The Sinner (The St. Clair Brothers 1)

Stupid, bastard, shitstick, eye!

Unfortunately, I had no one to blame but myself. Everything Coach said was true. I played like I belonged on the fourth line of a peewee hockey team. My head wasn't in the game. I fucked up and it cost us.

Not in the mood to deal with what would, undoubtedly, be a metric shit-ton of harping about my crappy playing, I hid around the corner until the last of the journalists left—good because the buzzards couldn't pick at my desiccated carcass, bad because without the media’s presence to keep the guys in line, my teammates had no problem firing dirty looks across the room and mumbling slurs under their breath.

Didn't matter. Anything insult they came up with, I already attributed to myself. The loss weighed heavily on my shoulders and probably would for a while.

A swell of anger surged and rapidly expanded. Because I’m fucked in the head, I found the sensation comforting. I hadn't felt it in a while, only once or twice since I met Kylie. If it returned, I could take it as a sign I was over her, right? That I could get on with my pathetic life and fill my days and nights with meaningless bullshit—fighting, fucking, and hockey. Then I would remember something about Kylie, some small detail—her smile, her laugh, her smoldering expression when she checked me out and thought I wasn't looking—and I knew damn well that if given the chance, I would go through the pain all over again.

By the time I got around to buttoning my cuffs, most of the locker room had emptied out. No one spoke to me. They were either pissed I fucked up or had been around long enough to know when I was dangerously close to losing my shit. Didn’t make a damn bit of difference to me. Not when there was a six-pack with my name on it waiting for me at home.

Naturally, nothing in my craptastic life ever went to plan.

I draped my tie around my neck and began a half Windsor, right as Evvy, the only one on the team with big enough nads to approach me when I was in a mood, walked over. In the mirror, I watch Ev trip over a glove in the middle of the floor. He stumbled and, trying to regain his footing, two hundred plus pounds of defenseman did a face plant.

I frowned and peeked sideways at him as I pulled the knot tight and flipped down my lapels. Aw shit. Ev scrambled to his feet, visibly excited despite the crash landing.

Whatever had Ev near bursting, I didn't want to hear it. I shoved at his shoulder and said, “Go away.”

Evvy laughed and his eyes shone. The dude was bursting to spill, and whatever it was, was huge. Before he said a word, Hajek’s loud mouth boomed, “You be uncle. It is good, da?”

I rolled my eyes. Sounded like someone’s sibling successfully reproduced. Big fucking deal.

I glanced at Hazey, then back at Ev, and tipped my head toward the goalie. Hazey stood a few feet away with a bunch of other guys.

“What's going on over there?” I didn’t care, but hoped to distract Evvy so I could make my escape without getting sucked into his gaiety and general mischief making. Six pack. Remember?

Evvy leaned in close, lips unfurled into an evil grin. He whispered so low it was difficult to hear over Jonesy practically shouting his congratulations.

“I

t’s Calloway,” Ev announced gleefully. “Apparently his very unmarried little sister went and got herself knocked up.”

“And I care because…?” I gave less than zero fucks about Calloway's slut sister.

“You need to go over there and bust his balls. Go look at his phone,” Evvy muffled a laugh. “He’s got a picture the fucking ultrasound.”

I lifted a brow. “What? Fuck no. Dude’s always got his dick in a know about something I said or did.” I shoved my arms into my suit jacket and fastened the first button. “Calloway’s sister issues are none of my business.” With that, I turned to leave. The six-pack was calling me.

Evvy stopped my by grabbing my wrist. “C’mon, Seb,” he whined. “It's been months and the guy still looks at you like he’s waiting for you to stop breathing… preferably while he strangles you. He’s sensitive about the sister being ‘unmarried’ and ‘too young,’” Evvy did air quotes with his fingers. “His words, not mine. Now's your best chance for payback. Go. I'll wait here.” Ev grinned and leaned back against the row of fancy wood lockers.

“Tabernak! Ça fait chier! You’re such a prick, you know that?” I spat.

Evvy’s response was to jerk his chin Calloway’s direction. Our teammates were huddled around his towering Yeti head. Everyone was smiling, clapping Calloway on the back, and congratulating him. You'd think with everyone cheering him on, the moody prick could scrounge up a smile. Nope. Guy looked constipated, as usual.

With a sigh, I shoved my hands in my pockets and walked around the Comets’ logo to join the small gathering.

“So, what's up?” I asked. “Calloway win the lottery?”

Hazey’s massive mitt smacked between my shoulder blades so hard I almost stumbled into Jonesy. “Rocco to be uncle. Is good news.”

I pretended to perk up. “Oh?” Calloway shot me a scowl and I couldn't help it. Evvy was right. I was having fun. I smirked. “What? You got a brother or sister we don't know about?” Which, thanks to Ev, I already knew, but it was oh so much fun to twist the guy’s panties.

Calloway snarled. His lip peeled back and his knuckles blanched around the phone in his hand. “Sister,” he ground out between clenched teeth.

I smiled wider. Fuck, it was too easy. Calloway's sister got knocked up, and he didn’t exactly look like he wanted to break out the cigars any time soon. So what if she wasn’t married? Dude had a stick up his ass the size of the Washington Monument.

“You got pictures?” I pointed at his phone. “What kind? The sonogram or some shit?”