Page 131 of Top Shelf

“What? No!”

“Wren.”

“There is literally nothing happening.”

“You’re blushing so hard your ears are red.”

I immediately clap my hands over them. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you deflected the question.”

Groaning, I start toward the seating area before he can continue interrogating me. “I hate when you visit.”

“You love me…nearly as much as you love those boys.”

“They aren’t boys,” I grumble petulantly. “They’re only one year younger than you!”

“Same difference,” my brother retorts with an unaffected shrug.

The arena is quieter now as we climb into the stands, the buzz of cleanup echoing faintly through the mostly empty building.

Carson stretches his legs out in front of him once we sit.

For a moment, neither of us says anything. We simply look out over the ice.

“You did good today, Wrenny.”

The quiet sincerity in his voice catches me off guard enough that I glance sideways at him.

“You don’t have to look so shocked,” he says dryly. “I can compliment you occasionally. It won’t kill me.”

“Are you sure about that?”

He snorts softly before his expression settles into something more thoughtful as he looks back toward the rink. “No, seriously. This was…impressive.” He gestures vaguely toward the arena.

Warmth creeps into my chest again, quieter this time. Deeper.

“I liked it,” I admit softly.

His head turns immediately. “Yeah?”

I nod slowly, trying to untangle the knot of emotions sitting heavily beneath my ribs. “I liked all of it. The planning. Organizing everything. Solving problems.” I huff out a small laugh. “Even the stress.”

“That’s because you’re a psycho.”

I flash him a smile. “Probably.”

Carson watches me carefully for a second before saying quietly, “You know, you don’t have to hate this just because Mom and Dad are shoving it down your throat.”

Straight to the emotional core.

“I don’t hate hockey,” I murmur. “I never did.”

“I know,” he says softly.

“I hated…” I exhale shakily, trying to find the right words. “Feeling trapped. Feeling like my entire life was already decided before I got any say in it.” My fingers twist together in my lap.

“Then you had to go and mess up Mom and Dad’s plans, and at the drop of a hat, I was no longer the ‘spare’, but the one meant to take over.” I shake my head. “It made me realize howlittle say I had. How little they actually cared about whatIwant.”