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She scrunched her face and shook her head. “I’m guessing that didn’t go well?”
“Not at all. Imagine telling these hulking guys, used to beating people up for looking at them wrong on the ice, that they can’t have sugar. And then, of course, the coaches and management don’t get the brunt of their anger. I do.”
Em squeezed my arm, her hand sending jolts of heat through my body. “You could hold your own.”
The fire from her touch spread to my cock, and I gulped, trying to suppress the ache. “I work out as a hobby. It’s their job to be ripped.”
She let go of my arm, and I hurried to grab our dessert. Chocolate pudding. Another of Rob’s favorites.
God. Rob. What would he think of me aching over Emily like this? I never told him how I felt about his little sister.
His death was apparently instant, which gave me some comfort, but it meant we never said goodbye to each other.
Em had moved in with us after she graduated. I started falling for her, and it felt like moments later he was gone.
I never got to tell him.
He would be so disappointed in me if he knew how much she occupied my thoughts.
It wasn’t even purely physical. I was in love with her. But I kept it to myself because she showed no interest in me, and I didn’t want to ruin our friendship.
Nope. I was relegated to listening to stories about jackasses like Bryce. I hated seeing her hurt by all these dumb men who didn’t see her worth. The things she would come home and tell me after horrendous dates—I shuddered just thinking about what men were comfortable telling her.
Although I couldn’t be with her, I could at least be the one to comfort her and help her pick up the pieces.
I swallowed the ache that still threatened to consume me and held up the pudding. “Want to eat this in here or in the family room?”
“Family room, for sure.” She grabbed two spoons, and I followed her to the couch.
She sat on one end and I sat on the other, but she scooted over until our legs were touching. “We can’t share a bowl that far apart.”
I laughed it off and took the spoon she offered me. “To Rob,” I said, before digging in.
“To Rob,” she repeated.
I watched for her reaction, knowing she would love it, just like she did every year. We only ate pudding on Rob’s birthday and the anniversary of his death. It was one of those desserts that could become mundane and neither of us wanted that to happen.
“Oh, this is a good batch,” she moaned.
I watched her, motionless. My spoon halted on the cusp of my next bite.
If she knew the hold she had over me, she didn’t show it. Instead, she glanced at me and laughed.
“You got some on your cheek.” Licking her thumb, she wiped it off and I silently cursed myself for being such a lovesick fool.
“Thanks,” I muttered.
She pulled out her phone and nestled into the crook of my arm, her curly brown hair spilling down her shoulder as she leaned over. Her finger hovered over the screen, scrolling until she found the album we put together, the one with all the best pictures of Rob.
The first year was unfathomably hard. The second year was harder. While the rest of the world had moved on, neither of us had. To honor Rob while finding a new normal, we celebrated him two days a year—his birthday and the day he passed. The grief of missing him hit randomly, but having two days to look forward to helped take the sting away. It was hard and felt weird compartmentalizing our grief this way, but it was necessary. He wouldn’t have wanted us to waste our lives missing him.
“This one’s my favorite,” Em said, holding up a picture of Rob eating the exact meal we had eaten tonight.
“After I finished culinary school, he coerced me into making all our meals.”
“I remember that.” Em laughed, the melody of her joy spreading through me.
“I needed this.”
