Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

Cam

"Meow!"

I grunt when the cat lands on my stomach and immediately starts making biscuits, ignoring the fact that I was trying to get up off the floor. She plunks down, taking her time to make herself comfortable, clearly not giving a fuck about anything other than finding a place to sleep.

A place that's inconvenient for me, so it's better for her.

"Joan," I grumble, giving in to the inevitable and lowering myself back to the floor.

At least I have an actual pillow for my head—that's a perk that comes from entertaining a gaggle of rescue kittens that Chrissy, Rome's girlfriend, Jean-Michel's daughter—and the owner of a local cat charity—is currently housing.

Joan turns her head and fixes me with a stern stare. " Meow ," she warns.

"Joan of Freaking Arc," I correct quickly.

"Meow," she says, pleased and closes her eyes, purrs vibrating through her furry body.

"If, six months ago, I thought she'd be doing anything but hissing at everyone and trying to go full Assault Cat, I'd be lying," Chrissy says.

I turn my head, careful not to disturb the warrior queen of cats and glance over at Rome's girlfriend, my lips tugging up at the sight of her sprawled out like I am and covered nearly head to toe in sleeping kittens. Then I return my focus to my own bundle of fur. I dare to slowly reach out and gently scratch the top of Joan's head. She rumbles a bit in warning—because she used to be that surly, assault cat—but tolerates my indiscretion. "She just needed a persistent hockey player to melt that icy exterior," I declare.

An icy exterior that another woman in my life has.

One who is prickly and great at slamming down frosty, impenetrable walls and didn't even tell me she moved twenty-five hundred miles across the country to put down roots in my city.

Ats has always been distant, untouchable, and not for me.

Because she looks at Lex like he's her world—or had anyway, before he fell for Frankie, and she moved across the country, and?—

She started doing things like hugging me and whispering, " You're good, Cam. So damned good. I hope you know that."

For a second last night I thought maybe I was wrong. Maybe I misread all of it, the years, the closeness, the soft smiles she had for my brother.

But then Lex opened the door, his fingers wrapped around Frankie's, both of them smiling and laughing, and…

Everything changed.

Ats closed down, and pulled back, her face a mask, her arms tense at her side. Her goodnight to us all had been terse before she was retreating, the soft curves that had made every nerve in my body stand up in rigid attention gone as she hurried down my front walkway, got in her car, and left.

"Grr," Joan rumbles in displeasure.

"You like it," I counter and keep scratching.

A narrow-eyed glare but she deigns to allow me to continue touching her.

"See?" I press.

She makes a halfhearted attempt at swatting at me but settles in and closes her eyes again.

Chrissy giggles. "Who would have thought hot"—she gives me a teasing wink—" and persistent hockey players could be felled by grumpy felines?"

"You?"

We both turn our heads at the sound of Rome's teasing voice, watch as he prowls into the room, expertly navigating cat toys and water dishes and litter boxes until he reaches Chrissy's side.

"That's true," she says lightly, lifting her head slightly, instinctively knowing what he's going to do next—bend down and kiss her.

I feel that in my gut, feel it settle right alongside the jealousy that's been eating at my soul.

My parents and their happy marriage mean there's much to live up to. And my siblings have taken on the mantle. First, my sister, Soph, met Rob. And then my brothers fell one by one by one —Chance and Carter, Caleb and Connor, and Lex. Even Lex —self-proclaimed bachelor who had no interest in settling down— ever —had met his match.

And Rome with the fucking owner's daughter.

And King with Jean-Michel's all-but adopted one.

And me…

Who's in love with a woman who's in love with my brother, but who is also too good of a person to try to interfere in a relationship that makes him happy, so she moved across the country and?—

I bite back a sigh, know I need to get over this.

Athena is a woman who barely looks at me, who hardly acknowledges my presence, who?—

Hugged me for once.

Didn't just accept the affection that my family and I doled out, but actually initiated the move.

Unfathomable.

Maybe it's the California air turning hard-assed Ats into a hippie extraordinaire, and now Free Love and Athena Phillips go hand in hand.

Right.

That's likely.

I must have moved or breathed wrong or laughed silently at my dumbass internal dialogue because Joan rumbles her displeasure at me. "Chill, little battle cat," I mutter, carefully scratching her beneath her fuzzy chin. "I'll try to breathe less."

Rome chuckles as he sprawls on the floor next to his woman, not flinching when the movement rouses some of the kittens and they start to claw their way up his body. I wince in solidarity, having spent most of the evening playing pin cushion to their tiny, needle-like claws, but Rome doesn't seem to notice?—

Except when one crawls up the insides of his thigh.

"Easy, little fluffball" he tells the kitten, "I still need those parts."

I huff out a laugh—a full one this time without worry of retribution because Joan of Freaking Arc has realized her favorite person is in the room and has decided to stop using me as a cat perch. She strolls over to Rome, her tail flicking in displeasure at the kittens, but still showing remarkable patience as they twine themselves around her legs and try to pounce on her and want to curl up next to her when she settles on Rome's chest.

Prickly, but patient. Grumpy but kind.

Kind of like another perplexing female in my life.

And…am I obsessed?

Unfortunately, yes. I've been that way for almost a decade.

Plus, rehashing a hug—yes, I'm aware of how pathetic that makes me—is so much better than rehashing the game the day before.

Sighing silently, I push up to sitting, grimacing at the pinpricks from the kittens' claws in my sweats, but knowing that it's part of being here. Part of hanging out with people I care about and helping them for a few hours (since Rome had to step out and deal with a crisis with one of his former teammates—babysitting because one of their other kids needed to go to the hospital).

Same as I know it's win-win, really.

Because it also gave me an excuse to escape some of the chaos at my house.

I love it, love my family. But they're a lot, and my place is full to the brim of my siblings and their kids and my parents for the next two days—all of whom are blissfully happy.

All of whom remind me of exactly what I don't have.

"How's Roxie?" I ask quietly.

Rome sighs. "Broke both bones in her arm, but totally a champ." He chuckles and endures the wrath of Jane of Freaking Arc swiping out a paw. "Brit and Stefan, on the other hand, are wrecks."

"It's different when it's your kid—or at least that's what my parents say."

"I can only imagine," Chrissy says softly, settling a hand on her belly.

My stomach knots and for a second, my mind starts to unravel.

Pain. And fear. The knowledge that I can't do anything different, can't be better, can't change the facts—all welling up and threatening to pull me from this moment.

Enough.

I just shove those thoughts down, and cling to the tell. This isn't about me. It's about them, about Chrissy. And if I've learned anything from my mom it's to never —fucking never —ask a woman if she's pregnant.

So if Chrissy is touching her belly because there's a baby on the way…

Well, I'll be happy for her and Rome.

I'll make certain of that.

Even if it kills me.

Grinding my teeth together, I lock that away, push to my feet, and start for the hall. "Speaking of parents," I tell them. "I'd better get home."

Rome grins. "If you need another breather, I'm sure that Chrissy will have some litter boxes to scoop."

I grin back. "You'll need to pay me more than in free baked goods from Molly's for that."

" Meow!"

I glance over at Rome, who's dislodged a very unhappy Joan of Freaking Arc and the gaggle of kittens. Our eyes meet. "I'll walk you out," he says, tone brokering no argument.

For Christ's sake.

"I know the way." I start for the door.

"I'll walk you out."

Great. I barely hold back my scowl.

"I'm fine," I mutter the moment we walk through the front door.

" Fine means beating yourself up for last night?" he counters, closing the wooden panel behind us.

I head for my car. "It was my play. It cost us a goal. And that was the difference in the game last night." I shrug as I bleep the locks. "You can't explain that away with bad hockey luck, Cap."

Rome's quiet as I settle into the car, which I'm fucking grateful for.

I'll get over my frustration.

I always do. Being the youngest Jackson means that I've had plenty of time to play comparison games and come up short of my successful older siblings.

"I'll be grumpy about it for a few days," I say, trying to diffuse his obvious concern. "But I'll go back to the drawing board and come up with something better."

Because I always do.

He catches the door before I can close it, his gaze clashing with mine.

"I'll give you this one," he says quietly, and I barely hold back my sigh of relief. "But the team is a family, Cam—or we're going to make it one, anyway." His fingers flex. "And I know there's something else going on in the big, juicy brain of yours. So, if you think I'm going to let you drown in that bullshit tearing you apart, you've lost your mind."

He gives the door a shove, closing it firmly before he turns for the house and leaves me to my drive home.

But my moment of relief is just that.

A moment.

Because, unfortunately, he's right.

There is more going on.

I've been treading water for months now.

It's just…my arms and legs are tired and my head's about to slip beneath the water for the final time.