I scoff. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

She makes a face that resembles confusion before she plasters on a fake, condescending smile. “I’ve seen the same woman go into your apartment two Wednesdays in a row, not to mention at least four other women. I hope you’re smart enough to wrap it up.”

It sounds like I need to have a chat with my brother about his ultraprolific love life. My brother’s tactics for getting women into bed with him aren’t exactly aboveboard, but he’s also my best friend, so I let him get away with a lot of shit.

I don’t particularly care if he sleeps with a different woman every day of the week; I just don’t want to find them hanging out in my kitchen the morning after, wearing one of his T-shirts, bugging me for an autograph, and making other, less-than-appropriate requests. It’s happened plenty of times.

Also, I run hot all the time, so my preference is to wear as little clothing as possible when I’m in the comfort of my own home. If he has some random over, I have to put things on, like shorts and T-shirts, which I don’t love.

I suck in a deep breath, inhaling her sweet smell. It’s making me hungry for cake, or a muffin. Or sex. Fuck. It’s been a really long time since I’ve been inside a woman, and it irritates the shit out of me that I find her appealing. “Look at you, Little Miss Nosy. Why the hell are you so interested in the recreational activities that go on inside my apartment?”

The tips of her ears turn from pink to red, and this time she splutters her response. “I’m not interested in who or whatever you’re doing. I happened to be coming home when your friend was doing the walk of shame on Wednesday. Two weeks in a row. Does she know you’re a womanizing asshole?”

I mirror her condescending smile with one of my own. “Wednesday is the day my cleaning lady comes by, but it’s nice to know you’re keeping such a close eye on me.” Before she can sputter out another response, the elevator dings and the doors slide open.

Little Miss Nosy bolts, speedwalking across the foyer and out the front door. I exhale a quick breath, make a surreptitious adjustment in my pants, and exit the elevator. I take a right toward the parking garage, unsure if I feel better or worse after that exchange, considering the way my body reacts to her proximity.

My already-questionable mood takes a fast dip south once I get to the arena. I’m almost suited up in my gear when my phone rings from somewhere under my discarded clothes. I intend to ignore it or send it to voice mail, but it’s my brother.

When I left home, I assumed he was still asleep. He doesn’t keep regular hours, even though out of the two of us, he’s the one who should have a structured routine. He’s in college part time and works part time. I don’t often know when or if he’s actually home.

“Hey, sup?”

“Shit. Hey, Ship. I thought it would go to voice mail.”

“I’m about to hit the ice. Everything okay?” My brother doesn’t call to chitchat, particularly since he lives with me.

“Oh, yeah, everything is fine.” His tone tells me that’s a lie.

“So you wanted to leave me a message to tell me everything was fine?”

“Uh, yeah, mostly. I wanted to let you know I took a trip to the doctor’s this morning, and I might be here for a few more hours ’cause they’re running some tests, so you shouldn’t worry or anything.”

“What? Why are you just calling me now? How long have you been there? Was it a scheduled appointment?” I always put those on the calendar. It’s not like me to forget something like that.

“It wasn’t scheduled. I haven’t been here long.”

I hate it when he gives me vague answers and forces me to drag information out of him. Nolan is five years younger than I am and acts like he’s invincible, which he isn’t. Not by a long shot. “So what’s going on? Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“Because it’s not a big deal.”

“How not big of a deal is it?”

“I woke up feeling off. I got a ride here from my friend Sasha . . . or Sandy? She was a lot of fun, regardless. Anyway, I probably worked it too hard last night. They’re checking my levels and doing some tests. My insulin needs adjusting, or whatever. I figured I should call and let you know in case I’m here longer than I expected, so you don’t get all worried.”

“You’re telling me you had one of your randoms, whose name you can’t even remember, take you to urgent care instead of waking me up, and you think I’m not going to worry? What time did you even get in last night? And how many chicks have you brought home this month that you can’t remember this one’s damn name?”

“You need to dial back your dad, brother. Someone has to get some action, ’cause it sure ain’t you. Look, I knew you had practice and I figured you needed the sleep. I promise it’s not a big deal. They’re making me better as we speak.”

“I’ll come get you after practice.”

“Don’t bother. I’ll Uber.”

“Message me the address. If you’re still there when practice is over, I’ll pick you up.”

“You gonna read me the riot act?”

“Do I need to?”

“One of the pretty nurses is here to stab me with some needles. It’s masochism at its finest. Have a good practice, Shippy.” He ends the call before I can give him more shit. I hate it when he calls me that.

“Everything okay?” Ryan Kingston, better known as Kingston or just King, slips his folded khakis into his cubby.

We used to play together back in college and ended up on different teams once we hit the pros. This year we’re back on the same team. It’s nice to have an actual friend among this group of misfits.

“My brother’s in urgent care.”

“Is he going to be okay?”

I shrug, because that’s always the question with Nolan. Is he going to be okay?

“He thinks his meds need to be adjusted.”

Kingston pulls his helmet on. “And you think differently?”

The thing that really needs an adjustment is Nolan’s lifestyle. “He says he’s going to be fine, and if it was an emergency he wouldn’t be able to tell me that.” I push up off the bench and grab my stick, helmet, and gloves before following Kingston to the ice.

We start with warm-ups, and I try to stay focused, but now my head is all over the place.

If Nolan took better care of himself, I’d feel a whole lot better about this spontaneous trip to urgent care. Unfortunately, he treats his life like time is running out, so he’s living it to the fullest, which would be fine if he wasn’t a type 1 diabetic with compromised kidney function and vision problems.

There’s a good chance, if he keeps living hard, he’s going to need a transplant. Even if he doesn’t live hard, there’s still a good chance he’ll need one anyway. Type 1 diabetes has a lot of potential for complications, especially when it’s not taken seriously.

I’d like to keep my brother around as long as possible. He’s already looking at a shorter life span, and that’s if he manages his health carefully. But he doesn’t.

I’ve done the research, read the articles, gone to countless doctor’s appointments. My dad traveled for work, and even when he was around he wasn’t present, so it was just me, Nolan, and our mom.