Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 102607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
“You hate change.”
He’s only half correct.
I hate change within reason, with plenty of notice.
“Does this have anything to do with their anniversary coming up?”
Their anniversary.
Mom and dad’s.
My throat tightens at the way he says it—soft, careful, like the words might break something if he’s not gentle. We never say “the day they died.” We decided to celebrate their wedding anniversary instead, because it’s kinder to us. We decided years ago, curled up on the living room floor with our lives freshly cracked open—that we’d celebrate the years they were together.
Not the day everything ended.
We’ve done it every year since. Sometimes with pancakes. Sometimes with silence. Once with a trip to the lake where they got engaged. It’s always a bit sad and weird and perfect in that awful, sacred way grief can be.
But this year…
This year, Gio has a partner. A baby. A family that depends on him now.
And I’m trying not to resent that.
I really, really am.
“I don’t know,” I admit, reaching to touch the top layer of my hair. “Maybe. It just feels… like everything’s changing lately and I don’t feel quite like myself anymore.”
He watches me for a beat, face unreadable. Then nods, just once, like he gets it. Because of course he does. He’s the only other person who could.
But that doesn’t make it easier because I don’t say what I’m really thinking: that I miss our parents in ways I don’t know how to talk about anymore.
That I miss us—him and I—the way we used to be before life started breaking us into separate pieces.
That I went out on a date with his teammate out of spite, because he’s always telling me what I can and cannot do as if he were…well. Our father.
Protective to a fault. Always assuming he knows what’s best. Always trying to steer me away from risk—especially when it looks like a six-foot-something forward with a crooked grin and a reputation for scoring on and off the ice.
I swallow the lump rising in my throat and force a smile. “Truffle fries sound good—you should add those to the order if you already haven’t.”
He nods. “Done.” Pushes the condiment basket to the center of the table and steals a napkin. Fiddles with it the same way I do when I’m nervous. “Well it looks good. I like it.”
I touch my hair again. “Thanks.”
“What else is new?” My brother wants to know. “You said you were going to get back on the dating apps. Any luck?”
Only if you call chicken nuggets with your teammate luck.
I snort, which only makes him more suspicious.
"No one worth mentioning," I say with a shrug, trying not to sound as guilty as I feel. "The apps are full of people who can’t spell, don’t bother filling out the bio, or are so negative it’s an instant turnoff.”
I cross my fingers beneath the table.
Except Luca. “You sure you don’t want me dating anyone on your team?” I tease, hoping he’ll say yes. It would make life a lot easier…
“You’re not funny.”
Okay but… “Why?” Explain to me again.
“Nova. My team is not your playground. You don’t get to point a finger at one of the single dudes and have him. It’s not a game. I know what they talk about in the locker room. I know what they do when they travel, and how fast they get bored.”
I open my mouth to argue, but he cuts me off.
“And also—it’s complicated. If you fuck one over, that can mess with team chemistry. I have to see them every damn day. I have to depend on them.” He shakes his head, jaw tight. “I don’t want to be the guy who punches a teammate because he screwed over my sister. Or vice versa.”
He has said as much to me multiple times but the issue is…
It’s already too late.
My stomach falls. “Do you not trust me? Because that’s how it sounds.”
He blinks, thrown. “It’s not that. Of course I trust you.”
I arch a brow. “Really? Then why are you making it sound like you think I hook up with some guy for fun?”
I mean.
Sometimes I do, but that is none of his freaking business.
Gio rubs a hand over his face. “That’s not what I’m saying. It’s just—you deserve someone who isn’t in a constant state of exhaustion, pressure, and ego. And they deserve someone who doesn’t change their mind about everything every five minutes.”
My mouth opens.
Closes.
I flounder.
I DO NOT CHANGE MY MIND EVERY FIVE MINUTES!
“I’ve watched what this job does to guys,” he goes on, tipping his head back and looking up at the ceiling for a few moments. “I’ve been in that locker room after someone’s gotten dumped or caught cheating. It screws with their heads. With the whole team dynamic. I’m not trying to be a dick, Nova. I just want to keep the two most important parts of my life from ruining each other.”