The Langfield Brothers: Box Set

28. Brooks

TWENTY-EIGHT

brOOKS

“Do it again.” Fitz turns up the music and motions for me to get back into position.

Now that I don’t spend my mornings before games going over plays with my uncle, I need some new rituals. I asked my goalie coach to work on drills with me before today’s game.

I’m keyed up. Touching Sara is the most incredible thing I’ve ever experienced, but without finding my own release, I’m edging closer to bursting. With any luck, these drills will quell the torturous ache plaguing me.

“You’re dropping your shoulder too early,” Coach calls from off the ice.

I take a deep breath, set on tuning him out. But Fitz is watching me, his hands on his hips, waiting for me to acknowledge Seb.

I stand taller and get back into position. Then I run the drill.

“Again,” Seb shouts.

Fuck him.

Thirty minutes later, I’m more keyed up than when I started, and now my shoulders are sore from all the anger I’m holding inside. I glide off the ice, keeping my focus set on anything but my uncle.

Only he doesn’t understand how not interested I am in his feedback.

“It’s clear you should have gone to bed early instead of hanging out with your friend.”

I stomp forward on my skates, ignoring him.

“At least I kept her hidden when I got her naked. You have her splayed out like a hooker everywhere you go. Thought I raised you better than that.”

I don’t stop to check our surroundings, whether we’re being watched. Hell, I don’t even toss my stick. I just turn, and with all the force I can muster, channeling all the anger and tension that have been coursing through me, I punch the man I once considered my mentor straight in the fucking face.

The force of it knocks him to the ground. He hits the floor, sprawled out on his back, his head smacking the concrete.

I stand over him, one finger pointed at his face, rage tunneling my vision. “You speak a fucking word about her again, and I will step on you with my goddamn blade and end your life.”

I don’t wait for a response. I don’t even see him. He might be bloody. It’s possible he’s completely fine, though that’s doubtful. With blood whooshing in my ears and my heart pounding out of my chest, I stomp off and don’t look back.

As soon as I hit the locker room, I toss my stick and smack the wall, desperate for an outlet for all the anger burning me up.

“Hey!” War yells. “What the fuck, man?”

At the sound of his voice, I deflate. Shoulders slumped, I heave myself against the wall, panting, but I can’t find it in me to respond.

War hovers in front of me, a concerned frown marring his features. “Breathe, Brooks. Breathe.” He instructs me to inhale and hold it while he counts to four, then he tells me to exhale and counts again.

I obey, focusing on his voice, using it to anchor me to the moment.

When my vision clears, I tip my head back. War is still standing in front of me, but now he’s holding out a bottle of water.

My energy is sapped. There’s no fight left in me. I honestly have no idea how I’m going to play tonight. I chug the water, then duck my head. The angry heat that fueled me has now turned into embarrassment. My face is hot, my chest tight. Dammit. Why do I let him affect me like this? I can’t continue to work with him. Especially after his comment today. But he isn’t any closer to leaving. If he doesn’t, then should I? Do I have it in me to quit the team?

“You need to talk to me.” War’s voice leaves nothing up for discussion.

He’s right. I need to talk to someone. So I slide to the floor and hang my head. When he settles next to me, the words pour out. I tell him everything. My uncle’s betrayal. Sara’s devastation. The fake relationship. All the very real feelings that are now fucking with my head.

“Do you think she feels the same way?” He studies me with real concern in his eyes.

I run my hands through my hair. “I have no fucking idea. But as much as I hate him, Coach isn’t even wrong. If someone had seen her—” I shake my head. What the fuck was I thinking fucking around with her in public?

War nods. “You’ve always held a torch for the girl. Don’t—” He lets out a long breath and shifts so he’s facing me head-on. “This could just be sex for her, Brooks. And she’s your friend.”

My heart pangs at the thought. “My best friend,” I retort.

War’s response is an arched brow.

“Okay,” I laugh, feeling a fraction lighter and thankful for the levity. “You’re up there too.”

“But you don’t want to fuck me,” he drolls.

Another wave of anxiety has me doubling over. “I know what you’re saying. It’s just—when I’m around her, God, she’s everything, War. Everything I’ve ever fucking wanted. And now I’m allowed to touch her. Allowed to kiss her. How am I supposed to stop?”

He drops his head back against the cinderblock wall. “You need to talk to her. Figure out where she stands before you go any further. I’ve never seen you like this, man.” He roughs a hand down his face. “You’re the most levelheaded guy I know. Hell, you’re probably the only virgin hockey player in the entire league.”

I cough out a laugh and swipe my hand over my mouth. “NHL and NCAA more likely.”

War smiles. “That’s my point. What’s going on between you and Sara means something to you. You need to make sure it means something to her too.” His smile falls, and his tone turns more serious than I thought he was capable. “And you can’t knock Coach out again. Even if he deserves it.”

I drop my elbows to my knees and slump. He’s not wrong.

“Just take a breather. Focus on the game tonight. Not on what’s going on off the ice.”

It’s a lot easier said than done, but he’s right. The only thing I can do is get my head in the game and play.