1. Braxton

Four Years Later

Today was the day I had been dreading for four years. The day I officially joined the Connecticut Comets franchise as a player.

The season always kicked off with a pre-season barbeque at a country club for the entire organization. It was the calm before the storm. Come Monday, pre-season training would be in full swing and then we'd launch headfirst into the season, which spanned from October to April, and beyond if the team made the playoffs—something the Comets often did; this year coming in as reigning champions.

Coming to Connecticut for college had been a mistake.

Jaxon had gone away to boarding school for hockey by the time I was six. Honestly, we'd barely spent any of our childhood together, so I never experienced what it was like to be sucked into orbit by his larger-than-life personality, both on and off the ice.

I didn't fault him for being a good guy, but I couldn't help harboring some resentment over the fact that when I was out and about in Hartford and my face sparked recognition, people immediately glanced over my shoulder, hoping he was with me.

Jaxon was the main attraction; I was simply the opening act.

And it didn't help that God had a hell of a sense of humor. I was a few inches shorter—five-ten to his six-foot—but other than that, our looks were so similar that there was no denying we were brothers.

Jaxon had made his mark on this town, becoming the youngest captain in Comets franchise history. Beyond that, he was the face of the league. Teammates and opponents raved about him, and everyone knew he was Hall of Fame bound.

And if the career wasn't enough, he now had the perfect family. Hero Jaxon had swooped in and saved the fallen princess—my sister-in-law, Natalie—and had even gone so far as to adopt her three older kids from a previous marriage. They had a daughter of their own—my niece, Charlie—and another baby due any day now.

Jaxon was the ultimate golden boy, and I was blinded by the light of his spotless reputation.

Wanting to set myself apart, I had put my head down and focused during my four years at Hartford State, earning a bachelor's degree in sports analytics. I figured it would be useful if my playing career petered out at some point—I could stay close to the game on the back end.

Speaking of the hockey side, I had focused on strength training, increasing my speed on the ice, and honing my shooting skills. I was a better player now than I had been when I was "drafted." During my senior year, I was named captain and led my team to a collegiate national championship this past April.

Braxton Slate was a champion, something Jaxon had yet to achieve. Although, not for lack of trying. Each year, the Comets inched closer and closer to a league championship.

It was nice while it lasted because Jaxon was on the ice two months later, lifting that famed championship trophy over his head, and my accomplishments were quickly forgotten.

It was almost as if he was silently taunting me. Anything I could do, he could do better.

He didn't do it on purpose; he was naturally better. I worked hard for everything while it came easily for him. I was fighting a losing battle.

So, now, here we were. On the same team, and the league was in a frenzy, wondering if we would play on the same line.

Seated at one of the makeshift bars on the country club lawn, I sipped my beer, needing a moment of peace. I wasn't in the mood for small talk today, especially if the topic on everyone's tongues was the Slate brothers playing together for the first time. Maybe I'd spend my day with the kids. My youngest nephew, Beau, was seven and hockey-obsessed. It wouldn't be hard to convince him to let me in on whatever pickup game they had going on today while the adults mingled.

Just as I was about to push off my barstool, Levi Nixon dropped onto the seat beside me. Ordering a whiskey neat from the bartender, he turned to me.

"We're hosting a house party tomorrow night," he said casually.

By we, he meant me, himself, and Blake Abbott. We shared a house in the Hartford suburbs near the Comets' practice rink. Levi technically owned it, but when he was on his entry-level contract, he needed roommates to pay the mortgage. He'd missed out on the college experience, so he treated his residence as a glorified frat house, throwing post-game parties there instead of spending a fortune at the older players' favorite nightclub haunt, Spades.

Levi was only a year older than me but went straight to the pros after his draft, the same as Jaxon had. That put him going into his fifth professional year, whereas this season would be my first.

Blake was older than us both but had spent a few years on the Comets' minor league affiliate in Providence before being called up. He was still working hard to keep his spot and wasn't looking to put down roots until he was sure this would be a long-term stay.

The housing arrangement worked for all three of us.

"Tomorrow night?" I repeated. "Isn't that the night of the ring ceremony?"

As champions, the entire Comets organization would be presented with commemorative rings at an event downtown. Levi had been a member of the team last year, so he would be in attendance. It didn't make sense to throw a party at our place on the same night.

Levi smirked, accepting his drink from the bartender. "Call it an afterparty. The bunnies are gonna be hungry once they hear the news."

Frowning, I stared at him. "What news?"

"Benji Mills is off the market. The most eligible bachelor on the team showed up with a girl and a kid that people are saying is his. Hearts will be breaking all over the city when word gets out. Gotta strike while the iron is hot."

I blinked at him. Benji was one of Jaxon's closest friends. How had I not heard about this? Although, thinking back, Benji had been notably absent at Jaxon's summer celebration back home in Minnesota during his day with the trophy.

Still, I was in disbelief. "No way," I said, doubt evident in my tone.

Levi shrugged. "Saw them walk in myself. Chick didn't look like his type." He moved his hands like he was outlining a woman's body, flaring out wide when he reached where her hips would be. "But I guess that doesn't matter when you fuck up and knock her up. Your brother knows all about that."

"Has anyone ever told you how stupid you sound when you talk about things you know nothing about?" I shot back.

Was I often frustrated by being compared to Jaxon? Sure. But that didn't mean you could talk badly about my family.

Yes, it was common knowledge that Jaxon and Natalie got married after Charlie was born, but most didn't know that he had been in love with her for years—almost the entire time she was married to her ex. Charlie or not, he wanted Natalie. Knowing him, he would have moved heaven and earth to have her. That man worshiped the ground his wife walked on. I'd seen it firsthand.

"Whatever," Levi scoffed. "If I ever found myself in their shoes, you can bet your ass I'd throw enough money at it to make it go away."

"Classy," I muttered.

Visibly shuddering beside me, he breathed out, "Even the idea of being tied down to one woman is enough to give me chills."

Levi didn't care that women flocked to him because of his status; he used them right back. I had only moved in a week ago but was already dreading our bedrooms sharing a wall. If he could back up even half the number of bunnies he bragged about banging in a week, I was in for a rough ride.

Better invest in quality earplugs now.

Sighing, I steered our conversation back on track. "So, this party . . . ?"

Clapping me on the back, Levi shouted, "Yes! I've got Coop spreading the word to all her college friends. Lots of fresh, young talent. You'll have your pick."

I hadn't met her, but Coop was Levi's Hartford stand-by. She came when he called, but as he pointed out earlier, he wasn't a one-woman man. I wondered if she knew that.

"I don't know, man," I protested. "I just left the college scene. Not looking to take a step backward."

Snorting, he replied, "You must not be fucking the right girls, then. Because the ones I've been with? They're into some nasty shit. I hear they pick a lot of it up from books. And you won't hear me complaining."

Staring at him, I asked, "Books? What kind of books?"

Brown eyes darkening, he leaned in to whisper, "Dirty books. Good girls read their porn instead of watching it."

I eyed him skeptically. "You're telling me college chicks are wild in bed because of something they read in a romance novel?"

"Fucking right, I am," Levi confirmed. "Spanking, anal, toy play, bondage, hand necklaces. They beg for it. And who am I to say no?"

"Hand necklaces?"

Levi bracketed his hands, coming toward my throat like he was about to choke me, and I slapped them away, causing him to laugh. "Get it? A necklace with my hands. They come so hard they choke the life out of my dick. Fucking insane."

"You better be careful before you land yourself in jail. It's all fun and games until a girl ends up with bruises in the shape of fingers around her throat."

"Nah," he countered. "If you're leaving bruises, you're not doing it right." Placing his hand around his own throat, he demonstrated, "You push on the pulse points, cut off the blood supply. It's not about leaving marks or crushing a windpipe."

"Whatever you say," I muttered.

"Don't knock it 'til you try it. If you want, I can ask Coop to point out the freakiest of the bunch. It'll do you good to get your dick wet before the first day of training camp."

"No thanks."

I didn't take bunnies to bed anymore. Not after Lacey dumped my ass in the middle of the Las Vegas Strip. At twenty-two, I wasn't exactly looking for a love connection, so I didn't even tell women my real name. I got my needs met but wasn't looking for a relationship. Maybe someday, I would find a girl who could see past the sport I played to the person I was beneath, but I wasn't holding out hope. The odds weren't in my favor when the city I lived in idolized my brother and we happened to share the same face.

"Suit yourself," Levi said. "But either way, you're the new guy in the house and on the hook for booze."

Levi's house parties were legendary. Half the student body of Hartford State raved about them come Monday morning. They put the frat house parties to shame. I could only imagine how much supplying the alcohol would set me back. I wouldn't get my first paycheck until October and was currently living off my signing bonus.

Sighing, I dared to ask, "How much are we talking?"

Waving a dismissive hand, he replied, "At minimum seven kegs, thirty bottles of wine, a couple of fifths of tequila, vodka, rum, and anything else you can think of. And don't forget about the mixers."

Jesus. The quick math in my head at how much all of that would cost was a staggering amount. I was suddenly very grateful that the team fed us during camp hours, but I'd be scraping by eating ramen for dinner for a few weeks, like a poor college kid. Either that or stopping by Jaxon's house for a "family dinner" more often than I'd like.

Levi must have seen the panicked look on my face because he said, "If you think that's bad, be glad you showed up after they stopped making rookies pick up the tab for a team dinner on the road. Mine was over five grand, and I nearly shit a brick."

That didn't make me feel much better. At least, if I took this hit once we were on the road, I'd have an influx of cash in my bank account. And if I knew Jaxon, he'd have the guys take it easy on me.

If this were my rookie initiation, I would grin and bear it.

Maybe I needed to rethink getting laid to ease the pain.

Welcome to the Connecticut Comets, kid.