Maxim (Carolina Reapers 10)

David winced.

“What?” Sterling turned toward our older brother.

“It’s hard to put a lot of importance on a word like love when it’s thrown around your house like a Band-Aid to heal every cut and bruise. If you’d heard the excuses we did growing up, about the things our father did out of love, you might not be so keen on the word, either.” He crammed another chip in his mouth.

Sterling and I both did the same, and only the noise of our chewing filled the silence for a hot minute.

“She never wanted this life,” I finally said, putting my hand on the throw pillow that I knew would hold her scent if I just leaned in and took a breath. “She never wanted the cameras, or the media, or the spotlight.” I rubbed at my chest like it could diminish the absolute torture of missing her.

“I can see that,” David agreed, nodding his head. “She’s always been quieter than the rest of us.” He grinned. “Quieter than Mila, that’s for sure.”

“Amen,” Sterling said, grabbing another chip.

“I forced it on her,” I admitted, my voice nearly cracking. “I begged her to step into the light, pretty much dragged her to that gala. She might have been the one to flee the scene, but I set the stage.” Guilt crept up my throat and lodged there.

Fuck, I missed her.

I missed her laughter and the sounds of her cooking in our kitchen. I missed sitting on the couch with her, catching a movie on TV while she edited photos. I missed kissing her when I walked in the door, and I even missed her putting her keys on my damned hook. I just fucking missed her, and that was before I even thought about the sex.

Sure, I missed her in my bed, but I mostly missed being able to talk to her, to hear her opinion about anything and everything.

“Have you tried talking to her?” David asked.

I shook my head. “If she wanted to talk to me, she would have called.”

“And if she wanted you to prove that you…” Sterling shrugged with exaggeration, “...oh, I don’t know, cared about her enough to come after her, even if you couldn’t say the big four-letter-word, then…” He raised his brows at me just like David.

“You should call,” David suggested. “If you’re this fucking miserable, then what do you have to lose? Being more miserable?”

“Agreed.” Sterling nodded. “And honestly, you’re playing like you hate it again.”

My gaze shot to his. “I’m sorry?”

“While you were with Evie, there was something different.” He shook his head, like he was searching for an explanation. “You smiled on the ice. You looked up for her. You skated like you didn’t have the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

“Are you trying to tell me that I was slow today?” My gaze narrowed on him.

“No!” Sterling shot David a plea for help with a single look.

“I think he’s saying that you played today like you had to. Like it was all you had instead of all you wanted, which is saying something considering you’re currently living out every kid’s dream. You’re playing for the Cup, Max.”

And it didn’t mean shit without Evie to come home to.

“Can I ask you a question?” Sterling swallowed nervously.

“Because you haven’t already?”

He rolled his eyes. “Do you even like it? Playing?”

I blinked. “Of course I like it.”

“That’s the easy, bullshit answer.” David leaned forward, matching Sterling’s posture. “Are you playing for you? Or are you still playing for him? Playing because you think Mom can’t handle herself? Because I can tell you for a fact that she can, she’s been handling him for years. It’s not all on you, and there’s life outside that rink, Max, and if Evie showed you even a glimpse of how good life can be once you’re living it for your dreams instead of his, then pick up the fucking phone.”

I reached toward the coffee table and palmed my phone.

“It’s just an argument,” Sterling urged. “That’s all it was. One argument over a fucking article. This is simple. Call. Apologize. Grovel. Make sure she knows every other woman is your past and she’s your future.”

And if she didn’t want me? If she rejected me again and broke whatever was left of my heart? I wasn’t sure I’d survive it. “Maybe after finals,” I muttered.

“You’re fucking scared,” David accused, clucking his tongue and leaning back.

“More like terrified,” I admitted. “And we both know this shit is just going to happen again and again if she’s with me. There will always be a camera in her face or some rumor splashed on the home page of some website.” I tried to swallow past the lump in my throat. “Maybe after finals—”

“Maybe after you retire,” David scoffed. “Damn it, Maxim. Hockey is your career, and yeah, it’s a damn good one, but stop hiding behind it so you can avoid the actual hits that come from just living your life.”