Page 123 of Ethan

“Eth,Ethan,”thevoiceabove him hissed.

But Ethan ignored the voice, because Ethan was asleep.

Ethan was asleep and he was very warm and very cozy, and he didn’t want to wake up.

It had been a short road trip—only four days, but they’d had two games and gone from Dallas to Salt Lake and then back across the country late last night, after they’d beaten the Mammoth.

They’d gotten in at two a.m. New York time but it had felt more like five a.m.

Ethan had dragged himself groggily off the plane and into Charlie’s car and they’d gotten home, Ethan barely even having the energy to give Hank a second glance and a quick “good night” before he and Max went five floors up to his place.

There was no practice this morning. Not even an optional skate. And Charlie couldn’t get him to wake up, no matter how much he wanted him to. If Ethan wanted to, he could sleep all fucking day. That was his prerogative, as the youngest.

“Eth,” Charlie hissed again, and this time had the fucking nerve to shake him. Ethan groaned and wrapped himself more firmly around a pillow that he was mentally beginning to refer to asHank pillow.

It wasn’t quite as good as Hank. Not as big or broad or warm, but it worked in a pinch. He wished he’d thought,screw itand told Hank to come home with him last night—or early this morning—but he’d been too tired to even attempt the debate that would have ensued.

Hank was still being a little weird about staying over when they were at home and not on the road.

That was fine, Ethan could work on that. He’d come around, eventually.

But what wasnotfine, and what Ethan couldnotwork on, was the voice appallingly close to his ear.

“Ethan,” Charlie said again, louder this time. Or closer. Or maybe both.

Ethan finally gave up and rolled over, squinting at his brother’s face in the dimness of the bedroom. He was tired, sure, halfway to exhausted, but he wasn’t too worn out to see the warring joy and anxiety in his brother’s face.

Something had happened. Something good but bad, too.

Something that had woken Charlie up and convinced him it was a good idea to wake Ethan up, too.

Ethan’s sluggish brain tried to sort through the options—heknewthere was something big, something he was missing, something that was really fucking obvious, that he’dgetif he could actually think clearly . . .

And then it hit.

“Shit,” Ethan said, bolting upright. “What happened?”

Charlie frowned. “Avery got traded.”

And before saying anything fucking else, he turned on his heel and waltzed right out of Ethan’s bedroom.

Ethan was still mostly asleep, so it took him a second to parse Charlie’s words, and then to yank the covers back, feet hitting the hardwood floors, and follow.

In the kitchen, Charlie was pacing.

Muttering to himself, as the coffee machine made grinding noises that Ethan absolutely sympathized with right now. The coffee machine shouldn’t be needing to make coffee right now. They shouldn’t be fucking awake, not after sleeping for barely six hours.

After Ethan squinted at it, the microwave currently read 7:48 a.m.

“You gonna tell me?” Ethan asked.

Charlie looked over at him. Then ticked four points off his fingers. “Niko, naturally. Nathan. This year’s first-round pick. Next year’s first-round pick.”

“Shit,” Ethan said, exhaling heavily. “But he’s coming here. Avery’s coming here.”

Charlie’s face was drawn and white. Something complicated lurking in his light blue eyes. Happiness, certainly, but something else, too. And it wasn’t fair, really, for Charlie to worry that Avery coming here was going to fuck everything up, that he was going to draw all the attention away from Charlie. Charlie was practically a celebrity as hockey players went. With his pretty face and good body and hockey skills, as well as his last name he could have anything he wanted.

Well.