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Neither of them spares me so much as a glance as they start getting dressed.

The second I’m done, I throw my bag over my shoulder, grab my cell and keys from the bench, and head toward the door.

“Later,” I mutter as I leave the dressing room.

“See you tomorrow,” Storm says, but predictably, Rivers stays silent.

Maybe Storm should be ranting at him. I might not be trying all that hard, but at least I am trying. Kodie is…

Fuck.

Kodie is acting as he should.

I’ve been nothing but an asshole to him since our first college matchup. I know it’s all my fault, but I was fucked up back then.

A laugh spills out of me as I walk through the parking garage.

I wasn’t just fucked up back then. I’ve always been fucked up. I was just better at hiding it when I was a kid. It was easier when life was simple.

I had a parent who cared, and a friend who was there by my side, no matter what.

The summer before freshman year of college, everything started unraveling. I had no idea just how bad it was going to get. Or that the one person who’d always been there for me was suddenly going to be the one who took the brunt of the anger I was struggling to contain.

Being on the ice helped, but it wasn’t enough.

I fall into my car and immediately rest my head back and close my eyes as memories I’ve tried to force to the back of my head all these years come surging back.

“Kodie got into Dartford U.”

“Kodie scored two goals and got two assists tonight.”

“Kodie played better than you.”

“Rumor has it, Kodie is entering the draft as a first-round pick.”

“Argh,” I roar, slamming my fists into my steering wheel. But it doesn’t stop it.

Nothing ever stops the fucking voice in my head.

His voice.

“You’re not good enough, Cooper. You will never be good enough. You will never be as good as Kodie, and you will never be as good as me.

“You’re an embarrassment to the Nash name.”

Bitterness and hatred flow through my blood as I wake my cell up to see if I have anything from my brothers.

I fucking hate that they’re now subjected to the same bullshit I endured. But what the fuck can I do about it? Dad’s smart. He doesn’t let the world see his abuse. That’s what it is—emotional abuse. It took me a long time to see it, and even then, it took Vancouver’s team therapist a long fucking time to make me see it. And honestly, I never told her the worst of it. Most of it, I kept inside. No one else needs to know just how bad it got.

There’s nothing from Huxley or Ryder, and my stomach twists in painful knots.

They’ll be at after-school practice. I’m sure they’re fine.

Fuck. I really fucking hope they’re fine.

As I scan through my notifications, there’s one that causes a reaction in me.

My heart beats a little harder, and something flutters in my stomach.