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Brady furrows his brow. The look on his face confirms what my head is telling me—he has no clue what I’m talking about and yet my damn mouth keeps moving.
“…I mean, I’ve been carrying this anger over what he did for over twenty years and I—” Oh my God Davis, shut the fuck up.
“What?” Brady asks. He narrows his eyes at me. “What he did? What did he do?”
“Fuck,” I mutter. “I figured he told you what the fight was about.”
“He did not.”
I exhale. “Fuck,” I mutter again.
“How long have you two known each other?” He asks. Brady’s tone shifts. And those cashmere gray eyes turn to steel.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. I don’t want to go down this road, not alone at any rate. It’s odd that my first thought is that I want Carter here with me. No, I need Carter here with me. I no longer feel like this is my story alone to tell. It’s ours. Carter’s and mine. It’s something we share. Something we alone understand. And whether or not we like it, something we are bound by. For the first time I feel it as a connection—and not a bad one.
The one man neither of us ever wants to disappoint is standing in front of me, waiting for an explanation. Demanding an explanation. And the only person who can help me right now is Carter fucking Hughes. And he has probably buried himself somewhere at the bottom of a bottle, thanks to me.
“And what the hell could he have done that affected you like this and has had you both so angry for two decades? I didn’t even know you knew each other.”
I sweep my hands through my hair, walk slowly across the room, and shut the door. I press my forehead against it and say a silent prayer, asking for strength and to please let this all be okay before I turn to face the man who has been my best friend for more than a decade now.
“Sit.”
He does not.
Chapter eight
Several of the offices at the new compound across the street from the Grizzlies practice facility look out onto the rink. We are planning to equip each office with a door that can be opened to allow access to some seats. If the occupant wants to step out and watch a game or practice, they will be able do so without having to go out onto the concourse and around everything to reach the stairs.
Levi and I stare out the gap where the door will be installed, possibly later today, and out over the rink, which is currently an iceless oval in the middle of a building. Close, so close to having everything fall into place. I don’t even have to look at Levi to know he is smiling. I’m smiling, too. This place is going to be incredible. It’s already incredible. Feelings I rarely allow myself to have swell up inside me every time I pull into the parking lot. Pride.
I’m proud of this. Proud of what Levi and I have done together.
I ignore the phone buzzing in my pocket. When it instantly does so again, I grumble and pull it out to glance at who I need to return a call to later. DFG. His initials startle me. They also send a tiny wave of excitement through me. Which is stupid, since I’m still sporting marks from our most recent encounter on my face and hands. He’s never called me before. Hell, I forgot I even had his number in my contacts. I did that mostly to not answer his calls. Not that he would ever call me. I’m impressed he even has my number. It’s probably for the same reason I have his. But yep, there is that tiny wave of excitement again. Excitement that Davis has my number.
I shake my head, but can’t hide the grin before Levi catches it. He also sees my phone before I can tuck it away. Not sure if he recognizes the initials or not, but he probably does. Regardless, he subtly steps away so I can return the call. But I’m not going to. I have no intention of letting Davis Franklin George in on this moment. Dammit, he’s determined. My phone buzzes again with a pair of texts. Jesus.
I fucked up.
I’m so sorry.
It doesn’t take a full hand for me to count the number of times I’ve seen Brady lose his cool. I’m about to add one to that number.
Alerting Levi to the contents of Davey’s texts isn’t an option. I’ve barely finished reading them when Brady storms into the building. Levi doesn’t need an explanation. We both know what happened, but it’s Levi who meets his fury head on.
“You need to take a breath,” Levi says to Brady, who not surprisingly casts him a shocked and furious glare.
“And you need to step back,” he sneers. “We have rules about this.” He adds between clenched teeth.
“Those rules apply to Devyn.”
“Carter is my brother!” Brady raises voice, which is not the norm for him. His icy composure, combined with his size and those steel-gray eyes, are part of what made him such a success as a player, coach and now GM in the NHL.
“He’s my brother too,” Levi snaps, which again diverts Brady’s attention and forces him to look Levi in the eye. He locks that glare on Levi and Levi meets it with his own. “And he’s my friend. So. Take. A. Damn. Breath.”
“Levi,” I say, blown away by his support, but not at all wanting to come between the two of them. “Hey, I got this.”
Levi and Brady continue to eye each other. A discussion about this is sure to be happening later. I had thoughts of warning Devyn and then wondered what ‘rules’ they have in place that apply to her. I can’t even imagine what it takes to make their marriage of three work.
