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“I know. I’m sorry. So if he made you feel rejected, it was because he saw me watching. Not because of anything you did.”

“Ah.”

Crim’s eyes met mine. “I saw his face when you walked away. He looked like I’d just crosschecked him into the boards. And then he spent the rest of the season asking about you in that casual way that wasn’t casual at all.”

The picnic rearranged itself in my head. Not like puzzle pieces clicking into place. More like someone had taken the whole picture and turned it upside down. His face when I’d walked away. That’s cute. The way he’d looked past me, not at me. I’d thought he was dismissing me. But now it seemed he’d been looking at Crim and that whole moment had nothing to do with my body, my dress, or my stupid opening line, and everything to do with the scowling orc brother sitting twenty feet away.

“Maybe don’t be so rough on him,” Crim said. “I think I’m part of why it happened.”

“He’s still an idiot.”

Crim’s grin returned. “Oh, for sure. But he’s an idiot who’s been looking at you like you’re wonderful since you started working for the team.”

“I kicked him out of the treatment room today.”

“Good. He deserved it.” He tilted his head. “Should I let him keep his legs or…?”

“He’ll need his legs to play in the goal.”

He raked his fingers through his hair. “I guess so. Kind of hard to play on stubs.”

“The team needs him.”

He dropped his hand onto mine sitting on the table. “I don’t care about the team. I care about you and your feelings. If you say you want revenge, I’m all over it. No one hurts you while I’m around.”

“Thank you.”

We finished dinner, talking about the upcoming playoff games, his parents, and mutual friends who’d moved away or had orclings. Normal sibling stuff, a conversation we’d had a hundred times.

But my brain was stuck on what Crim had said.

Before I left, he hugged me. He had to bend down; I had to stretch up on my toes. His arms wrapped around me the way they had since I was fourteen and drowning in grief.

“Take care of yourself,” he said, his hand on the knob, about to open the door. “Stay away from Brashe and things should work out fine.”

“I have to work with him until he’s back in play.”

He rested his hands on my shoulders. “If he messes up again, I’ll hand you my broadsword, and you can chop off his legs.”

I drove home with the windows down, letting the cold air sting my face.

Brashe had been asking about me all season. Crim said he’d looked stunned when I walked away.

He hadn’t turned me down because I was…well, me. The thought lodged in my throat like I’d tried to swallow a slice of Crim’s bread whole. I’d carried Brashe’s rejection for ten months, letting it confirm every shitty thing I’d ever believed about myself.

And it hadn’t even been about me.

Marzipan was waiting on the back of the couch when I got home. She meowed, demanding her evening attention.

I sank down on the sofa and buried my face in her long, gray fur.

She tolerated it for about twelve seconds before jumping down and stalking away with her tail high.

“You’re right,” I told her retreating form. “I’m a mess.”

My phone buzzed with a text, and I jumped.

The message was from Brashe. I iced my hip like you told me to.