Make It Right by Megan Erickson Page A

He’d stroked her hair on the pillow like a weirdo, just to see how it felt as she blinked at him hazily, half asleep already.
    “Hey, where were you last night?” Cam asked, bringing Max back to present.
    “I took Lea to the hospital because her cousin . . . hey, did you know about the thefts and assaults happening on campus?”
    Cam unfolded his arms and braced the heel of his palm on the door frame. The wings of his Air Force tattoo peeked out from the hem of his T-shirt sleeve on the inside of his bicep. “Yeah, man, it’s fucked up. The papers said one just happened last night on campus. Some dude got pretty beat.”
    Max blew out a harsh breath. “Yeah, it was Lea’s cousin Nick.”
    “Shit,” Cam said. “Who are these fuckers? Dare them to come at me.”
    Max pointed at him. “Don’t start carrying your gun.”
    Cam huffed. “Weapons aren’t allowed on campus. The only reason I don’t wear my holster. So why did you take Lea to the hospital? I didn’t think you two were buddy-buddy.”
    Max didn’t know what they were. “We were talking at the gym when she got the call. She was upset so I offered to drive her.”
    Cam looked skeptical. “You? Offered to give up workout time to drive some chick to the hospital?”
    Max glared. “Why is that so hard to believe?”
    Cam shrugged.
    Max’s body heated again, but this time it was anger. “You know what? Fuck you, Cam.” His voice rose and he didn’t bother tempering it. “Can’t people change? I’m not an asshole all the time.”
    Cam’s eyes were wide. A scuffling sounded behind him, and Alec poked his head in.
    Great, now there was an audience. Kat was probably out there, too, because she and Alec were attached at the hip.
    Alec took a step into the bedroom. “Sure, Max, people can change,” he said gently.
    Max felt like a child but he held his tongue.
    Cam cleared his throat. “Sorry, man.”
    Max waved his hand. “Nah, it’s cool. Anyway, I need to get in the shower before I have to go to my dad’s, all right?”
    Cam waited a beat. “Sure. Later, Max.”
    “Later,” Alec echoed, and Max gave them a small smile.
    M A X P A R K E D I N his dad’s cracked driveway and stared up at the house. The gutters needed cleaning and the winter hadn’t been kind to the roof. He heaved a sigh. More work for him and his brothers to do come spring. Even though his dad would bitch and be unappreciative.
    What else was new?
    He grabbed the container of cookies from the passenger seat and stepped out of his truck. He walked into the house, gaze lingering on the dusty picture frames lining the hallways. Max in his ice-hockey uniform. His older brother Calvin in his football pads. The middle brother, Brent, pulling on his soccer-goalie gloves. And his mind flashed back to all the times he spent in the hospital as a kid, as a patient or a concerned brother. That bench last night held a familiarity he hadn’t wanted to revisit.
    Because they were always incurring injuries, especially because their dad encouraged the roughest play. Max had to check his opponent into the boards. Rip off his gloves and throw punches. Calvin had to tackle dirty. Brent had to slide cleats up or throw elbows.
    That was what was expected of them by their dear old dad. The problem was, when you played dirty, others played dirty in return.
    Which meant a lot of broken bones. Stitches. Concussions.
    Max’s eyes lingered longer on a picture of him taking a shot on goal on the ice and then shook his head. He needed to quit fucking around. There was work to do.
    He dropped the cookies off in the kitchen and then continued out the back door to the yard.
    The week’s ice storm had wrecked the old, weakened tree in his dad’s backyard. A large branch near the top had cracked in half, taking out its bare comrades below.
    Max cocked his head. From one side it looked like a whole tree, but take a couple of steps to one side and it was . . . half a tree.
    His brothers stood in front