Thanks for coming.” I wink. “I’ve got to go.”

  “Good luck,” she says as I start walking away. “Hey, Cap?”

  “Yeah?” I turn back to give her one more glance.

  “Take a moment and let it all sink in. It’ll go by in a flash, and I want you to remember it.”

  I nod and turn back toward the door.

  “Stick, skill, finesse, Maddox.”

  I throw my head back and laugh.

  Nerves rattle and I’m never nervous.

  Sticks tap on the ice—the only kind of clapping we can hear while we’re in the zone, and yet right now I hear everything.

  The crowd.

  The buzz.

  I look up into the stands and see the people. The little kids wanting to be in my skates someday. The dads with their daughters teaching them the ins and outs of the game. The college frat boys needing an excuse to get drunk and heckle a player. The families wanting to be entertained.

  I take it all in.

  The sounds, the sights, the excitement.

  This is for you, Jonah. And for once, I can see your smile.

  I’m going to make you proud.

  So maybe . . . maybe, this is for us.

  DEKKER

  ALL EYES FOCUS ON ME.

  Brexton lifts her eyebrows. “Well?”

  “Well, what?” I ask as I glance at the notes that have nothing to do with this status meeting on my notepad, but pretend to find them interesting.

  “Hunter? The client you’ve been”—Chase coughs—“err . . . not talks, just sex, recruiting.”

  My cheeks flush with heat. “What about him?”

  They’re the queens of being difficult, so I’ll take pleasure in being difficult for once.

  “You’ve written a status sheet every week for the past few months, and it seems the only thing that’s going down isn’t your finger to the keys to fill us in on what’s going on but rather”—she looks at our dad and shrugs apologetically before looking me straight in the eye—“well, you on Hunter.”

  Her smile is cold and unmoving while the rest of us in the conference room choke back shocked laughter.

  “Seriously, Chase? Should we go through your exploits? How about when you—?”

  “Ladies!” My dad’s voice thunders around the conference room, and the sudden bickering approaching DEFCON 3 suddenly quiets. We all turn to look at him. “Let’s keep this meeting focused, as I’m sure you’re all incredibly busy. Right?”

  “Busy?” Lennox chokes on her laugh. “Sounds to me like Dekker’s been plenty busy.”

  Another round of laughter ensues followed by me scratching the side of my cheek with my middle finger. “Screw off.”

  Poor choice of words . . . I realize the minute I say them.

  “There’s that too,” Brex chimes in.

  “It’s all fun and games until you have to face the music,” Chase says in that singsong voice that annoys me. “So tell us, Dekk . . . just what’s been going on with Hunter and his stick?”

  I stand and pace to the window, hating, embarrassed, and feeling on the defensive that I really don’t have much to report. The favorite child has failed.

  I’m more than aware that they’re all staring at my back as I watch the clouds building across the skyline, and I wonder if we’ll get to watch the thundershowers sometime soon.

  “Dekk?” my father asks.

  Shit.

  Time to face the music.

  “I’m starting my conversation by reminding all of you that while your caseloads have remained the same, I’ve become the guinea pig for Operation Fuck You, Sanderson,” I say as I turn around, cross my arms over my chest, and lean my hips against the credenza at my back. I meet each one of their eyes.

  “Just give Sanderson that look and his balls will shrivel off,” Lennox mutters. “Problem solved.”

  But it’s the “Pretty please” that Chase murmurs that has us all laughing again.

  “I have a meeting in twenty minutes in this conference room, so we need to get through this,” my dad warns, and it still takes a few moments for our laughter to subside.

  “Hunter Maddox.” I draw in a deep breath and vacillate between the truth, somewhere close to the truth, and letting my father down wholly. “He knows I’m recruiting him. He knows we have a vested interest—”

  “Vested, my ass.” Lennox laughs, but I meet Brexton’s eyes and her smile encourages me to continue.

  “Truth be told, he knows why I was on the road trip. He knows why I’m there, but he’s going through a lot of shit. I’m helping him through it. I’m . . .” in love with him. My breath catches at the words I’ve skated around in my mind for what feels like days but I’ve known for longer. I blink away the tears that flood and pray no one caught them. My hands fist where they’re hidden beneath my elbows, crossed because I don’t show emotion. I don’t—

  . . . they’re on your sleeve when it comes to me.

  Hunter’s voice floods my head from those beginning days on the road trip, and I smile, because he’s right. I do.

  And isn’t that part of this?

  I twist my lips and meet each one of my sisters’ eyes as I straighten my back. “He’s currently in the playoffs and I don’t think changing agents is where his mind is at.” And it’s true . . . but there is so much more at stake here.

  For me.

  “But he wasn’t months ago when you started this, so that doesn’t hold water,” Lennox says and raises her eyebrows.

  I refrain from glaring. It’s hard, but I do.

  “True, and all that time I’ve spent pursuing him, on top of my regular client load, and honestly, I’m not sure what’s going to happen. I’m helping the human he is before the athlete everyone wants. I’m just being there for him.” I draw in a deep breath and prepare myself to meet my father’s eyes. When I do, the disappointment I expected to be there . . . isn’t. Instead, his eyes are questioning but quiet. “I know I’m an agent and my job is to recruit him and help us on the whole, but I’m also a person who can’t push another human being who is hurting.”

  His nod is just as reserved as his gaze, the muscle in his jaw ticks.

  “So . . .” Lennox asks. “What does that mean? When all is said and done, I mean? Should I update that status on the recruit sheet for you?”

  I open my mouth to give a vague response, but my dad cuts me off. “Ladies, can you give me a moment alone with Dekk?”

  Feathers may be ruffled, but the conclusion of a meeting when they all have a million things to do overrides the irritation.

  “Teacher’s pet,” Brexton says with a wink as she shuts the door so I’m alone with my dad.

  “Take a seat,” he says.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Take a seat.” It’s the father tone and not the boss tone, so I begrudgingly slide into a chair at the complete opposite end of the table from him. If he’s angry at my failure, I have distance, and if he starts asking questions, I can hope the space might mask the emotions in my eyes.

  “What did you need, Dad?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?” I laugh. “Then why did you ask me to stay?”

  It’s his turn to lean back in his chair and stare at me. He fidgets with the pen in his hand as the time stretches. “What is it you want to ask, Dekk?” he asks in that way where he knows exactly what I’m thinking—and need—without me ever saying a word.

  And I do.

  I have so many questions.

  Ones that run through my mind as Hunter’s soft snores fill my bedroom in the wee hours of the morning. Ones that nag at me as I watch him tear up.

  “How come you never got remarried after Mom died?” He startles, and I know I’ve caught him off guard.

  “I never found someone I wanted to marry.”

  “But you never dated.”

  He nods until his twisted lips spread into the softest of smiles. “I date plenty. I had girlfriends for months at a time,” he says to my utter shock.

  “When? Who? How come I don’t know this?”

  “Because the last thing I wanted was for you girls to ever think I was trying to replace your mother.” He sets the pen down. “And I went out at night. Sometimes client dinners weren’t really client dinners. Sometimes business trips were a little more than that.”