30. MILES

THIRTY

MILES

“Trouble in the bromance,” I read aloud while Bilson listens from where he’s wrestling Killer on his living room floor. “Such a clickbait title.”

“Keep going.”

I know that since whatever it says amuses him, I’m going to be rolling my eyes. He’s already got the dad humor down pat. It probably kicks in naturally at a certain age.

“At Nashville training yesterday, spectators had to look twice when Cody Bilson took to the ice—not with a hockey stick but a walking stick. When asked if the change in equipment signaled a retirement announcement in the future, Cody Bilson pointed at goalie Miles Olsen.

“The rookie likes to run his mouth over how old I am. Just wanting to prove to him that experience counts⁠—”

I glance up at him in surprise. “Excuse me, but who’s been teaching who moves?”

He playfully rolls Killer over onto his back. “Keep reading.”

I sigh and turn back. “And that I can score on him just as hard, even in my old age.”

My laugh is unhinged. “They published that?”

“I’m telling you, we could be fucking center ice, and they’d still be all, ‘Aww, that’s a bromantic pregame ritual.’ I really don’t think we have anything to worry about with the media, maybe not even with the team. People expect to see us together; they’re used to us goofing around and being playful. None of that has changed—really, the only new thing is what we do in the bedroom, and I’m not inviting the media in here to watch.”

I clamp my mouth shut. That basically answers my question of whether he noticed the blips in my mood lately. He thinks I’m being paranoid about getting caught.

The thing is, he’s right that no one would notice a change in us if everything continues the way it has. He’s not right that sex is the only new development.

My chest aches as I remember wanting to hold his hand as we walked into training yesterday. How I had to put distance between us so I wouldn’t focus on being a sulky little shit and getting into both of our heads.

I know I should be happy. I’m getting everything I want. My dream career, in my dream city, and a relationship that goes beyond anything I ever pictured for myself.

When I thought ahead about having a wife, I always pictured someone cute and bossy. Pictured kids. A nice house. Very suburbia, and I don’t even know where that image came from. My parents are ridiculous a lot of the time; my siblings are lovable assholes to each other.

Sure, we have a nice house now, but when I was younger, things were in shambles with us all sharing rooms until we moved.

So, where the hell did this smiling, picture-perfect image come from?

And why, when I think of it now, does it seem kinda disturbing?

My gaze flicks back to Bilson, and that familiar cartwheel flips over in my chest.

When I look at him and picture a future, all I see is us. Happily teasing each other after orgasms. Grumbly and exhausted, sitting next to each other on the team bus after a game. Holding hands while we drink beers at the bar with the team.

Houses and kids and all that other stuff is optional.

It’s killing me how much I want that future.

And it hurts that I don’t know how to make it possible.

Bilson clears his throat, and I notice his concern too late. “Let’s get Killer to your parents so we’re not hurrying to pack this time.”

“Oh. You’re coming too?”

His lips tighten. “I’ve come with you every other time. Has something changed?”

Yeah, that was before I started to hate them a little bit. Other than stupid teenage tantrums, I’ve never fought with my parents, never had anything come between us. I love them.

But I don’t think that’s enough anymore.

Because every day I spend with Bilson is making me more and more sure that he’s my person. It’s stupid and reckless and motherfucking terrifying, but it’s becoming less a question of how I hold it all in and more a question of if I can keep this up.

He steps forward and runs his hands over my shoulders. “Is everything okay?”

“Of course.” I flash him a grin. “Sorry, just being stupid.”

“You sure?”

As quickly as that bad mood set in, he dispels it by just being him. “I can’t take away your opportunity to kiss Killer goodbye. Or your chance to get more baby Miles stories.”

“They’re my favorite part.”

“Of course they are. Baby Miles was awesome.” I whistle to Killer and start to head for the door when Bilson stops me.

“Don’t forget our other babies.” He picks Seddy and Stone up from the table and tosses them to me. “We’ve got games to win, and we can’t do it without them.”

See? He’s perfect.

Bilson drives us to my place, and if I thought I’d be on edge with him around my parents … I was not prepared for what I’d find when we drove up the driveway. Three other cars, which means my brothers and sister are here.

“Ah, fuck.”

“What is it?”

“You’re about to get the full Olsen experience,” I mutter, climbing out of the car.

And when the first thing from Victoria’s mouth as I walk in is, “Oooh, walk of shame, huh?” my fears are confirmed.

My family sucks.

“I was out with a friend, asshole.”

“Mom says you’ve been out with friends a lot lately.” Victoria can’t keep the curiosity out of her tone.

“That’s enough,” Mom says, sweeping me up in a hug. “I never said that, baby.”

“Aww, widdle Miles the widdle baby is all growing up,” Philip adds.

I flip my oldest brother off over my mom’s shoulder.

“Mom, Miles is sticking his finger up at us,” Victoria sings.

Mark walks out of the kitchen, swigging from his beer bottle, and pauses when he spots Bilson. “Who’s this?”

I pull away from Mom. “My teammate,” I answer.

Dad whistles from where he’s sitting on the couch, and Killer runs over and bounds into his lap. They scuffle for a moment before Dad wraps his arms around him, and for some reason, seeing that … it kills me.

“Is that a rat?” Mark laughs.

“I know your IQ suffers, but surely you can spot a dog when you see it,” I say.

“There’s no way that thing is a dog.” Philip goes to join Dad as Mom ushers Bilson inside.

“We’re putting on a lunch. You’ll stay, won’t you?”

Bilson sends a questioning look my way. “I don’t want to intrude⁠—”

“Don’t try to be polite. We want you here. I love when my babies bring friends home.”

“Cody Bilson, right?” Mark asks, holding out his hand. “You look different without all the gear on.”

Before Mom can drag me into the living room with the others, Victoria pulls me back. She’s wearing that superior big-sister look that she always gets when she’s hounding me over something.

“Out with it,” I say.

“Who is she?”

My look couldn’t tell her to fuck off any more clearly.

“Come on, weirdo. I want to know.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m sick of being the only girl in the family, and let’s face it, neither of those buttheads are finding a girlfriend anytime soon.”

Everything she says makes me feel sick. “There is no girl. Sorry to disappoint.”

“Come on. Mom says you haven’t slept at home all week, and you’ve only had the one away game. We’re not idiots.”

“If your conclusion to that is that I’ve suddenly got a girlfriend, then yeah, you are.” I’m trying to keep my voice down, trying not to take my frustration out on her when there’s no way she could know any different, but it’s a struggle.

“Then where have you been?”

I could go the standard line of none of your business, but it’s pretty obvious who I turned up here with, and I hate lying. “Hanging out with Bilson,” I say as casually as I can. “I just end up crashing there. He has a spare room, and it’s better than being twenty-four and living with my parents.”

She frowns. “I thought you liked living here?”

“Yeah, well, sometimes people change.”

I walk off before she can say anything else to push me into talking about things I don’t want to talk about, but when I join the others, I’m not so sure this is better.

“He was the younger brother,” Mark explains. “It was our duty to do it.”

“Do what?” I ask.

Bilson looks over, eyes shining with amusement. “They were telling me how they put your hand in water and got you to wet the bed at one of your sleepovers. Think it’ll work on the road?”

Gah, I still hate them for that. “And I’ll tell the team what I told my friends: why bother getting out of bed for it when you can have extra warmth and deal with it in the morning?”

Bilson’s whole face screws up. “There will be no wetting the bed when I’m around. Fucking hell.”

My gut tightens at the implication of that sentence, but thankfully, it goes right over Philip’s head.

“Have you met his rocks yet?”

“Seddy and Stone? Of course. I love them as much as he loves Killer.”

“Oh no,” Mark gasps. “There’s two of them. Help!”

Philip shoves him. “He’s had them since he was, like, ten? There was Rocky too, but we lost him.”

Mark groans. “Remember how Mom and Dad made us search for that stupid thing for a week?”

“It was your brother’s pet,” Dad says. “No different than when we gave your goldfish a funeral.”

“It was a rock,” Philip reminds him.

Mark points toward Dad. “You guys are the reason he grew up so weird. No other parents would have encouraged that.”

“No other parents had a goalie for a son. We worked with what we had.”

“And loved him anyway,” Mom adds.

Philip uses that segue to talk hockey stats with Bilson while Mark teases me relentlessly about my goalie ticks. Dad and Killer are having a moment, and as Mom brings in snacks to set on the table, my gaze zeroes in on how she sets her hand on Bilson’s shoulder as she asks if he needs something to drink.

He fits in so well with my family. I hate it.

Because they think he’s my friend, and he’s so much more than that. It’s right there, the urge to tell them, to set things straight.

But I picture the hush that would fall over the room after telling them Bilson’s my boyfriend. Picture Mom dropping the glass of water she’s just filled. Picture the shock on Philip’s face and the disappointment on Victoria’s.

I can’t do it.

Because while I hate it, seeing him with them is something I can’t ruin. He looks so fucking happy, and if I pretend for a second that he’s here as my boyfriend, it makes me so fucking happy as well.

I want it. So bad.

Why does this have to be so hard?