I had to smile at that, but it didn’t last. “Yeah, Brom, I am. No, let me say this.” If I didn’t now, I might not ever. “Thing is, every athlete has to face the day when their body can’t do the job required of their sport. I knew that going in—though I never wanted to think about it.”

Brommy grunted in broad agreement. We all knew. We just didn’t want to dwell.

“Nothing lasts forever. I know that. But this thing with my head?” Unable to help myself, I ran an unsteady hand through my hair, feeling the sea mist in the tangled mass. “It’s getting better. I’m healing.”

“That’s a good thing,” Brommy said quietly.

“Yeah, it is. But you’re not getting it. Aside from my head, my body is in perfect condition. I’m in the prime of my life, Brom. I fucking owned the game. And this one thing took it from me. I wake up thinking I’m on the ice.”

I leaned forward, my insides twisting, and clenched my hands together. “I almost wish I’d blown my knee or something tangible. At least that way, I wouldn’t—” I blew out a breath. “I don’t know what I’m saying. Other than I cannot stand the fact that the only thing holding me back is my head.”

Brommy didn’t speak when I finished, perhaps knowing I needed a minute. From the house came the sound of a woman’s laugh, drifting on the night breeze. My lower gut clenched when I realized it was Emma. I wanted to be with her, soaking up her laughter, teasing her into making me laugh too. I turned my head to the side, as though I could block it all out.

“It’s shit, Oz,” Brommy said. “Fucking sucks. But maybe you’re looking at it the wrong way.”

I shot him a glare, and he held up a massive hand.

“Hear me out. You say it would have been better if you blew out a knee.” He nodded slowly. “No way to play well with a busted-up knee, sure. But what made you great, what made you a legend, is your hockey sense.”

He leaned forward, pinning me down with a hard stare. “Your brain, Oz, is what makes you, you.”

I ducked my head, unable to hold it up, and closed my eyes. “I know.”

“I know you do, man. But I’m going to say it anyway. A man might limp around on a busted-ass knee, but he’s still himself. You scramble that brain, and it’s lights out.”

In the darkness, my throat worked. I wanted to speak but couldn’t.

“Frankly,” he said. “I admire the hell out of you. Because we both know there are some dumb fucks still at it who really shouldn’t be. You got out with your head intact. Literally.”

The tone of his voice took all the remaining fight out of me. He cared. A lot. And that wasn’t a small thing. I knew now, more than ever, the value of that sort of unwavering friendship and support.

“I’m sorry. For being an asshole.”

He huffed out a laugh. “Hell, I’m used to that.”

I gave him a dry look but pushed on. “I mean it. I’ve become . . . withdrawn, short fused.”

“Become?” His sandy brows rose high, and he laughed again. “I hate to break it to you, Oz, but you always were.”

“The fuck I was.”

“The fuck you weren’t,” he countered. “You’d get in those moods, pulling into yourself, shutting everyone out, acting like a grumpy son of a bitch. Do you not remember every damn playoff season?”

Blinking, I stared at him. He was serious. “I was fun.”

“Yeah, you were. You were also a competitive asshole who’d get wound too tight under extreme pressure.”

Poleaxed, I slumped back in my chair. “Well, hell.”

I’d forgotten the exhaustion, the stress. I’d hated that part. Hated it. How the hell had I forgotten that?

“Don’t freak.” He slapped my shoulder with his paw. “We never fully see ourselves as we truly are. Yeah, you’re a little more wound up now. What do you expect? Your brain is healing; you’re grieving and stressed. Give it a rest, Oz.”

“I take it back. I’m not sorry at all, asshole.”

He laughed and grabbed another beer, then offered me one. Since I didn’t plan on going anywhere for a while, I took it. We drank in silence, while all that he’d said rolled around in my head. I felt not lighter, but easier in a strange way.

“So,” Brommy drawled, cutting into my thoughts. “Princess Anya, huh?”

“Don’t call her that.”

“Touchy. It’s a sign of respect,” he protested when I glared. “I love her in that role.”

And that was part of the problem. I was all too aware of how much Brommy loved Emma as Anya. My memories of watching Dark Castle with him and the guys were crystal clear, and they weren’t doing me any favors. Not when all the shit they’d said ran through my head. The way they’d groaned and said, “Look at those sweet tits bounce.” How they’d cheered Arasmus for banging her hard and fast.