“Tou-fucking-ché.”
Shaking his head, he takes a long pull from his beer before setting it back on the bar and turning toward me. “You good, Carse?”
Avoiding eye contact with him, I stay facing ahead as I study the label of my own drink. “Of course. I’m always good.”
Bennett nudges my shoulder, causing me to look up at him. “That would’ve worked on me a few weeks ago. But after witnessing you having a panic attack in our shared hotel room in Denver, I’m having a hard time believing that’s the case. What’s going on?”
My shoulders tense at his questioning, and I look away again. “I told you, it was just a lot of pressure playing in my first playoff series, especially with all of the media attention surrounding me after my concussion.”
“You mean after the car accident you were in with Cadence?”
I snap my eyes back to him and find him shaking his head at me. “Carson, any one of us would be fucked in the head if that happened to us. It’s even more understandable that you’d be affected after what happened to Katie and McKenna. But don’t shut us out, man. The three of us are your brothers, we’ll always be here for you.”
Biting the inside of my cheek, I swallow past the lump forming in my throat. “You’re right. We are brothers, and I don’t want to shut you guys out. It’s just I’m used to being the guy others can lean on, not the fragile guy whose most vulnerable moments get broadcast to the world.”
Placing his hand on my shoulder, he gives it a squeeze. “Being vulnerable with us doesn’t mean you’re not also the guy that we lean on.”
Nodding my head, I reply, “I know. But I think I’m on the right path. Dakota set me up with a therapist that I’ve been working with for a few weeks now. I’ve gained some coping mechanisms and strategies to help me process my feelings and work through the anxiety I’m feeling. I feel good about it and am making my mental health a priority.”
That makes a genuine smile spread across his face, which is rare for Bennett Wilson. “I’m glad to hear it, buddy. I think that even though Dakota has clearly knocked you on your ass, she’s good for you. How’s the pursuit going?”
I smile at the mention of Dakota being good for me. “The pursuit is slow-going, but I’m a patient man who knows what he wants. And what I want is her. She’s it for me, man. So whether I have to wait a few more weeks, months, or hell, even years, I’ll gladly do it.”
“Our little Carsey-baby is all grown up,” Bennett mocks.
“Don’t act like I didn’t see the pursuit you were on last night, Benny,” I jest right back, pointing my beer bottle at him. “If I recall right, you serenaded a certain redhead.”
“I was two sheets to the wind last night. I can’t be sure who I was singing to,” he counters.
“Right, right, right. Cool. You definitely weren’t enamored with . . . who was it that you dedicated the song to?” I pause, tapping my chin. “Oh, I remember. Little Red.”
“You know what, the guys in the locker room were right. You can be a pesky little shit.”
“Oh, fuck right off. So what’s her name?”
He chuckles and shrugs. “She wouldn’t tell me. That’s why I had to call her Little Red.”
“Ah, playing hard to get. Did you get her number after your beautiful rendition of ‘Can’t Take My Eyes Off You,’ or did she leave you hanging?”
“Nah, she said if fate put us in the same place at the same time again, she’d give me her number. I’m not sure how she figured that’d happen, considering the only detail I know about her is that she was there for her best friend’s twenty-first birthday, and she loves10 Things I Hate About You.”
“At least she’s got good taste in 90s rom-coms. Now the song choice makes more sense,” I point out.
“Yeah, well, it’s probably for the best. She seems like someone who could easily become a distraction, and we’re not going to win the cup if our team captain is preoccupied.”
“Wow, for a superstitious motherfucker, you sure went there about winning the cup,” Griff quips as he and Jax each take a seat at the bar.
We shoot the shit, sharing our excitement for next season when the four of us will be back on the ice wearing the same jerseys for the first time in seven years. It’s getting late by the time we make our way in the golf carts back to our cabins.
When we walk in the front door of my parents’ place, I realize I’ve died and gone to heaven. My mouth waters as I breathe in the spices of what can only be my favorite meal.
“Holy shit, please tell me this isn’t a dream. Did someone make chili?” I ask, my question echoing down the hall.
Mack slides off the bar stool she was perched on at the kitchen island and runs up to Griff. “I missed you, Hotshot. How’d you play?”
“Surprisingly well, considering your brother choked on the back nine,” he wisecracks.
“Hello? Did anyone hear my question? Do I smell chili? God, it’s like the two of you are getting married or something,” I whine.
