I’d been a squirt, ten years old, and my mother had her arms around me as I smiled wide, proudly showing off my championship medal from whatever tournament we’d been at.
“Nicolai was lucky, too. His ACL went out in college, so he never played again.” He shook his head. “I would have rather been the secret.”
“I wanted a dad.”
“You wouldn’t have wanted ours.”
I thought about the few interactions I’d had with Sergei and couldn’t argue with Maxim’s point.
“I’ve hated you since we were eight,” Maxim admitted, no shame in his gaze. “You were this intangible threat to my family. I never would have signed with the Reapers if I’d known they were bringing you back.”
“Don’t hold back on my account.” Sarcasm saturated every word.
He smiled. “Never will.”
“You took my house.”
“I had no idea it had been yours. Guess we have the same taste in architecture.” He shrugged.
“And women.”
His hands stilled. “She’s why I’m here.”
“Really? I thought maybe you wanted to walk me through our ancestry.”
“Are you ever not sarcastic?” His eyes narrowed on me.
“Nope.” I put the bottle on the counter. “You have no right to talk to me about London.”
“She’s miserable.” His shoulders fell. “Her eyes are swollen and red. She looks like she hasn’t slept in weeks, and her smile is just…gone.”
My chest clenched at the mental picture he presented. “That makes two of us, I guess. But what do you care? You got what you wanted, right? Because it was never about London for you. It was only about taking something else from me.”
“The way you put it makes me sound like an asshole, but yeah. I guess.” Was that a flash of remorse in his eyes?
“You are an asshole,” I countered. “And I loved London. I fell for her in that elevator before I even knew you were on the team. Finding out that you two had a history was…” I shook my head.
“We’re just friends.”
“I didn’t want you to be just anything. I’ve spent the last thirteen years of my life being told I wasn’t allowed in your world, so who the fuck are you to waltz in and take over mine?” The injustice of it all was just fucked up.
“Valid point, but in my defense, London has been in my life a hell of a lot longer than yours,” he challenged.
We were both right, and we knew it, but that didn’t break the tension.
“I called you my brother the other day,” he said quietly, dropping his gaze to the water bottle between his hands. He’d picked the label off completely. “It just kind of came out. But I guess we can’t really help the fact that biologically, that’s what we are. Brothers.”
The word hung between us, equal parts explosive and white flag.
Mom was right. We had both been kids, and neither of us had a say in what we’d been born into. And yeah, he was an ass, but maybe I would have been, too, if I’d grown up in that house.
I turned around and grabbed two plates from the cabinet, then dished out a thick slice of cheesy lasagna onto each. Then I put a fork on each plate and slid one over the granite to him.
He caught it and looked at me with raised brows.
“My mom made it yesterday. It’ll change your life.” I brought my plate and water around the island and took the stool two seats down from his, forking the first bite into my mouth.
“Damn. It’s good,” Maxim muttered a few bites later. “You said loved.”
“I’m sorry?”
“When you talked about London, you said loved. Not love. Do you still love her?” He glanced my way but quickly looked back to his plate.
Maybe it was the lasagna or the weird, landmine-laced, tentative peace between us, but there really wasn’t a point lying to him, was there? “I will love London Foster until the day I die. She’s the one. She’s it, whether or not she ever believes that I didn’t go after her because of your jackass bet comment. Even if we’re never together again, my soul belongs to that woman.” My heart fucking ached with how much I loved her.
“Then take some big brother advice and go after her.”
“Big brother.” I snort-laughed.
“I’m four months older than you.” He shrugged. “And if it were me, and I was that far gone for a girl, and it was just a misunderstanding and some wounded pride in the way, I’d fix it.”
“Well, you’re not me. We’re nothing alike.” It wasn’t just wounded pride. It was…shit. Fine, it was slayed pride if I was being honest.
“Yeah. Keep telling yourself that.” He motioned to my water bottle.
I’d picked the label off just like he had.
“She believed you.”
“Yeah. Well, I thought I was right at the time, and I’m very convincing.” He chugged down his water. “Was there any part of you that did it—went after her—just to spite me?”