Viggo leans in, elbows on his knees. “But, what?”
They’re too painful, I almost tell him. They hit too close to home, to what I’ve always wanted. They make me feel and hope for things that are too scary, too risky to try to share with someone again, only to have them ripped away, only for them to be used against me, to make me feel the worst things I feel about myself.
“They’re not a good fit for me,” I tell him. “I’ve tried. I’ll watch a rom-com on TV till the cows come home, but romance novels just aren’t my vibe.”
“Explain this to me,” Viggo says. “Clearly you’re not averse to the idea of romance. Why the movies but not the books?”
“I…” Staring down at my hands, I sigh. “You know how bad Bryce messed me up.”
My brothers are quiet, patient.
“I just…haven’t figured out how I can try to have a relationship differently, how to be more careful, more guarded. Those novels, Viggo, they’re so intense. It’s like I’m there, like it’s in my heart, and it’s just…kinda hard to not have it and not know if I’m ready to have it.”
Viggo nods, gently pats my thigh. And for once, he stays quiet, too.
“Movies,” I tell them, gaining momentum, like a dam inside me has burst, “they’re so obviously not real, ya know? It’s just feel-good entertainment, actors playing parts. It indulges the romantic in me but lets me keep my eyes wide open, reminds me this is all pretend.
“But your romance novels, they always felt so…real. I don’t know if it’s because I picture them, their voices are clear in my head, they feel like…part of me. And before I got my heart broken, I used to love them for that. But since then? I don’t know, man, it hurts to read it, to feel people love each other the way I’ve always wanted to be loved, only to get to The End and realize it’s over. That my life looks nothing like that and I’m honestly not sure if I want it to, because shit, is it scary to fall in love.”
“That makes a lot of sense, O,” Viggo says. “And you take as long as you need to sort out what you want, what you’re ready for. No one’s rushing you here. We just want to understand where you’re coming from. Thanks for telling us.”
I nod, taking a deep steadying breath. “So, what does my lack of romance reading have to do with my problems with Gavin?”
My brothers frown, exchanging inscrutable looks.
“What?” I ask.
Viggo glances up to the sky as dusk rolls in and paints the world moody mauve, tinged with tangerine. “I mean, romance novels, while focused on romantic relationships, also spend a lot of time excavating the main characters’ interiority—their past wounds, how those drive their present behavior and motivations, what fuels their dynamic with their love interest and the rest of the characters. I was simply going to use a certain trope to illustrate my point, but speaking plainly will do.
“I know when you signed with the Galaxy, you saw it as…turning over a new leaf. A fresh start. Take two.”
“Yeah,” I tell him. “And?”
Axel clears his throat. “And sometimes we worry about you.” He glances toward Ren.
“You’ve changed, Ollie,” Ren says, quiet for Theo’s sake. “Some of that is good, of course—growing up, maturing.”
“But you’ve gone so far,” Ryder adds, “we worry you’ve buried a fundamental part of yourself.”
“What part?” I ask warily.
“The wild child,” Viggo tells me. “The mischief-loving man cub.”
“The kid who plays ruthless, brilliant pranks,” Aiden says, startling the hell out of us.
“Jesus!” Viggo hisses, hand slapped over his heart. “When did you wake up?”
Aiden eases upright, scrubbing his face. “When my kid squawked. I’m hardwired to hear him, no matter how tired I am.” Gently, he takes Theo from Ren and holds him like a football in his arms. “I’m gonna go give this guy a fresh diaper and let Freya nurse him.”
But first he stops, gently ruffling my hair. “Ollie, no matter what, just like you told me years ago, you always have us. We love you, okay?”
I swallow, unexpected emotion knotting my throat. “Okay.”
“What we’re trying to get at,” Ren says, joining us again at the table as Aiden slips inside the house with Theo, “is that maybe this frustration you’re experiencing with Gavin is just as much about you as it is about him.”
“Exactly.” Viggo nods. “Not only is he getting under your skin, but you’re also taking it lying down in a way the Ollie we know never would. That’s bound to wear on you.”
“So what am I supposed to do? I told you, if Coach sees us fighting or in any way at odds, she’ll fire us both as captains.”
“Ollie.” Viggo shakes his head. “Listen to yourself. Of course, she can’t see you fighting. And she won’t. She also won’t see you getting even with him.”
Ryder leans in, elbows on the table. “But that doesn’t mean you won’t get even with him.”
“Do it Bergman-style,” Axel says. “Stealthy as hell. You’re sneakier than all of us. If anyone can get revenge on a guy and put him in his place while looking like an angel, it’s you.”
I shake my head. “I can’t.”
“You can,” Ryder says. “Let off some steam. You aren’t someone made to take bullshit with a smile, Oliver. Give it back to him. Set him straight.”
God, I’d love to. But I can’t…can I?
I look to Ren. “You understand. It’s different, the stakes are higher when you’re in front of all those people, when you know anything you do could end up in some tabloid.”
“I do know,” he says. “So be your sweet, charming self to him when you’re in front of Coach, the fans, the team. But he’s your neighbor. I mean, it’s like God’s handed him to you on a silver platter to do with what you will, O. When it’s the two of you, stop trying to mend fences with someone who doesn’t want to. I’ve had to deal with teammates like that before, and trust me, I kept my cool, but I had to find ways to vent so I could handle it.”
“You did?”
Ren laughs. “Heck, yes. I’m no saint, Ollie. Sure, I carry myself a certain way publicly, and you’ll keep doing that, too. But privately? I’m a loud-mouthed goofball with you guys, you know that. I beat the life out of a punching bag pretty much daily. I nerd out, act like a weirdo with my Shakespeare club; throw back more than a few beers on the porch with Frankie some nights until we’re giggling like fools. You have to blow off steam sometimes. You have to let yourself be a little bad when you spend so much time being so good. No one expects you to be perfect.”
“Except…you,” Ryder says gently.
Those words, they’re like a lock that clicks open something inside me. Something that’s been held back for years. My throat feels thick. My vision blurs with tears that threaten to spill over.
“Ollie.” Viggo sets a hand on my back. “You can’t do this to yourself. And that’s why you’ve got to start doing things differently. Hell, this Gavin guy might be exactly what you’ve needed.”
I laugh emptily, staring down at my hands, which are knotted so hard my knuckles are white. “For what? To drive me off the deep end?”
“Nah.” He leans in, wearing a familiar conspiratorial smile that I know all too well. “To remind you of exactly who you are.”
“What does that mean?”
Viggo throws a sly glance toward our brothers, then back at me. “It means, you, my dear Oliver, are long overdue for some mischief-making.”
7
GAVIN
Playlist: “Personal Jesus,” Johnny Cash
“Any time you want to tell me why I’m really over here, I’m all ears,” Mitch says, staring up at the stars from my back porch. “I’m not getting any younger, sitting around, waiting.”
I sigh before taking a sip of seltzer. “Can’t a man take pity on his neighbor who won’t nourish himself properly and feed him a home-cooked meal?”
Mitch throws me a withering glare. “I’m seventy-eight. Whatever damage I did, living a good life, drinking, smoking, eating delicious high-cholesterol foods, is done. Let me eat my Lean Cuisines in peace.”
“They’re pure sodium. They’re a heart attack wrapped in plastic.”
“You’re worse than my wife was!” he says, crossing himself, then blowing a kiss up at the stars. “Miss you, baby.”
“You’re here because you couldn’t say no to my chicken piccata.”
Mitch scoffs. “Sure. Okay.”
My chest tightens. It’s worse today, the crushing weight bearing down on me, expanding inside me, to the point that I feel like I can barely breathe. “I’m fucking losing it,” I blurt out.
Mitch glances my way, one silver-white eyebrow arched. He shifts his chair until it faces me directly. I decide to inspect the inside of my seltzer glass.
“Go on,” he says.
Clearing my throat, I give the stars an inspection next. Just as I left them last time. “The guy I was… The other night, the guy I was frustrated I had to team up with…”