Page 91 of The Call-Up
“I’m glad we got here early,” O’Shea says. “I hate arriving in a city just to immediately hit the bed.”
“Me too,” Roysy says. He bumps his shoulder against O’Shea’s. “You want to grab a bite to eat? There’s that killer steak house near the hotel.”
“Yeah. Sounds good,” O’Shea says. He turns to look at me and Ryan. “You two in? Or do you have some kind of special date night planned?”
“I wish,” I say. Dinner with the boys sounds much better than what I have planned.
“To which part?” Roysy asks. “Dinner with us? Or are you telling me the romance is now dead between the two of you after confessing your secret to us?” He leans forward conspiratorially into my personal space.
I push him, almost knocking him off of his skates. “Fuck off,” I laugh. “And neither. I’m having dinner with my brother tonight.”
Both O’Shea and Roysy look affronted, each pulling their own look of horror.
“You can’t fraternize with the enemy,” Roysy says.
O’Shea frowns and shakes his head. “That’s against playoff code.”
“Not if he poisons his brother,” Ivanov says as he skates past. “Then it is good plan.”
I give him a pointed look. “I’m not poisoning my brother. You’re just going to have to figure out how to beat him fair and square.”
“Don’t worry so much,” Ryan says, clapping him on the shoulder. “Ander isn’t even that good.”
“He’s not not good,” I mutter under my breath.
Ryan turns to face me. “Let Ivanov worry about your brother. You have another problem you need to be concerned about.”
“Yeah,” Roysy says, knocking me with his shoulder again, trying to throw me off balance. “Get ready for Gavin Marshal’s special welcome package.”
O’Shea steps off the ice. “I hope you have some frozen peas.”
“You’re gonna need them!” Roysy yells as he follows.
I shake my head. Honestly, I’d happily take a hit from Gavin if it would get me out of having to have dinner with Ander tonight.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” Ryan asks.
“Nah,” I tell him. “Go have fun with those guys. I’ll handle Ander by myself.”
“You sure?”
I nod my head yes, then take a quick look around. We’re the only two remaining on the ice. I grab the front of his jersey and pullhim in for a quick peck on the lips. “You’ve signed yourself up for a potential lifetime of dinners with my brother. Save yourself the discomfort of this one.”
“Alright,” he says. “But text me if you change your mind. I’ll come meet you.”
I already know he would if I asked him to. And as much as I’d like for him to come to this dinner, I also want to protect him a little bit. Not that he needs protection from Ander, or anyone for that matter, but after what happened with my mom and dad, I’d like to save him from another potential breakdown.
It’s not his fault. I get it. And frankly I’m impressed he lasted as long as he did without having one. I’d be a complete mess if I’d had his childhood. My family is great; yes, they annoy the ever-living shit out of me, but that doesn’t stop them from being the best people in the world. Including my brother.
So an hour and a half later when I’m knocking on the door of his condo, I can’t help but smile when he swings the door open and bursts out of it to give me a hug.
“Yo!” he exclaims, laughing. “It’s fucking good to see you! I can’t believe you’ve been in the league for three whole months now and I have yet to properly congratulate you in person.”
“It’s kind of hard to meet when we’re both playing,” I say when he places me back down on my feet.
He ruffles my hair with his hand. “You need a fucking haircut.”
“Yeah,” I huff. “I’ve been told.”
