Lasagna.
Yum.
I may not be emotionally prepared to see my parents tonight, but my stomach whines happily. Mom’s cooking is better than anything in this world. For as close as they live to the university, I could have home-cooked meals every night.
Instead, I’m a surly asshole who’d rather eat microwavable ramen than face his parents on a frequent basis.
“Bray, baby, is that you?” Mom calls out.
She peeks her head out of the kitchen into the living room. When she sees us, she cries out happily, rushing over to me for a hug. I inhale my mom’s familiar scent and reluctantly release her so she can hug Drew. He hugs her tight, closing his eyes with unmasked joy. It annoys me I have to share her with him.
Guilt knocks me in the gut.
I’m such an asshole.
Drew and I may hate each other, but he has no one when it comes to family. Not anymore. My parents are the closest thing he has.
He had me, too, at one time.
Not anymore.
“Lasagna smells good,” I praise. “Where’s Dad?”
“We got a chimenea,” she says. “He’s getting it ready so later we can sit on the back patio. It’s a nice way to unwind.”
Drew follows Mom into the kitchen. I head out to see Dad. He’s squatted in front of the chimenea, his ass crack showing out of the back of his pants.
“Full moon tonight, Dad,” I tease, nudging his ass with my foot.
He snorts. “Don’t pick on old men.”
“You’re not old,” I grumble.
“I feel it,” he says, huffing as he stands.
Pride warms me to see him wearing the Ice Hawks beanie I gave him the last time I saw him. It’s pulled down over his ears, keeping him warm.
“You okay?” he asks. “With Drew being here?”
I freeze. “Yeah. Why?”
His lips press together in a firm line. I shift my gaze to the ground, avoiding his unpeeling of my outer layers I’ve wrapped myself up in.
“I know you and Drew aren’t on the best terms. But you know life’s too short to stay mad at your friends,” he says softly.
Each word is a blow to my fucking heart.
Life’s short, all right.
For some, nine years is all they get.
“I’m gonna take a walk,” I grit out.
“No,” Dad blurts out, panic in his tone. “Stay. I’m sorry. I’m prying. Just come inside. Mom misses ya, Son.”
Guilt wins this round. Rather than running away like I crave to, I nod at Dad and follow him inside. Mom has already put Drew to work, making him set the table. He smiles at her as he moves around the dining table as though he lives here.
At one time, he practically did.
He catches my stare and his gaze softens. I stiffen, dragging my eyes to the bubbling lasagna. Ben’s favorite. Fuck. Emotion is clawing up my chest, shredding my heart to pieces. A lump sits heavy in my throat. I’m unable to shake this feeling away. Having Drew here makes it worse.
I manage to plant myself in my chair. Mom says grace and I close my eyes, hating how my eyes burn when she mentions my brother. My teeth hurt from clenching them so hard. She finishes the prayer and I reluctantly open my lids.
Of course Drew’s eyes are locked on mine, darting back and forth as he takes in my now wet lashes. He starts talking about his new job and how some of the players need a swift kick to the ass. It does wonders to drag me away from the pain, right into the fiery zone of anger.
I let him guide the conversation, thankful to have my parents’ attention on him, rather than myself.
“I don’t think we ever heard the story as to why you left the NHL,” Mom pries. “Everything okay, honey?”
This time, Drew freezes.
Instead of saving him, I dissect his emotions.
Regret. Sadness. Despair.
Not shame.
What the hell happened?
“I, uh, I…” Drew darts his eyes my way, begging for help.
“Did you make brownies?” I ask Mom, saving the bastard at the last second. “Coach said I need to put on some weight.”
She blinks a few times, realizing she’s been sidelined, and then moves along to the next topic of conversation. “Brownies for my boys. Of course. Your dad even picked up some vanilla bean ice cream to put on top.”
From there, we talk about their jobs and how Dad has been busier than usual lately. The conversation stays in a safe area. By the time dessert rolls around, and I’m officially stuffed, I realize we’ve dodged the hardest topic. Thank fuck.
“I’ll clean up,” I tell Mom. “Enjoy your fire and wine.”
Dad waggles his eyebrows at Mom and they escape to the back with a bottle. Drew, unfortunately, follows me into the kitchen. We work silently to clean up dinner. I’ve barely tossed the last dish into the dishwasher and started it when he clears his throat.
“Bray…”
“Don’t start.”
He crowds me from behind, forcing me to turn around. “Are you okay?”
I hate the way he looks at me.
Like he fucking cares.
“I said don’t start,” I snap, shoving his massive chest.
He doesn’t budge much, which really pisses me off. “You’re upset—”
“You don’t know what I am.” I bump his chest with mine, snarling in his face. “Stop trying to act like you do.”
“You’ve always been like a brother to me,” he utters.
My rage bubbles over. I fist his Henley and charge him back, slamming him against the bar. His face twists into a furious scowl, and he tries to shake me away to no avail.
“We are not fucking family,” I hiss.
“Try telling your parents that.”
The smug bastard grins at me.
This is what we do. I rage and he pushes my fucking buttons.
But tonight, I’m tired.
Emotionally drained.
Releasing him, I turn and walk out of the kitchen.
“Bray!”
Ignoring him, I make my way outside and give my parents a hug goodbye. I head back inside, pretending he doesn’t exist,
