There is a brief silence at the other end of the line before Andy asks, "What have you done now?" Now, he sounds less frustrated and more discouraged. Does it make me seem a bit childish to still enjoy winding Andy up this much? Or is it normal between brothers? After all, I’m in my mid-twenties. Who knows, maybe we’ll still be like it at ninety.

As fun as this is, though, I’ll have to spill the truth sooner rather than later. So, to prepare myself for what’s to come, I take a deep breath.

"Shit!" I hiss out between clenched teeth. That was a mistake. Deep breathing is something else that’s not a good idea at the moment. It hurts like hell.

"Stefan!"

Andy's tone has changed again. Now he sounds worried, almost panicky. Although Andy is only five years older than me, he started to play dad early on, which drove me crazy. Thank you, but one father is more than enough. He may mean well, but I don’t need a big brother interfering in my life as well as our parents.

"I've broken three ribs," I push out between clenched teeth.

The line goes quiet for a moment.

"Tell me you didn't go skiing?" Andy whispers, and I can almost see him close his eyes and lower his head — surrendering to his worst fears.

"I wasn't skiing," I answer dutifully.

"Are you lying right now?"

"Yes."

Silence. A silence that drags on. It's obvious that Andy doesn't know what to say. And neither do I. He doesn’t need to tell me I’m an idiot. An absolute idiot. I already know I am.

I should be sitting in my car right now driving towards the Viktor Edvardsen Center. The training camp for the Winter Olympics starts in a few hours. I’m on the national team … no, was on the national team. Now I can kiss that chance goodbye. And who’s to blame? Me! It’s no one else’s fault but mine.

"The coaches will kill you," Andy eventually says with a sigh, saying aloud another fact that I'm more than aware of.

Ice hockey isn’t just my profession, it’s my vocation. I love it! But skiing ... I can’t get enough of it either. Unfortunately, skiing doesn’t like me. I get injured … a lot. Last year, the head coach of my ice hockey club, the Montville Falcons, said that he was going to ban me from skiing. It was a joke. Kind of.

I was a good boy and stayed off the slope throughout the hockey season. No matter how tempting the glistening snow-covered mountains around our town looked, I kept my skis in my garage.

"Earth to Stefan." Andy’s voice comes over the line dripping with sarcasm. "Did you hear what I just said?"

I stifle a groan. Sometimes I hate having a big brother. Like right now, for example. Why did he have to call me now of all times? It's Tuesday lunchtime. Not the usual time for one of our chats. I give a noncommittal grunt.

"So, no," says Andy with a sigh. "Okay, once again, slowly, and for the record: Thomas has been standing outside your front door for an hour, freezing his balls off."

Startled, I jerk upright in my seat, only to instantly regret it as a sharp pain takes my breath away.

Shit! Double and triple shit!

How could I have forgotten him? One of the reasons I went skiing today was to take my mind off the fact I’m about to face my childhood crush.