Page 36 of Cross the Line

It was the first time Carson had used my nickname, but even that couldn’t distract me from the overwhelming wave of emotions. I bit the inside of my cheek, attempting not to cry. I hated when this happened, when my grief caught me out of the blue, shocking me even now, two years later.

“I was just thinking of how Derek would’ve—should’ve—been on that team.”

Carson nodded, and I couldn’t believe I was going to discuss this with him. Hell, he’d been brought on to the Hawks to replace Derek. I’d always assumed that was a big reason why he’d struggled to make inroads with the other guys in the beginning. Because Carson wasn’t Derek, and they didn’t want to have to face the fact that someone else would be playing his position.

“Derek was a talented player. What happened to him was—” Carson trailed off as if at a loss for words. “So tragic.”

I could remember how shocked I’d been when I’d heard the news. It had been difficult to believe it was true. I hadn’t wanted it to be. I still didn’t.

I nodded, appreciating Carson’s words as I attempted to compose myself. “He was an incredible player, but he was an even better person.”

Derek and I had known each other since college, and he’d always been like an older brother to me. A mentor of sorts. He’d helped me master transitions, and I’d helped him ace our philosophy course.

“I wish I’d gotten the chance to meet him,” Carson said. “I know how much he meant to the sport and the Hawks, but especially to Bryn and Frasier. And you.”

“Thanks,” I said. “It’s been difficult for all of us, but especially for Frasier and Bryn. I’m glad they have each other.”

The corner of Carson’s mouth tilted upward. “I’m glad Frasier finally got his shit together and told Bryn he was in love with her.”

“Oh my god.” I rolled my eyes. “For a while, I was afraid it might never happen.”

“Trust me, I did what I could to help things along.”

“Oh yeah?” I leaned forward, intrigued.

“I was honestly kind of a shit about it at times.” He rubbed the back of his neck, but he was smiling as he said it. “I would make these little comments about how good Bryn looked to get under his skin. Or I’d say stuff like how we all knew they were ‘just friends’ to see how he’d react. One time, I even suggested that I might ask her out. Though I had no intention of going through with it.”

“You are terrible,” I teased, kind of loving the fact that Carson was so invested in the happiness of my friends. Our friends. I knew I certainly was. “But that’s also kind of sweet.”

“Yeah, well, he got his payback.” Carson grimaced.

“What does that mean?” I asked, brows drawn together.

“You know how he planned that surprise for her—the ‘trip to Anguilla’?” he asked, and I nodded. “Gabe and I spent ten hours building that fucking pergola.”

I laughed, though honestly, I thought it was really sweet of him. Carson seemed like the type of guy who would do anything for his friends.

I yawned, and Carson returned his attention to the screen. I thought through everything I knew about him, all the nice things he’d done for me, and I just couldn’t make sense of my brother’s animosity. Especially when Carson seemed exactly like the kind of guy Levi would be friends with. Had been friends with.

I shifted, struggling to keep my eyes open. It was getting late, and I was cozy. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt more safe or more seen by someone. Not just tonight but over the past five months through countless text messages and conversations. It was on that thought that I finally drifted off to sleep.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Where am I?

My eyes felt as if they were glued shut, and the bed was remarkably hard for the Huxley Grand. I stretched, feeling the carpet beneath me. Oh. Right. I wasn’t at the Huxley Grand; I was at Logan’s place.

I blinked a few times, trying to get my contacts to cooperate. I knew better than to sleep in them, but I hadn’t intended to fall asleep in the first place. The living room was dark apart from some fairy lights casting a warm glow over the space. The TV screen was blank, and I scrubbed a hand over my face, wondering how long I’d been out.

I pushed myself up to a seated position and glanced at the couch where Logan was passed out. Her hands were tucked in beside her face, eyelashes resting against her cheek. She’d fallen asleep long before I had, exhausted from the game. And what a game it had been.

Logan had been in her element, not that that was any surprise. Whenever she was on the ice, she radiated power and dominance. I’d watched a number of her games online, but it wasn’t the same. This was the first one I’d gotten to attend in person, and I hadn’t been able to take my eyes off her the entire night.

Not while she was defeating her opponent, nor when we’d been at dinner. Even now, I couldn’t stop watching her, studying her. She was a force to be reckoned with, and it was fucking hot. She was confident in her abilities, and she had every reason to be.

I loved watching her excel at the sport we both loved. I loved seeing her poise as she spoke to reporters after the game, intelligence and warmth radiating from her. I loved watching her interact with her friends and teammates, building them up with encouragement and showing exactly why she was the captain of her team. And I’d loved watching her joke around with Frasier and Boone, even if I had wanted to punch Boone when he’d flirted with her.

But Boone wasn’t the one she’d invited back to her place. Boone wasn’t the one she’d asked to stay. Part of me wasn’t entirely sure this wasn’t a dream.