20. The Brothers Bellamy

The two goals I score in the first game of the playoffs feels pretty damn good. Adding a hat trick in the second game in New York City does, too. I'm racking them up for the Vipers, and after each one, I skate to the team bench and pat my chest twice, my special sign for Whitney and Remy.

"Nice, Bellamy," Coach McNamara barks after my third goal. The usually stoic man stands behind the bench with his arms perpetually crossed, but considering we're winning six to two with a couple of minutes left, he's all smiles.

"Fuck, yeah. Our line is on fire," Flynn adds, elbowing me in the ribs. I even get some appreciation from Rick Rod's friends in the locker room after the game. Hockey life is good when it's good.

Once media interviews are done, I shower and clean up, then head out to catch a car ride to meet my brothers. I scroll through my ongoing texts with Whitney and look at today's photos she's sent.

There's my son, slobbering all over my first game puck I had shipped to them overnight, and he's wearing a Little Pucker shirt. I smile, because I also found the smallest Vipers jersey sold online and sent that too, but he'll have some growing to do before it'll fit.

I won't tell Whitney this, but I also researched hockey skates for children.

In the next photo of Whitney, my sexy baby mama models her cap and gown for graduation. I already studied the calendar and all playoff scenarios, and there's a possibility I can make it to her ceremony that day to cheer her on walking across the stage to get her degree. I'd love nothing more than to support her there.

I flip back to the one of Remy, then I click over to my social media profile. He brings a grin to my face and I post the photo with the caption, "It's a boy!"

Immediately, notifications of comments roll in, and I almost regret posting it. They're all positive, but I turn off commenting. I only intended to show the world my pride and joy. In fact, I don't need social media and all the attention when I have Whitney and Remy at home. I send her a text.

Me: You look ready to change the world in your gown.

Whitney: One day maybe. But first I'll sleep. Studying for finals has been brutal.

Me: Two more days and I'll be back. I can watch Remy for you when I'm not at the arena or practice. Did you talk to Brad, yet?

Whitney: Not yet.

Why does she drag her feet on this? She claims she wants to do it in person, not over the phone. She says it's going to be an emotional conversation and has other excuses, too. I'm biting my tongue back, giving her space.

The car pulls up to the curb, and Brooks and Archer are standing outside.

Me: Gotta go. I'm meeting up with my brothers. I'll send a photo of us and call you later.

They wanted to meet at a wine bar a friend of theirs owns, which tells me this will be some pretentious place. The two of them live and love their rich NYC lifestyle. I've always been more down to earth.

The guys greet me loudly on the street with hugs and slaps on the back. We try to get together once a year, but it feels like forever since I've seen them.

Even though they're identical twins, I can tell them apart. Archer has a more devilish grin and well-timed dry wit. Brooks' dark hair has a slight reddish tint to it. Oddly, they have more looks in common with our mother, while I have more with our father.

Mom always said sometimes I'd look at her a certain way and she'd feel like I had morphed into Dad and she wanted to reach out and punch him. Looks aside, I strive every day to never be like him.

I'm right; the wine bar is crystals and mirrors, leather and luxury. Men in custom suits and women in designer duds. Definitely not my type of place.

I'd trade this for the neon lights of the Montana bar I met Whitney in any day of the week.

"Nice hat trick tonight," Brooks comments once we're seated at a high top pub table. Archer slides him a twenty, and I get a chuckle out of it. The two of them and their friends often bet on stupid things, and since they're all rich as shit, they find a lot of things to waste their money on.

"You bet against me, Arch?" I ask.

I have my trust fund, and don't worry about money, but I also try to be responsible with it. Like earlier today, I confirmed with my lawyer to set up the college fund for Remy.

"Yeah, but I've learned my lesson, and won't bet against you next time," he says. "So how's it playing for the Vipers?"

"Excellent. It'd be amazing if we go all the way to the cup finals."

"And the team is healthy, no scratches for the next game?" Brooks asks.

I eye them through slits. "Wait, are you two trying to get information out of me because of another bet you have going on?"

"Guilty," he smirks.

"As long as I'm playing for them, don't bet against me." I snort and warn. Our drinks arrive and Brooks holds up his wineglass. I don't even know what bottle he ordered, and don't care, since I'm not paying. I hold my glass up, too.

"To the Bellamy brothers," he says.

"Rich as shit…" Archer chimes in.

"And heartbreakers…" I add to the terrible toast we made up when we were younger. I sip at the wine, forgoing the sniff and taste test the other two take their time with. It's awful. Wine isn't my thing. "Or maybe I should have said heartbroken? How's your love life, Arch? Still with Brianne?"

The bitch he's dated off and on over the years has broken his heart more times than anyone can count.

"Nope. I'm done with her for good this time. I'm swearing off relationships. The bachelor life for me."

"Goddammit." I take out my wallet and a twenty and pass it across the table to Brooks. We get a good rise out of Archer with that.

"You fuckers," he scowls.

"We're kidding. We don't have a bet on your relationship status," Brooks guffaws and passes the twenty back.

"But what's this, like the 5th time? Is there anything left of your heart to even breakup with anymore?" I tease, but I feel for him.

"Hey, don't pick on just me. Brooks is nursing a broken heart as we speak."

"Oh yeah? Who is she? What happened?" I shift attention to him. Somehow, despite growing up with our womanizing dad, they both ended up the type of guys who pine away for the women they fall hard for. Of course, I'm the one to talk, obsessing over Whitney in the back of my mind.

Our dad's lack of commitment to Mom probably has everything to do with it. None of us want to turn out like him, alone and miserly, incapable of showing love.

Brooks hesitates to share, so Archer does. "Her name is Maisy, and I met her first, then he stole her from me."

"Stop with that bullshit. You lost her fair and square." Brooks shoots daggers at him with his eyes.

"If Brianne hadn't come crawling back, I'd probably be with Maisy now." Archer's just saying stuff to get under his twin's skin, I can tell. This is how these two are.

"Look, asshat. I know Maisy very well now, and I don't think she'd have been right for you, anyway. So, quit with the remarks because she's mine. I licked her, so I claim her." He ends with dark eyes and a twerk of his lips.

"Whoa. This is new. I haven't seen the two of you fight over a woman before. Who is this Maisy?" I take another sip of wine, and could really use a beer or a shot of something stronger. As well as I'm playing, though, I'm trying to limit alcohol.

"You remember Rex Buchanan? He's marrying this Christmas to a lovely woman, Chelsea. Maisy is her sister. We just came back a few weeks ago from spending time on Rex's yacht together." Brooks finally explains and sighs. "I thought we'd spend all summer together, too, but she has other plans. The thing is, there's something between us, I know it. A woman like her…" he gazes away into the distance. "She's special."

I know that sentiment well.

"She leaves soon for a year-long scientific voyage around the world, working for her professor. It's a solid career move for her, but our brother's ego took a hit after begging her stay and she's leaving anyway," Archer fills in the rest of the story.

"Man, sorry to hear that. But it's only a year. Things could heat again when she returns." I clear my throat, thinking of my situation, and launch in. "I should know. Almost two years ago I met a woman on one night I'll never forget. As fate would have it—as they say—we found each other again and things are looking fucking fantastic."

"No shit?" Brooks' eyes light up. "Good for you."

"And… Congratulations. You two are uncles. It's a boy. I'm a father to her son, Remington." I drop the bomb, and pull out cigars I bought on a whim at an airport store. They each take one, their mouths agape. Then I tell them everything, complete with photos of Whitney and Remy.

Brooks shakes his head when I finish. "He looks like a Bellamy. I never thought you'd be the first of us to have children."

"I did. Damn, we should have had a bet on it," Archer jokes.

"I think… It's early yet, but I have a feeling… Whitney is the one." I astound them with that news.

Another round of wine glasses arrives and Brooks holds his up to me. "Well, damn, here's to Tucker. Maybe you've cracked the code on what it takes for a Bellamy to achieve happiness."

"It's no secret. I just try every day to be the opposite of Dad. So how's your business doing?" I hurry away from the topic of our father, always a touchy one to discuss. Get them talking about their company, though, and they fill the rest of the conversation, lasting through dinner.

We end the night with promises to stay in touch more often. They'll be coming out to L.A. soon and want to meet their nephew and the woman who captures my attention.

On the sidewalk, we take a couple photos together, then hug as my car ride arrives. Brooks ruffles my hair, messing it up. "I'm proud of you, Tuck. You really seem like you have your shit together now."

"Thanks. And don't give up on Maisy," I say, trying to encourage him. "You never know what can happen down the road."

"Hey, go win those games. I'm placing a nice bet on the Vipers." Archer laughs, his phone in hand tapping away on a sport betting app.

I wave, and my ride pulls out into traffic. It was great seeing them, although the time is later than I'd like and Remy will be asleep. A message also came in from Whitney that she had a headache and went to bed early.

"Fuck." I'm sad to have missed seeing them on FaceTime. I rarely put much stock into superstitions like some hockey players, but I've talked to Whitney each night since we started this playoff series so far. Let's hope one night missed doesn't affect my playing.