Page 138

Charlotte:

Don’t

Corinne:

You do.

I’ve told you this many times.

Charlotte:

Okay, asshole.

Of course he’s getting an A.

Corinne:

See you in October.

Charlotte:

Bring Nicole to Chicago and you’re invited to dinner after we wipe the ice with your asses.

Corinne:

Bring Colin to NYC and we’ll buy you ice cream so you can eat your feelings.

“Man, I didn’t even get to play for her,” he protests, but he’s laughing right along with me.

“It’s gonna be fun as hell when we play you. Those two are still out for blood.”

“We’re going to wipe the floor with you,” he says smugly, finally looking like he’s happy with the choice he made. “Sean’s not gonna let anything through.”

I sigh, knowing that the Lawson in front of Lawson play is going to become the new league-wide nightmare.

“He’s going to need help managing the pressure of the city’s expectations.”

Reed’s smile disappears.

“I know. I’m proud as all hell that my little weirdo of a brother is one of only ten goalies who’ve been picked in the first round, but fuck, I don’t think he’s ready for what that means. Vezina Trophy or bust,” he grumbles, guessing—correctly—what every fan of The Deep is going to be saying online next season.

“You’ll be there to help him through it.” He only sighs. “That doesn’t sound great,” I point out, worried.

“He’s going to be pissed. Going to think I’m getting traded only to keep an eye on him, that I think he can’t do it on his own, that he can’t escape me.”

My eyebrows rise with every word.

Isn’t he doing some of that?

“He’s eighteen,” I point out. “Everyone’s a drama queen at eighteen.”

“Not like Sean,” he murmurs, and takes another sip. “Fucking goalies, man.”

I bite back a smile.

“You’ll find the balance. Maybe don’t move him into whatever place you find,” I suggest.

Reed’s expression tells me he was planning on doing just that.