“Fine,” she concedes, and they each take me by an arm.
I stumble as I walk. “This is so crazy. Look at the three of us. Who would have ever thought this day would come. I sure as hell didn’t.” I turn my attention to Flynn. “Your parents knew. Can you believe your parents knew?” I can’t hide the excitement in my tone, but Flynn frowns. I’m making her sad. Shit.
“Myles shut the fuck up,” Oli warns.
Flynn drops my arm. “I’m going to bed.” She walks back to her room.
Oli turns to me. “Come on, Myles… Fuck, I don’t have all night.” He shakes his head, and I follow him back to my apartment. My reasons for walking into theirs don’t make sense now.
We walk into my place, and Oli stands with his arms crossed just like Flynn did moments ago.
I fall back into a seat at my kitchen table.
“You’re going to feel like shit tomorrow.” He’s right. Alcohol hits me hard.
“Better than what I’m feeling now,” I bite out. I down another shot of liquid courage. Then I look my best friend in the eye. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to disappoint her. She’s been through enough.”
Oli’s stands by my kitchen table.
“You and my sister… It’s like the last seven years—no, even before the accident, you looked for ways of telling yourselves you shouldn’t be together. You’re doing it because you feel like shit in here,” Oli says, smacking his chest.
My elbows rest on the table as my head falls forward. I catch it in my hands. “Fuck,” I bark.
“Yes, your parents were worthless assholes that didn’t deserve you, but you are the best person I know. You’ve had my back since I can remember. You’re a great friend. You always had more skill than me, and I wouldn’t be where I am today if it wasn’t for you and your dedication to helping me succeed. You care about Flynn. You’re worthy. So do something about it.”
“Are you done?” I’m numb, but every damn word he’s said has resonated.
He lets out a long breath. “I’m fucking done, and I’m going to sleep.” He turns and stalks out of my apartment. I’m left staring at my bottle of whiskey, willing it to give me all the answers to life. Only it doesn’t.
I hold the half-empty bottle in my hands. “You better be ready, Flynn, because I’m about to put the fight up of my life to win you back.” Then I place my head on the kitchen table, and I pass out.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Flynn
Myles seemed so broken. There’s no way I’ll be able to rest until I check on him. I take Oli’s spare key for Myles’s apartment, and I slip out the front door.
His apartment is dark except for a small hall light off to the left. He’s face-planted and sleeping on his kitchen table. He doesn’t look very comfortable, either. I walk over to him and nudge him awake. After a few tries, he mumbles something incoherent.
“Easy there,” I say, wrapping my arms around his waist. “Let’s get you to bed, big guy.” I begin to walk with him. He’s unsteady but at least he’s holding himself up.
“You’re touching me?” he slurs.
A slow smile spreads across my lips. “Which is your bedroom?”
“Second door,” he mumbles as I hold his arm tight. If he falls over, we are both going down, and I won’t get him back up.
“I like that you’re talking to me. I missed you,” he says.
We reach the side of his bed. “Can we cuddle?” he slurs.
I choke on my laugh. “Want to tell me what this is about?” I have an idea, but I need him to say it.
“I want you. I’ve always wanted you,” he murmurs.
I hold my breath. Drunk Myles is super honest. “Are you still angry with me about driving the car?” he asks then falls back in the bed.
I let out a heavy breath. Oli spoke to him.
I sit on his bed. “I wasn’t angry in the way you think. I was grieving, I was sad…looking at you reminded me of what I lost. I hated it, but I couldn’t help it. I associated your face with their deaths. It was wrong of me. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. I just couldn’t help it.” I sigh.
“Thank you. My Tink,” he murmurs, and his words mend the broken pieces of me. It feels so right being with him. How did we stay apart for so long? I need to fix this. I need to fix us.
He snores a bit.
Maybe I’ll wait until he’s sober.
Oli is right. Life is too short.
…
I have a hard time falling asleep. I toss and turn, worrying about my broken Peter Pan. I want Myles. There. I’ve admitted it to myself. But we still have some mending to do before we have any chance of making some sort of relationship work. I’d been so overwhelmed with my own hurt, I didn’t realize what I’d done to him.
Around half past twelve, Oli knocks on my door. “Heading to practice. Big game tonight. You better plan on making it,” he shouts through the door.
“Okay,” I mumble in return.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asks, and I sense his worry. It’s always there when he’s talking to me. To everyone else in my life, I’m strong as stone, but Oli treats me like I’m a fragile piece of glass.
“I’m good. Get to the arena and make that practice your bitch.”
I hear him chuckle through the door. Then he’s gone.
I close my eyes and fall asleep, grateful it’s the weekend. The chime on my phone tells me I slept for two more hours. I must’ve really needed the rest. I pick up the phone to see a text message from Sloane.
Sloane: Are you breathing?
I realize I haven’t been in touch since my breakdown at work yesterday.
Me: I think so. Tough 24 hours. Will update you soon.
Sloane: K Shnookums :)
I place the phone back on the side table and trudge out of bed. I better get my work done now if I’m going to this game tonight.
…
My brother has front center rink-side seats waiting for me when I arrive. The security for the team hands me two tickets. He must have assumed I was coming with Sloane, only I decided to fly solo tonight, since I’m drowning in my own thoughts.
Myles and Oli are having a good night. Myles seems to be taking out his temper on the ice. It’s like he’s driven by anger, and in the game of hockey it helps him succeed. My brother is also a rock star tonight, sweeping in and getting the puck from the other team and scoring a goal. They both eye me at different points in the game, so I know they see me here, which is good because I don’t plan on sticking around afterward.
The buzzer goes off, and the Blackhawks win the game. The fans cheer their heads off. Chicago definitely supports their team, I’ll give them that. I grab my purse and practically run out of the arena, out to the front where I hop directly into a cab because I don’t want to face Myles yet. My old friend fear holds me back, and as much as I need to let go of the past, stepping toward the future is a scary thing when you don’t know what awaits you.
As I’m walking through the main entrance to Oli’s building, I receive a text message.
Oli: Where are you?
Me: Great game. Saw it all. Home now. Need to work.
Oli: K. Have a good night.
While sifting through one of the cases Tara has me working on, my mind drifts to Myles. I ran away from the arena tonight like the place was on fire. When would I stop running? I’d already come to the realization that Myles wasn’t to blame. I have feelings for him I want to explore. I need to stop letting my fears control me. That was key. I always patted myself on the back for controlling every angle of my life. It was the reason I kept change to a minimum. But my life was changing, and as much as it scared me, a thrill rushed through my body at the idea of Myles and me finally being free to explore our feelings. I finally knew what I had to do. Tomorrow I would go to Myles and tell him how I truly felt.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Flynn
The next morning, I wake with an extra bounce in my step as I send my br
other a message asking when practice will be over. I should have spent the last two hours shampooing my hair and blowing it out, maybe putting on some makeup, but I’ve done none of the above. Despite feeling like I’m crawling out of my own skin, I manage to gather my old hockey gear together and pack it into one of Oli’s many equipment bags.
At the arena, I’m confronted with the same security guard from last night.
“I’m Flynn Russell.” I smile nervously. “I’m Oliver Rus—”
The security guard cuts me off, smiling. “I remember you, ma’am. Go ahead. The team is still practicing on the ice.”
“Thank you.” I nod, realizing he may think it’s weird that I’m carrying a large duffle over my shoulder like the hockey players do. The guard holds the door open for me.
The cold air of the rink bites at my skin. The team is on the ice, huddled around the coach. I head over to the side of the rink and take a seat on a bench in front of the Plexiglas. My brother notices me, and his head jerks back in surprise, then he returns his attention to the team.
Myles starts a loud cheer, and they all shout something before they skate off the ice. The team leaves except for my brother and Myles. Oli skates toward me. Myles eyes me like he’s not sure what to think.
“What’s going on?” Oli gaze drifts to the large duffle on the floor. He’s a little out of breath as he takes his helmet off.
Ignoring Oli, I shout to Myles on the ice, “I owe you a game.”
Myles’s face scrunches with confusion. He’s comfortable expressing his emotions on the ice, so that’s what we’re going to do. I do owe him that.
“What are you talking about?” Oli asks and tilts his head to look into my eyes. It’s like he’s checking me for a concussion or something.
“This is between me and Myles, Oli,” I say. “I owe him a game. I’m here to pay up.” I say, giving Myles a lopsided grin.
“You want to play hockey? Now? Here?” Myles skates closer. He thinks I’ve lost my mind.
“Yep.” I shrug, looking down at my duffle, unfazed, which couldn’t be further from the truth. My insides are shaking like a leaf. Oli follows me to the benches, and I hear Myles mutter “okay” to himself. He stays on the ice like he’s glued to his spot as he watches me intently.
“You need to stop worrying about me all the time,” I tell Oli as I begin to gear up. I bend down to tie my skates, the same kind the hockey players wear.
“Yeah, okay.” Oli shakes his head, his dark hair sweaty and sticky from practice. He’s still eyeing me warily.
All suited up, I place my hand on my brother’s shoulder. “Oliver Russell, you have spent the last seven years of your life worrying about me a little too much. You need to stop, because I’m okay. Whatever happens today, I’ll still be okay, because I’m me. I’m strong. I’ve been through a lot, and it hasn’t been easy, but I’m still standing and not doing so bad for myself. So have a little faith, yeah?”
My brother releases a lungful of air. “Yeah,” he confirms. “You’ve got this.”
Then he looks from me to the ice and back. “Do you want me to start you guys off?” he offers with a smirk, like he’s on board with my plan even though he doesn’t know what it is, and it warms my heart that my twin and I still feel so in sync.
“Please.” With my helmet on and my stick in my hand, I head toward destiny. Being the gentleman he is, Myles extends a hand to help me onto the ice.
“We don’t have to do this, Tink. We could go somewhere and talk,” Myles says.
“The last Christmas we were home together, you said you wanted a game. I gave it to you, and it fixed the tension between us. Now, you want this or not?” I ask, sounding all business.
Myles shakes his head. “Let’s do it,” he says, his lips quirking up on one side like he’s amused.
I’m nervous as my brother follows us to center ice with a puck in his hand.
“Thank you.” I nod.
Oli places the puck between us on the ice. Myles isn’t even looking down. He’s staring right at me with his icy-blue eyes. But I won’t be distracted. I return my focus to the puck as Oli whistles.
I quickly get a hit and veer off to the left, grateful that I brushed up on my skating the other night. Myles is close on my tail as we head in the direction of the puck. He makes it around me and gains control. Instead of heading after him, I skate straight across the ice and cut by the net. He tries to score, but I block it, flinging the puck across the ice almost halfway across the entire rink.
Myles smiles and nods his head. “Nice one, Tink.”
“Don’t ‘Tink’ me now, Myles,” I say, puffing and out of breath. After all, I’ve challenged the highest paid player in the NHL.
Myles chuckles as I take off. He follows close behind and then catches up. We reach the puck at the same time. I’m wondering if, had I been a real opponent, he would’ve tried some body contact. Knowing him, he’s probably scared of hurting me. He gets hold of the puck, and I stay on his case, stickhandling my way into his path. His wide smile is infectious.
In the background my brother’s screaming “Go, Flynn, go,” followed by a “fuck yeah,” and “that’s my girl.” I finally maneuver the puck away from Myles and shoot it out in the distance. It hits the boards and slides close to the net I need to score in.
Both Myles and I take off after the puck like bats out of hell. Myles is fast, but I seem to be keeping up with him even if my lungs are burning and I’m struggling for air. It’s the competitive streak in me. I can’t back down from a challenge. I just hope that this game won’t be the death of me. I make it to the puck a millisecond before Myles and shoot straight for the net. In the background I hear loud cheering, which startles me a bit, so I turn around to see some of Oli’s teammates standing with him, cheering me on.
I raise my stick in the air, showing off.
Myles still has that wide smile on his face. I know what he’s doing. He wants me to second-guess my talent. He wants me to believe he let me score.
“Don’t look so smug, Sanders,” I huff.
“You sound a little out of breath there, Russell,” he says with that same condescending tone.
“Fuck, I am.” I lean forward, feeling the burn in my lungs. It’s running down my stomach. I feel like I may faint. I haven’t played in a long time, and even though I workout in the gym, it just isn’t the same as being on the ice.
“Shit, Tink. Are you okay?” Myles skates right over to me and puts his arm under my shoulder.
“I’m out of shape,” I say as my chest heaves.
“Game’s over. I know how to admit defeat. You just stickhandled me, woman.” He’s still smiling when he takes my stick out of my hand, even though the crease in his eyes tells me he’s also worried. I’ve strained the side of my stomach, so I skate a little hunched over as we head off the ice. Oli meets us at the entrance to the rink, a silly grin on his face.
“Shit, Flynn, you still got it.” He leans in to help me get to the benches. I reach inside my duffle, thankful I put a water bottle in there. Just three minutes on the ice with Myles and I feel like I’m going to keel over.
“Nice. Sanders got handled by a woman,” one of his teammates mutters, smacking him in the chest.
“Shit, Captain, maybe we need Russell’s sis,” another one of his teammates bellows.
I hear some of the guys taking jabs at Myles. I’m still leaning forward from the pain and breathing fast from all the exertion.
“Honestly, Flynn, wasn’t there another way for you to show Myles that things are cool with you two now?” Oli asks, taking a seat behind me. He’s still has all his gear on, too.
“Nope.” I shrug. I straighten myself out once my breathing has returned to normal.
“Well, if you’re okay, I’m going to head to the shower,” my brother says.
“I should probably talk to Myles. I don’t think that stickhandling his ass counts as an ‘I’m sorry.’” I wince.
“Probably not,�
�� Oli says. He gets up from the bench and squeezes my shoulder. Then he tells his other teammates to go the fuck home, which I’m guessing is his way of saying that Myles and I need some privacy. They all head out the main door of the arena, some of them shouting “Russell, Russell,” before they leave.
“Feeling better?” Myles smiles, tilting his head down to me with a pout on his lips.
“I’ll survive.”
“You always do,” he agrees, looking to the bench for silent permission to take a seat beside me. I nod, and he takes a seat. “What’s going on?” he asks with a serious and worried look.
“Everything.”
“I’m listening.”
I lift my head and stare straight into his icy-blue eyes. “I’ve been really unfair. I mean about the accident,” I begin.
Myles gets a pained look. “I know I was drunk the other night, but I heard every word you said. We don’t have to dredge it up again.” He tries to stop me from speaking, and I know it’s because he wants to protect me from my own emotions.
Myles, my protector.
“No, I do. It’s the only way for each of us to gain any closure.” I go on to explain to him what happened at the firm on Friday with the Smolder case, and how Tara explained that there really wasn’t a basis to proceed with the case. “I’ve been too hurt to see the truth. I was looking to blame someone, and the drunk driver was dead, so I blamed you.” Tears trickle down my face.
I’m not a girl that cries often, maybe never. I’ve cried more in Chicago than I have my whole life.
“Flynn…” His voice is low, broken, and filled with emotion as his thumb brushes against my cheeks, wiping away the tears. I can’t remember the last time he called me Flynn. Or maybe I do—the night he kissed me and took my breath away. The night my parents were killed. “I’m sorry you had to go through any of it. Our plans really got fucked up after that night, eh?” he says, staring past me with a sad look in his eyes, and I can see how much he lost that night, too.
Toward the end of the draft party, Myles and I snuck off for a bit. He confessed he had feelings for me, and between his interviews, we made out in a corner off to the side of the Sports Center. The Maple Leafs picked him. He would stay in Toronto and I planned on attending the University of Toronto. We were going to tell my parents we’d decided to date.
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