Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 89535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
“Your brother used to be fun, but ever since he moved home, he’s all ‘I can’t go out. I can’t leave the kids. I’m a big boring bore.’”
I rub my temples. “I’m sure there were more options for you back in Boston.”
“Yeah, but I was hoping if I made the drive out here, your brother might finally take me up on the offer to go out.”
I scoff. “Not likely. Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but his life has drastically changed in the last year.”
“Which is exactly why he deserves a night out.”
I desperately want to ask Ezra what exactly a night out with the two of them would entail because my brother is … elusive when it comes to his party life.
The rumors swirling around him in hockey circles are full of wild stories even I wouldn’t be able to keep up with, and I’ve never had the guts to ask if they were true or not. There are some things I just don’t want to know about my brother.
I roll onto my stomach and throw my pillow over my head. I’m hungover, and Ezra is still rambling.
“Suddenly West is all Mr. Serious and Responsible. It’s weird. And unnerving. There’s been a cosmic shift in the universe, and that shit’s unnatural.”
Can’t he take the hint?
“Why are you still here?”
“You were a lot nicer last night.”
“Alcohol makes me nice. Get. Out.”
“I’m going.”
I peek under my pillow as Ezra throws my clothes at me.
“But you need to get up and take the kids to hockey.”
I’m like a damn taxi service. Although, if I’m honest, I don’t mind driving them around and taking them to hockey. They lost both their parents and now have two fuckboys who don’t know what they’re doing trying to make sure they get through their teen years safely. They’re dealing with enough shit without adding my ruined life plans to their conscience. It’s not their fault our parents died. It was a damn moose in the middle of the road that left them parentless and West out of his element and needing help.
West may be acting responsible, but he isn’t fooling me.
Once a fuckboy, always a fuckboy.
It’s why I don’t fight it anymore.
I finally get up and dress. It’s the beginning of what is going to be a long-ass summer. West is coaching at CU for their summer camp. Zoe and Rhys are old enough to be left on their own, but I’m responsible for Hazel, Bennett, and Emmett, who are luckily going to their own private day camp. All the while, I get to go to summer classes because my freshman year didn’t go well. I don’t expect my sophomore one to go any better, but if I want to play hockey, I need a C-grade average. At this point, I can only see me reaching that with extra-credit programs. Fun times.
I just want to play hockey. If the universe wasn’t a cruel bitch, I would be in Buffalo living my NHL dream instead of playing college hockey.
I pause at my bedroom door. How the hell am I supposed to play this?
If it’s true that everyone has an angel side and a devil side, my angel side is telling me to apologize, but the darkness inside me won’t allow it. The words I’m sorry don’t fall from my mouth often. Or at all.
I make my way upstairs and hear West and Ezra in the kitchen.
“Are you kidding me?” West hisses. “My little brother?”
I stay hidden around the corner where they can’t see me.
“It was only sex,” Ezra says. “Who cares?”
West sighs. “It can’t be like that for me, and it shouldn’t be for him either. Don’t you get it? One wrong step and our siblings end up in foster care.”
My stomach churns, and I don’t think it has anything to do with my hangover.
“Okay. I’m sorry. Won’t happen again,” Ezra says.
“You’re damn right it won’t. Go back to Boston, Ez.”
“If that’s what you want.” Ezra’s loud footsteps move toward the door, and then he appears in front of me. He gives a cocky smile. “See you round, Little Dalton.”
I hate, hate, hate being called that. Little Dalton, Mini Dalton … everyone in hockey does it, and it’s annoying. I’m always being compared and always have to live up to the expectations Westly Dalton set.
Ezra leaves, the door clicking shut behind him.
When I round the corner, West is packing the kids’ lunches to take to camp. This is where I’m supposed to speak, but I’ve got nothing. I’m surprisingly flat. I usually thrive off tension, but I know I messed up this time.
His stormy eyes meet mine, and his mouth opens, but then Bennett drags his ass past me to get to the fridge.
In an epic brother stare down West and I have perfected over the years, words are said without actually speaking.