Page 81 of Pretty Little Scars

Xander blows out a breath as I pull up outside hisridiculousmansion of a house and turn off the engine. We both climb out of the truck, and I follow him to the front door, where he keys in a code, and we walk inside.

I stocked the fridge with some things I knew he’d want to have around, and his housekeeper put fresh linens on his bed and in the bathroom. He’s good to go.

We move into the kitchen, and he leans against the countertop, staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows that look out to the stunning view of the mountains, and sighs again.

And I wait.

Because if there’s anything that Xander and I share, it’s our penchant for taking our time.

Finally, he says, “I’m tired.”

“Of course you are, it’s almost the end of the season. You’ve been working your ass off for ten months, X.”

“I’m sick of Denver.” His eyes find mine now, and he shoves his hand through his hair.

“Do you think you want to be traded somewhere else? You’ve spent your entire career there.”

“No, I don’t want another team.”

I go very still as I watch him. This is new. This doesn’t sound like simple homesickness to me. “Are you thinking of the R word?”

“Not yet, but fuck, it’s not as easy as it was ten years go. I’m getting old.”

I grin at him. “That happens.”

“I guess I’m ready for the season to be over, and to come home for a couple months and recover, work at the ranch, do my thing. I’m sick of puck bunnies and media and fucking airplanes.”

Jesus, I’ve never heard him like this.Never.

“Your contract is up this year, you know. You can retire. You’d never have to work again.”

My brother is one of the greatest hockey players of all time, and he’s paid accordingly. The man is rich as fuck.

“I’m not ready to hang up my skates, I guess I just needed a break. The playoffs are long, and we were in them last year, too, so I’ve had several back-to-back long seasons.”

“The alternative is to lose. And you’re too fucking stubborn for that.”

“I don’t fucking lose,” he replies and folds his arms over his chest with a smirk. “I’ll be okay. I’ll recharge on this trip, and then the season will be done in a month or so.”

Nodding, I check my phone when it pings with a text.

Duchess: So, there might have been a small fire in the kitchen. If you smell something ... off, no you don’t.

I laugh and reply.

Me: Do I need to call the fire department?

“God, you’re in deep.” I lift an eyebrow, looking up at my brother, who’s smirking at me.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Your face goes all gooey and soft, even over text.”

“How do you know that I’m texting Darby?”

“Do you look like that when you text Easton? Or Scott? No. You don’t.”

I shake my head and glance down when she replies.