Both Ziggy and Ren were traveling with their teams for training and away games, respectively. Frankie, Ren’s fiancée, was flying back after a visit out east to see her mom, sister, brother-in-law, and baby niece who’d just been born. Ryder and his fiancée, Willa, Axel and his wife, Rooney, all live up in Washington State, and while they’ve now flown down to meet the baby, they were a three-hour flight away at the time.
And Viggo, the asshole, was driving up from Escondido with keys to the new locks he put on my house after my latest move in our never-ending sibling prank war.
It probably sounds juvenile, and maybe it is, to be twenty-four and still doing things like sticking a turd-shaped Tootsie Roll in your brother’s coffee or filling his toothpaste with sour cream—yes, that’s as labor intensive as it sounds—but it’s just how we are, and frankly, I need it, some sort of sinister outlet. I spend so much time with the team, being so good, being kind and positive, all while Gavin, the giant grump, craps on it left and right.
And I’ve reached my limit. I’m at the point that not even juvenile antics with Viggo and expensive cheese indulgences can diffuse my anger. My frustration with Gavin, my resentment toward him, it’s poisoning everything.
Like this evening. Right now. I want to be relaxed, present, positive. My sister’s home, feeling good. Baby Theo is here safe and beyond precious. My mom’s cooked up a Swedish smorgasbord （her specialty, since Sweden is where she’s from） for all of us to eat, and the freezer is filled with meals we all brought so Freya and Aiden have one less thing to worry about while they get used to being parents of two.
Now that everyone’s grown up, our lives full and busy and spread across the West Coast; it’s not often that we’re all in one place, gathered over good food and for such a happy occasion. I want to soak it up, the comfort of being together, the soothing sounds of my family’s voices and laughter through the open windows as we drift in and out of the house.
But all I can do is glare up at a lemon tree, legs wiggling, something building inside me that feels dangerously explosive.
“Okay, Honey Bunches of Oats.” Viggo slaps my thigh as he sits beside me. “What’s going on?”
I don’t answer him. I’m so close to yelling or crying or both, I don’t trust myself to open my mouth.
“Dude,” Viggo says. “Don’t you think I’ve paid enough without getting the silent treatment? I still look like an Oompa Loompa.”
I slant him a glance and feel a smile unwittingly crack my mouth. The orange tint of his skin is mostly faded, but against his brown hair and pale blue eyes, what remains of the color tingeing his complexion still jumps out. “What good is a half-finished bio-chem major,” I tell him, “if I can’t use it for the ultimate prank revenge?”
Viggo grumbles to himself before biting into his sandwich.
Willa plops down at the outdoor table across from us, brown curly waves tangled up into a bun that bobs as she tucks into Mom’s Swedish meatballs. “Goddamn, these are good,” she says around a bite. “They may actually be a smidge better than Ryder’s, but don’t tell him.”
“You’re secret’s safe with me,” I reassure her.
She flashes me a smile before her gaze dances over to Viggo and she chokes on her bite.
He rolls his eyes. “Laugh it up.”
Willa cackles and says to me, “He looks like he took a bath in beta carotene.”
Frankie eases down next to her, setting her smoke-colored acrylic cane between her legs and smoothing her dark hair into a ponytail. “He looks like he took a nap in a tanning bed and forgot to wake up.”
Willa cackles harder, clutching her stomach.
“Wow,” Viggo says around his sandwich. “Who needs six siblings to bust your balls when you’ve got their significant others to do it for them?”
“Anybody need refills on their food?” Ren calls from the doorway. The sun turns his hair bright copper as he flashes a beaming smile. My older brother is the kind of pure-hearted goodness I aspire to. There isn’t a gentler, sweeter guy in the world.
The truth is, I’ve tried to take notes from what a class act Ren is as a professional athlete, now captain of his hockey team, the LA Kings. How composed he always is, how warm toward the media, how gracious toward fans. He’s so good at it. I’ve done what I could to follow his example.
And in some ways, I think I’ve found my stride. I’m all too happy to chat with fans, especially kids, do the PR circuit, participate in humanitarian initiatives. I love my biweekly coffee blitzes for the staff, making them feel seen and appreciated. I enjoy being the voice of encouragement to my teammates, keeping things upbeat, believing in us when belief feels a little hard to come by.
But I’m also tired. Because ever since Gavin showed up, it’s become harder and harder to maintain that positivity. I’m tired of being good and friendly and endlessly patient with his miserable, pervasively negative presence. I’m tired of his relentless grumpiness. And I’m tired of the fact that every time I shut my eyes, I feel his hips brushing mine, his mouth a whisper away, heat burning through me.
“We’re good, Zenzero!” Frankie tells Ren, snapping me from my thoughts.
“You okay, Ollie?” Willa pushes back her clean plate. The woman eats faster than me, which I really didn’t believe was humanly possible.
I force a smile. “Just a little worn out.”
Axel slips past Ren in the threshold and walks across the yard, a plate of food in hand, squinting against the evening sun.
“He’s not worn out,” Viggo says. “He’s working through something. Just get it out, Ollie. You always feel better when you do.”
“I’m fine,” I mutter.
“Uh-huh.” He rocks onto the back legs of his chair, one hand flying on his phone, the other combing through his mangy beard that he refuses to cut. I should have never made that bet with him. “Sure you are.”
Frankie and Willa exchange glances.
“Actually,” Willa says, nudging Frankie gently. “Turns out I do want seconds.”
Frankie stands slowly and grips her cane. “Me, too.”
I sigh miserably as they leave. I know what a mass exodus of significant others means: an influx of Bergman brothers.
Axel plops down in the chair Willa just vacated. Rooney’s halfway across the yard in conversation with my sister Ziggy, both of them poised to join us, but they stop as Willa and Frankie say something to them. After a quick quiet conversation during which all eyes dart my way, they spin and slip back inside.
“What’s wrong with him?” Axel asks Viggo, direct as ever.
Viggo clears his throat, patting my back. “Ollie’s got some feelings to get out, and he’s being stubborn about sharing with the class.”
“Please drop it,” I say between clenched teeth.
Viggo makes an exasperated noise in the back of his throat as he removes his hand, then focuses his attention on Axel, who’s best to catch up with when the group dynamic is small and you can chat with him one-on-one.
Hoping that maybe I’ve avoided a full-on brotherly intervention, that the ladies making an exit was just to give me some space, I zone out, leaning back in my chair, staring up at the lemon tree, until a shadow is cast over me.