He turned, unamused. “About what? My brother? Drew will be fine as long as he doesn’t know you’re here. He actually sounded like he was looking forward to his date this time.”

Leila gaped at him. “Just goes to show how little you actually listen to him,” she grumbled to herself. “In fact, I’m not sure you have the capability to hear anything that anyone says to you. You keep your head so far up your own ass it’s a wonder you can stand upright.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It’s thirty degrees outside tonight, and I’m wearing shorts,” she snapped. “Does that seem odd to you?”

He paused, gazing at her, confused. He hadn’t considered the weather. He’d been too preoccupied with the skin the shorts revealed to worry about anything else.

“And do you actually believe I chose to wear your godforsaken jersey on purpose?” She held the front of the jersey away from her body as if it were covered in toxic waste.

“You used to always wear that jersey,” he stated with certainty. She used to wear it to games, switching between it and her brother’s, but she always wore his number the most. He’d kept track.

“Just take a second and look at me, Henrik.” Her eyes pleaded with him now, and the erratic state of her appearance slowly started to sink in. “I haven’t slept in days. I can’t remember the last time I had an actual meal, and I am seconds away from completely losing what little sanity I have left. I came here for help, and you just proved why I asked for you last.”

Her voice was weak. She had circles forming under her eyes.

He’d been too focused on himself and what he wanted even to take the time to realize she hadn’t come for him.

What girl traveled with just one half-empty bag? No girl did that.

He felt like an idiot. Leila came to him for help, and for the second time in a row, he screwed it up.

She tugged her black bag tighter around her back and stepped past him to the door. Her cheeks flushed a brazen red, her breathing unsettled as she paused at the threshold. Slowly, she turned back, her green eyes intense with her internal battle.

“I can’t take another second of watching you walk around in the shadow of your own stupidity,” she said. “It’s time you woke up and realized there is more to the world than what lands at the end of your dick.” She took a moment to catch her breath, indecision flashing across her face before she continued. “Your brother is gay.”

That same look captured her eyes again, the soft glow she reserved just for Drew. “He’s not in love with me. He never has been. We hung out so much because I was the only person he trusted enough to tell the truth. So, no, I really doubt he’s enjoying that date you forced him to go on.”

She shot him one more long, pointed stare before she slammed the door in his face.

Gay. She definitely just said Drew was gay.

Henrik stood there, and then stood there some more. His brain was suddenly on information overload, and his hormones blocked his ability to process it at a socially acceptable rate.

Drew told him he didn’t want to go on the date. He told him he didn’t understand his type. He needed to stop trying to help.

Henrik collapsed. His hands covered his face.

Shit. Drew was gay.

He blinked back tears and guilt. Of course Drew was gay.

His world catapulted upside down, or maybe it righted itself for the first time.

Of course. Drew. How the hell did he miss that?

He was officially the worst big brother in existence. If that wasn’t enough, all the things Leila accused him of being all these years were actually true. Years’ worth of her unrelenting comments flooded his mind. Maybe he really was a self-serving, narcissistic jerk.

Chapter 4

 

 

HENRIK’S ADVICE

The following morning Henrik sat alone in the locker room at Madison Square Garden. The first to arrive for practice, he already had his gear and skates on. He needed a quiet place to think, to make some attempt to sort through the thousands of thoughts streaming through his clouded head. He leaned back against the wall beneath his locker and stared at the empty room, which would soon be bustling with energy.

The rows of neatly stacked sticks and tape, the sounds of skates being sharpened to exact measurement, and the empty bins, which in just a few short hours would be filled with the foulest smelling laundry in existence. This was his life; it always had been, since he was old enough to walk.

Eat. Sleep. Hockey.

It was the mantra he lived his life by, and occasionally—or, well, frequently—he added girls into that equation. However, since last night, he’d been forced to deviate from that mind track. He suddenly had so much more to consider.

“Oh,” a bewildered voice echoed through the empty room. “Sorry, I didn’t know anyone was here yet.”

Samuel O’Dell, the latest rookie on his team, stood in front of his locker with his headphones around his neck. He must have been singing, going by the sheepish look plastered on his face, but as usual, Henrik had apparently been so wrapped up in himself he hadn’t noticed.

“What are you doing here this early?” he asked Sam, trying to make an authentic attempt at conversation. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d spoken to Sam off the ice.

“Coach wants me to work on my slap shot for the power play in case I need to fill in for Callen one night,” Sam explained. He set his bag down next to his locker, studying Henrik intently. “What are you doing here this early?”

He sat up a little straighter, rubbing his hand down his face, considering his answer. Instead, he asked, “Do you think I’m selfish?”

Sam’s eyes narrowed, caught off guard by the question. “Umm, no. I mean, you led the Eastern Conference in assists last year. You’re like the least selfish player I know.”

He shook his head, letting Sam know he’d misunderstood his question. “I wasn’t talking about on the ice. I meant like here in the locker room. Am I selfish?”

Sam didn’t answer.

Bad sign.

“You can be honest. I’m looking for a reality check, here.”

Sam rubbed his hand through his shaggy, unkempt hair, a nervous habit. Henrik knew he didn’t want to insult his captain, but he obviously had something to say. “Hell, I don’t know. You’re usually out of the locker room right after the games, and you only hang out with Austin.”

He felt his mouth go slack. “I hang out with more guys than Austin.”

It wasn’t until he read Sam’s expression that he realized his tone was harsh. He sucked in a breath, calming his natural instinct to argue, and held his hands up in surrender. “I apologize. Please, continue.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Sam rushed, “you’re an amazing captain. When we’re on the ice, and especially at practice, you always give the best advice. I’ve already learned so much from just the things you yell at me in passing out there.”

“But—”

“But when we’re not on the ice—”

“I’m a selfish asshole.”

Sam winced.

“It’s all right Sam. It’s the truth.”

Sam looked apologetic. “You’re still a good captain.”

As if that somehow made being a shitty person okay. It wasn’t okay. None of it was okay.

He stood, stretching out his muscles. Sam continued to study him as he hung up his gear. “That the only thing bothering you?”

He wasn’t sure he wanted to discuss it yet, or even if he should, but Leila’s words kept running through his mind. The more he considered it, her accusations were right on point. There was more to the world than his datebook, and as he looked over at Sam’s youthful, expectant face, he was instantly reminded of Drew. His heart sank a little at the thought of his brother, and everything he’d endured in silence, especially the past year, just because he was too self-involved to notice.