“You’re his biological son and Reid’s his stepson?”
“Yeah, same mom. And that difference colored our lives growing up. Dad was kind of a dick to Reid, and Reid was kind of a dick to me.” He quickly added, “Just the usual older brother hazes younger brother stuff. We’re good now. But we had to have that clash on the ice last year for us to get there. Reid feels terrible about it, and I told him we were good. All was forgiven. But lately …” He shrugged. “Now things seem kind of muddy again.”
Well, they would be. The dynamic between these brothers sounded complex.
“Eventually, you probably should get it off your chest. With Reid. It’s not his fault that he’s on a peak while you’re in a dip.”
“I know that. I had hoped we’d be on top of the world at the same time.”
She touched his chest and peered up at him. “That’ll happen. You’re too good not to come back from this, and then you and Reid can go out there together and mop the ice with the competition. No one expects you to get over this in a couple of days.”
He placed a hand on her hip and pulled her close.
“You’re good at this,” he said.
“What? Offering unwanted opinions?”
“Soothing supersized egos.” His eyebrows rose, his mouth kicked up in a cheeky grin.
“Which of your supersized egos are we talking about?”
Leaning in, he nuzzled her nose. “All of them.”
20
Bast was a firm believer in boundaries.
It had taken him a while to get there—only last year he was delivering unwanted groceries and sex life advice to Reid—but he liked to think he’d established some rules with how to deal with people, especially his father.
It was why he’d finally called his dad on his bullshit attitude toward Reid. Henri Durand hadn’t liked it one bit. His whole life post-professional hockey was dedicated to ensuring his legacy lived on in his sons. And while Bast was happy to go along with that because it aligned with his own goals, he now understood that his father’s influence was unhealthy. The man had played Reid and Bast off one another for years, and now that they’d pushed back against that narrative, the relationships between all of them were much better.
Except he had just let Pepper into a dirty little secret: he was still kind of pissed at Reid for how things had gone down during that on-ice clash last December—and maybe more. He shouldn’t feel this way. While he understood that the accident that broke Bast’s wrist had brought them closer, it had uprooted stuff that Bast thought he was over.
Their childhood competitiveness that turned dark for a while.
After the injury, Reid, the most taciturn, moody guy on the planet had wanted Bast to shout at him, tell him he was a dick, unload all the trauma.
While Bast wanted to keep calm and carry on. Just a different way to approach things. So there was the niggling sense that something wasn’t quite settled between them. Bast would have preferred to let their play on the ice and the same team bring them closer.
His father had called at least three times since Bast had left Chicago. In olden days, that would have been thirty times, so the push-back against the assholery was working a treat. Bast decided to put the old man out of his misery and call him back.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Don’t ‘hey, dad’ me! What the hell is going on?”
“Not much. I’m taking a few days away from the city to relax.”
His father sputtered like a stroke was imminent. “Relax? You need to be in physio every day, and if you can’t be playing, you need to be in the gym, keeping up your fitness levels.”
Bast had some ideas about that, all of them involving Pepper under and over him. He was right where he needed to be.
“Dad, what did I tell you about trying to Monday night quarterback my career? There’s nothing you or I can do right now. I need to rest and think about next steps—”
“Na-uh. That’s the last thing you should be doing. There’s too much reflection in the game these days. Psychologists and well-being shit—we had none of that back in my day, and we all put in the best years of our lives.”
Said the man who retired when his body collapsed at thirty-one, was three times married, and about to put a ring on his fourth bride.
“It’s okay to think for a bit, Dad.” Maybe even talk about stuff like he just had with Pepper. That had felt … good. Maybe he should be more honest with Reid, like she suggested.
“What do you have to think about?”
“Stuff. My career. What’s next.”
Henri exploded. “You’re twenty-six years old! This is just a hiccup. What do the docs say?”
“A month to recover, then another month to six weeks of rehab. It’s a sprain so not the end of the line, but my wrist is weak since the break.”
“And it’ll stay that way if you don’t get into rehab. Now’s not the time to turn soft, son.”
“I’m not—it’s just there’s always the possibility it won’t ever be completely right.” Having to endure another extended break away from the game while the sword of doubt hung over his head terrified him.
“You’re going to be fine,” his father insisted. “I don’t want to hear any of the negative talk.”
Right. No losers in the Durand family.
His father moved on quickly. Anything to do with “feelings” made him uncomfortable. “I can’t believe Calhoun has his daughter in that job. What the hell is that about?”
There it was again, the beast in his chest. “It was an accident, Dad.”
“She shouldn’t have been there.”
“I have to take some responsibility here. I was kind of preoccupied.”
“It’s not your job to get out of the way of the freakin’ mascot, Bast. And what the hell was going on at that press conference? Sure, I’ve wanted to punch a journo or two in my day, but pick your battles. And defending that chick after she fucked over Gallagher’s career?”
“You don’t know anything about that.” Neither did he, but right now, he trusted Pepper more than Gallagher. “Could we talk about anything else? How’s Shona?”
“Driving me nuts. But a woman planning a wedding will always be as bad as a chick on the rag.” Jesus, Dad, did female equality and basic respect really pass you by? Before Bast could push back, his father spoke again. “You ready to stand up for me?”
Bast rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I can’t believe you’re going for a big ceremony.” Most people in his dad’s position would go a little more low-key.
“Shona wants a big day. You know how women get.”
“I was best man at your last wedding. Maybe you should ask Reid.” Who would tell him where to go. Reid had eliminated the toxic elements from his life and only spoke to Dad when absolutely necessary.
“What’s the deal, son? You don’t want to see your old man happy?”
“It’s not that—”
“Because you don’t always find the right woman on the first try. You’ll know when it happens. Thunderbolt.”