Dean (Face-Off 6)

The hostess leads us upstairs to a private room at the end of the long hall. Theo and Travis are already here, fighting over something as they look down at the phone in Travis’ hand. Duke, my oldest brother, sits at the head of the table with his dress shoe propped up on his knee, drinking a glass of whiskey. He shares the same love for the liquor as my dad. I can’t even stomach the scent. It reminds me of rubbing alcohol.

“We’re here,” I announce, as we step into the room.

“About damn time,” Duke says with his usual scowl.

He gets up from his chair and sets the glass in his hand on the table. Palming my head with his big hand, Duke pulls me into a bear hug that crushes my insides.

“Denny,” I say, kissing him on the cheek.

I missed my brother so damn much. Sitting with him during the game wasn’t enough time. The stolen moments I get with my dad and brothers is never enough. Duke lives in Washington D.C. where he plays for the Capitals. Austin is one state over in Missouri, playing for the St. Louis Blues.

Duke wipes my lipstick from his face, acting as if he’s disgusted by my nickname. “You’re lucky I like you, Kit-Kat.”

Since we were kids, our dad has called Dennis Duke, after his favorite movie actor, John Wayne. My dad and Duke would watch old Westerns together, with Duke pretending he was in the movies by re-enacting the scenes with my dad. He knows every movie by heart, and to this day, he can still quote True Grit verbatim. It’s something Dad and him did together, and even more so after our mother’s passing.

We all have special traditions with my dad. He made it a point to have something for each of us to look forward to when he was home. For Duke, that was old movies. With Austin, he collected bottle caps. Theo and Travis liked comic books. And as the only girl, my dad always treated me differently. We had our traditions, too, though they weren’t very girly. I wanted to learn how to play hockey. That was a given with my brothers, but the thought had never even occurred to my dad before I asked him to teach me how to shoot a puck.

He had no idea how to raise an eight-year-old girl so that suited him just fine. Hockey he knew like the back of his hand. Menstrual cycles and makeup were like something out of the Twilight Zone for him. He didn’t even know how to braid my hair. Duke was the one who figured out how to make me look presentable for school. I bet he can still do a mean French braid. Austin went over my homework with me every night. He would even make practice tests for me to take. My older brothers raised me while Dad was on the road with the Blackhawks. Without them, I would have been lost as a kid.

“Look who Kit-Kat brought with her,” Duke says staring over my shoulder at Dean. “I see you’re still following around my baby sister.”

“Stop that.” I smack Duke on his thick, muscular arm and peel myself from his grasp. He growls, and I nudge him in the arm with my elbow. “Dean and I are friends.”

Duke shakes his head. He moves his hands to his waist, puffing out his thick chest. “No, you two are more than friends.”

Annoyed, I roll my eyes at him. We’ve gone over my friendship with Dean a million times.

“As usual, you’re wrong, big bro.”

Duke smirks. “Men don’t have women friends.”

“This man does,” Dean says, interrupting this stupid conversation.

“Dean kissed Kat,” Theo says.

My entire body goes rigid from his confession.

Travis shakes his head, looking repulsed by the fact we kissed.

Dean had mentioned my brothers gave him shit about the kiss. But this is the first time the

y have mentioned it in front of me. Why would he say that in front of Duke, of all people?

“You did what?” Duke narrows his eyes at me and then glares at Dean.

“It was a stupid dare,” Dean says.

“Yeah,” I agree. “It was just a dare. We were at a party. Don’t freak out, okay? It meant nothing.”

Liar, liar pants on fire. Kissing Dean shattered my world.

Duke’s mouth twists in disgust. I’m between him and Dean, hoping Duke won’t reach around and start a fight.

Before Duke can decide what to do, my dad strolls into the room. He clears his throat to gain everyone’s attention. As usual, he looks like a million bucks in a navy pinstripe suit and brown wingtips. He cleans up well when he’s working. Otherwise, Dad sports the same T-shirt and track pants my brothers and Dean usually wears.

“Who let the riffraff in,” Duke says to my dad with a rare smile he reserves for when he’s with family.

My brother has anger issues. Ever since our mom passed away, he hasn’t been the same. None of us are the same. Duke was the closest to our mom, and he took her death worst of all. We all tiptoe around him because of his problems he won’t talk about. He needs to see a therapist, but every time my dad tried to get him counseling, he would sit there and stare at the doctor until the time ran out.