“You can, and you will. You’re going back to that beautiful boy who’s pissed as hell that you cheated in water gun tag hide-and-seek. And you’re going to tell him that you love him and that I do, too.”
“Cope.” Her voice cracked on my name, more tears spilling over.
“Do it for me.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Marcus snarled. “I’ll kill you both just so I don’t have to listen to this.”
His gun moved from me to Sutton for just a split second. Panic surged, and I knocked into Marcus, throwing him off-kilter just long enough for me to shout, “Go!”
Sutton skittered back out of the barn, and that’s when I saw him. Just a brief flash, but I recognized Anson’s scowl as he grabbed Sutton and got her out of the line of fire. That meant there was help. More than Trace. I just had to keep Marcus talking until they found their opening.
The gun smashed into the side of my face, making my vision blur. Marcus grabbed my shirt tighter. “You’ll pay for that.”
“Lower your weapon, Marcus,” Trace ordered again. To any outsider, it would’ve sounded like my brother didn’t give a damn about me. But I knew what it meant. He’d gone to that other place, the one where he turned everything off.
Marcus let out a derisive scoff. “Sorry, Trace. You know that’s not going to happen. And it’s nothing against you. I actually like you. It’s your piece-of-shit brother who needs a lesson.”
With each word, his grip on my shirt tightened. I could feel the rage pulsing through him in waves. I just didn’t understand why. But maybe the reason would keep him talking and give us the time we needed.
“What the hell did I ever do to you?” I growled.
Trace’s eyes flashed in warning, and I read the underlying message:Don’t poke the bear.
“What did you do to me?” Marcus pulled my shirt so tight the collar strangled me. “You stoleeverythingfrom me.”
My brows pulled together, confusion sweeping through me. Iknew Marcus and I were compared often. We’d come up in the ranks together, so it made sense. And the fact that he’d grown up only a few hours away meant we’d played together as kids quite a bit, too.
But in my mind, we’d always been fairly evenly matched. One of those situations where he had the edge one year and I did the next. We were drafted into the pros the same year, and I was picked one round before him. Still, we were both prize catches for the Sparks.
I dropped my voice. “What did I steal?”
“Itallshould’ve been mine,” Marcus snarled. “From the beginning. The Pacific Northwest Youth League MVP. You know they only gave you that because your dad and brother died.”
My muscles stiffened to stone. The award had come six months after the accident. I’d thrown myself into hockey as soon as I healed enough to get back on the ice. It was my only escape. I trained for hours before and after practice, losing myself in the physical toll it took on my body.
I could see now that it had been punishment. The escape I’d found on the ice wasn’t escape at all. And it had taken finding Sutton and Luca to show me that. But it was more. Experiencing hockey through Luca’s eyes had helped me find the joy in it again. Helped me remember the bond I’d shared with my dad. They’d brought him back to life for me in so many ways.
Marcus pulled back the gun and then jammed it under my chin so hard my skin tore, and my teeth clacked together. “Do you know whatmydad did to me after that awards banquet? Took a belt to me so hard I couldn’t sit for weeks. Couldn’t lie on my back. But he forced me right back on the ice the next day. Telling me I needed to be more—like—you.”
My mind reeled as I tried to pull the threads together. I was still coming up empty. Because none of this sounded like the man I’d known growing up. Weston Warner had always been one of the first parents to greet me with a back slap and an attaboy when I scored a goal. He’d even pulled me aside for pointers on shots here and there, sharing his expertise from his years in the pros.
But it was more than just the sports piece. Weston served onthe board of charities, fundraised for youth hockey programs across the country, and often sponsored gear for kids on our teams who couldn’t afford it.
“What?” Marcus sneered. “Don’t believe dear ole dad was such a monster? He put on a good show. Just. Like. You.”
Marcus punctuated each word by shoving the barrel of the gun against the underside of my chin. “Smiling for the cameras, then beating me behind closed doors. Telling you what anincrediblejob you did, then telling me I was his worst disappointment.”
My gut roiled at the sheer pain in Marcus’s voice because it told me he wasn’t lying.
“Do you know what he said to me on his deathbed?” Marcus asked, his voice dipping low.
I didn’t answer right away. Couldn’t.
“DO YOU KNOW?” Marcus screamed, shaking me and making Trace lift his gun higher, looking for a shot.
“I don’t,” I croaked.
“He said he wished he could’ve lived just one day thinking you were his son instead of me.”
