“He’s more persistent than a case of crabs in a rent-by-the-hour motel,” Jules gripes.

“And just as unpleasant, actually,” I agree.

Jules and Pattie invite me to join them for dinner. If I go home now, I’ll end up perseverating on my altercation with Joey. It’ll be one of those downward spirals where I question all my past boyfriend choices while eating a pint or two of ice cream.

Then I’ll start wondering if Jerkwad is getting his fuck on with his newest bedpost notch. Inevitably, I’ll start fantasizing about duct-taping his pretty mouth shut and using him as my personal dildo, which will result in self-loathing. Nothing good can come from going home and being alone, so I agree to dinner.

We head down the street to one of the local restaurants. Everywhere seems to be buzzing tonight, and I suddenly realize why as my brother’s form fills the multiscreen TV that takes up nearly an entire wall in the bar.

“Seattle’s first exhibition game is tonight.” Pattie motions to the screen. “I bet the guys are watching this at home.”

“The guys?”

“You know, our brothers.” Jules has three, and Pattie has two, I’ve learned. “They’re all sports fanatics, and we are, too, so it can get out of hand sometimes,” Jules explains.

“Especially when two different sports overlap at the end or the beginning of the season.”

“I can imagine.” All the tables near the TVs are taken, so we bypass them and head for the patio. We’ll still sort of be able to watch the game. I can’t believe I forgot that tonight is RJ’s first game. I shoot him a quick message wishing him luck as we browse the menu.

I’m able to half pay attention to the game from our table, so I don’t feel like a totally horrible sister. We order pints and a bunch of appetizers. I’m busy stuffing my face with nachos when a collective gasp from the entire bar has me looking at the TV screens. It’s a flurry of action on the ice, players shoving each other as one from Seattle curls into a ball close to the net.

“Oh shit! That had to hurt!” some guy from two tables over says.

“That was a dodgy play. They better give LA a penalty for that shit,” someone else says.

“Who got hit?” I ask Jules and Pattie, who both have a hand covering their mouths. “Was it number forty-four? Bowman?” I ask, my heart suddenly in my throat.

Jules gives her head a shake. “No, uh, number fifty-two. Winslow. Some trade from Nashville.”

“Thank God.” I breathe a sigh of relief and slump back in my chair, checking the score at the top of the screen before it goes to commercial break. At least Seattle is winning, so that’s something.

“Wait a second. Isn’t your last name Bowman?” Pattie’s eyes dart around, possibly checking for eavesdroppers. She leans in closer and lowers her voice. “Are you related to Rook Bowman?”

I don’t see the point in lying. We’ve been working together for close to a month, and they’ll find out eventually. And it will also tell me what camp they fit into. “He’s my brother.”

Pattie blinks a couple of times; her lack of reaction is fairly impressive. “Wow, so Joey isn’t always full of shit. Good to know.”

“You already knew?”

“To be fair, Joey isn’t the most reliable source of information. We take everything he says with a grain of salt, or more like a brick. Particularly the part where he keeps insisting you two are on a break while you adjust to living in Seattle,” Jules replies.

“Of course he said that.” I roll my eyes.

“It must be kind of annoying to have a brother who plays professional hockey, especially when it’s suddenly so freaking big here.” Jules shoves a loaded nacho chip in her mouth.

“It can be when people go all gaga over him.” I love the hell out of my brother, but it sure can be frustrating to be his solidly average sister.

“I can sort of relate. My brothers play college football, and women are constantly throwing themselves at them,” Pattie says.

“Sometimes they have stalkers.” Jules nods somberly. “Girls get crazy over athletes.”

“Right? It can be too much to handle.” I roll my eyes on a laugh.

“Remember that time Mike forgot he invited like three girls to the homecoming game, and they got into a brawl over him?” Jules says to Pattie, then turns to me. “It was insane. They legit had a mud-wrestling match on the field because it had rained that day. The whole thing was videoed and ended up all over social media.”

“Oh God. That would be horrible.” I can feel my cheeks heat with shared embarrassment.

“I can’t even imagine how it would be for you, though. The bunnies are the worst for posting stuff.” The way Pattie says it doesn’t sound like she’s fishing; it’s more like empathy.

I look around, checking to make sure no one is paying attention to us, and lower my voice. “I think the worst was the viral threesome video.”

Pattie makes a face and Jules cringes. “I remember that. People wouldn’t stop talking about it.”

“I was in high school.”

“Oh God.”

“Yeah. It was . . . not the best.” I remember that day so vividly. It set off a chain of events that made me avoid social media for the rest of the year. Even now, all my accounts are set to private, and I never use my last name. “I walked into class, and the teacher wasn’t there yet. Everyone was huddled over their phones, and they all went silent the moment I stepped into the room. I knew it had to be something with RJ. I mean, all of a sudden all these girls in the popular cliques wanted to hang out with me when he made the NHL—girls who wouldn’t have given me the time of day before that. But this was different . . . people started laughing and whispering. I ended up taking a week off school until the worst of it blew over. I really learned who my true friends were then.” The whole thing soured me on my brother’s fame. Any kinds of perks were suddenly eclipsed by the media backlash and the storm.