Today, I’m seeing my family for the first time in a month. I’m embarrassingly excited.
I pull up outside the house at noon, having timed my arrival perfectly for lunchtime. I’m starving, and Mom would never turn down the opportunity to feed her baby boy.
Turning off my truck, I collect all my shit and step onto the familiar street. Potholes still litter the road, and the trees still hang over the curbs, dropping leaves on every windshield.
It’s home.
A noise at the front door pulls my attention to the house. Gracie is running straight for me, her blonde curls bouncing wildly behind her. I drop my overnight bag down on the sidewalk and catch my sister as she crashes hard into my chest.
Winded, I croak, “I missed you too.”
“I never said I missed you,” she mumbles into my chest.
“Right.”
“We haven’t seen you since August. Stop talking and ruining the moment.”
I do, and after a few more seconds, she pushes me away. Laughing, I tuck her under my arm and use my fist to mess up the hair at the top of her head.
“Knock it off!” she shrieks, elbowing me in the gut until I let her go.
“Are you gonna help me carry my stuff inside?”
She slants me a glare. “No.”
“Talk about shitty service.”
“Does this look like a hotel, jackass?” she throws back.
I grin and pick up my bag, slinging it over my shoulder.
“Tell me about the competition tomorrow. Are you feeling ready?” I ask as we walk up the sidewalk.
She opens the front door and surprisingly holds it open for me as I let my bag fall to the floor and head straight into the living room. I flop down on the couch and stretch out my legs, the muscles tight and sore from the long drive. Gracie sits beside me.
“I’ve spent the past month locked inside the studio. There isn’t much more I can do to get ready. I feel good, though.”
I take her in and sigh. She looks exhausted, and it doesn’t surprise me by any means. Being overcommitted to things we love runs in our family.
Her electric-blue eyes are duller than usual, and the bags under her eyes are more prominent. I immediately feel guilty for not being here to help.
Of course, I don’t tell her that. “Yeah, you look rough. I would recommend some sleep.”
She gives me a nasty glare, leans forward, and punches my leg.
“You know, you’re a real ass sometimes. My boyfriend seems to think that I look just fine.” Wearing a smug expression, she crosses her arms. Now it’s my turn to glare. She did that on purpose.
“Ah, yes. Your boyfriend.” The corners of my lips quirk up. I cross my arms and lean back against the armrest. “Jacob Lane. Seventeen years old. He plays for a junior hockey team and drives a fancy BMW. Am I right on the money?”
Her smugness vanishes. It’s quickly replaced with blistering rage. “You looked him up? Are you kidding me, Oakley? He’s a really nice guy! Mom thought it would be nice to have you both meet him tomorrow at the competition, but now I don’t think I even want you to meet him at all.”
Okay, maybe I shouldn’t have said that. But in my defense, Gracie never gets this mad when it comes to boys. She doesn’t usually give them the time of day.
I put my hands up in surrender in an attempt to calm her down. “Is it serious? I just don’t want you to get hurt. But I want to meet him. I’ll behave.”
She stands up, lets out an exasperated sigh, and runs her hand through her long blonde hair. “Yes. I happen to like Jacob. He’s not a bad guy.” As she takes a deep breath, her face morphs into a look of consideration. “Okay, fine. But the minute that you say anything rude, I’m punching you in the face. I’m serious.”
“Have a little faith in me. I can behave when I want to.” As long as he isn’t a total prick.
“Sure. Anyway, I have rehearsals in an hour, and I need a ride. Wanna get ice cream first?” She grabs her dance bag from the rack by the door and slips on the pair of biker boots I bought her last Christmas.
“Do I have a choice? Where’s Mom?” When I talked to her yesterday, she said she’d be here all day.
“Oh, right. I forgot. She got called into work—said she wouldn’t be home until dinner. Now, are we going or what?”
I get up and meet her by the door. After putting my beat-up trainers back on, I open the door and hold out my arm in front of me.
“After you, Gray.”
“My man!” Andre shouts from across the football field. The turf is soaked from being rained on for the past few hours.
After we filled up on way too much ice cream and I dropped my sister off at the dance studio, I asked Andre to meet me at the football field—one of the newer additions to the town—to catch up and toss a football around like we used to back when we had nothing better to do with our free time.
It’s been months since I’ve seen him. There was no way I was missing out on a quick catch-up while I’m here, even if it is just to throw a ball at one another.
“Hey, buddy.” We pull each other in for a quick hug. “You did something to your hair. It looks different.”
Andre’s head of shaggy hockey hair, the colour of the football in his hands, has been cut to a medium length, styled up in a slight swoosh with short shaved sides. For the first time in years, I can see the gold loop hooked through the tip of his ear.
“Figured it was time I stopped looking like a total douche. Got it cut a few days ago.” He runs his fingers through the top a few times before spinning the old, faded football in his hands.
“I like it. You look all grown up and shit.” I give us a few yards of distance and clap my hands in front of me, signalling for him to throw the ball.
“Nah. That’s the hockey pressure. I’ve aged a decade since you left.” He winds his arm back and then lets the ball go.
I position my hands in front of my chest and catch the perfect throw. “I saw the team’s photo in the newspaper this morning. It looks like you’re doing just fine without me. Four straight wins is fucking amazing.”
“Coach has been relentless. I think he wants to prove we have what it takes to win even without you.”
I throw the ball back at him and say, “That’s because you do.”
He has to jog back a few feet to catch the ball. “Tell me about the Saints. I’ve caught the end of a couple of your games, and you aren’t doing half-bad this season either.”
“It’s good. Surprising, but good.”
“That’s all you’re gonna give me?” He throws the ball harder than usual and winks at me.
I jump in the air to catch it before it hits the ground behind me. “I don’t know what else there is to tell you. The competition is way harder, the players are more aggressive, and the media presence is starting to get a bit overwhelming.”
“Media presence? You’re used to that shit, Lee. Been answering interview questions since we were fifteen.”
I shake my head and tighten my grip on the ball, using it like one of the squishy balls Matt squeezes when he gets nervous before a game. They’re supposed to calm you down. Maybe I should get one when I go back.
“I know. It’s just a lot all of a sudden.”
I should have been expecting it, and to some extent, I was. I guess I just wasn’t prepared for how curious everyone would be as to why I waited so long to enter the draft. Especially when I’ve been scouted since I was seventeen.
It’s not like I went to university or decided to wait and travel the world on my own before deciding to sign my life away to play professional hockey. I waited for purely selfish reasons. Reasons I haven’t shared with anyone besides my family, coaches, and Andre.
The blame for the media’s curiosity falls on me. But that doesn’t make it any less grating. Especially when our team’s social media manager can’t even post a simple picture of me playing beer pong with a girl without them ending up on hundreds of Twitter pages.
“You’re only human, Lee. Nobody likes to have random people all up in their business.”
“It’s not like I have a choice, though. I have to get used to it. Preferably before I end up saying something I shouldn’t.”
I relax my grip on the football before throwing it back to him. He catches it easily, spinning it in his hands.
“You’ll figure it out. You always do.”
“Your confidence in me is a bit concerning,” I tease.
He lets his head hang back as he laughs. “Maybe. But you’ve earned every bit of that confidence.”
“Thanks, man.”
Andre nods his head before tossing the ball back at me. “Now, tell me who that hot chick was I saw with you on the Saints’ social media pages. You’re really out there playing beer pong without me?”
Ava’s face floods to the forefront of my mind before I have a chance to stop it. It’s been a week since I took her skating, but we’ve only really seen each other in passing since. I know she’s studying like crazy, even so early in the school year, but damn. What I wouldn’t give to spend even an hour sitting in the library with her, doing nothing.
I don’t notice I’m smiling until Andre does. His lips tug in a no-good grin.
“That good, huh?”
I throw the ball back at him way harder than necessary. “Ow! Did you have to throw it that hard?” Rubbing his belly, he grabs the ball off the grass and launches it back at me. “I never thought that I would live to see the day Oakley Hutton decided a woman was worth his time.”
I scowl. “Don’t say it like that.”
Andre sits down on the grass and pats the spot beside him. I drop beside him and stretch my legs, rolling my ankles.
“You know what I meant,” he says.
I do, but for some reason, his words still bug me. “Do you remember that girl I was with at my going-away party?”
His eyes are wide when they meet mine. “The one with the long brown hair and perky tits?” The withering look I give him has him quickly continuing. “I remember. Shit, Lee. You didn’t stop talking about her until you took off to Vancouver.”
“Yeah, turns out she lives in Van. We’ve been hanging out a lot the past couple of weeks.” Andre’s eyes are still bulging, his mouth hanging open. “You’re starting to offend me now. I’m not allergic to female attention.”
He gives his head a shake, as if he has to actually pull himself out of his shock. “I’m just surprised. I didn’t think you’d actually see her again, let alone chase after her if you did.”
I glare at him. “What do you mean again? I didn’t chase her before.”
“Fuck off, Lee. You guarded her like a rabid dog when you finally came in from the backyard and then walked her wherever the hell you guys went in the middle of the night. She could have been trying to get you alone and robbed you or something.”
I bark a laugh. “Right. You’ve been watching too much True Crime.”
He shrugs me off. “Either way, I know what I saw. You wanted her that night.”
“It doesn’t matter what I wanted. She was heartbroken over that dumbass who couldn’t keep his dick to himself,” I grumble.
“Shiiit. That’s right. Have you figured out who he is?”
I blow out a long, frustrated breath. “Yeah. He plays on my damn team.”
Andre grunts, “Makes it hard to beat the shit out of him, then.”
“Yep. Every time I see that guy, I want to break his jaw.”
David doesn’t notice it either. It’s like he purposefully ignores the glares I send him. Like he believes there’s no way I could possibly be looking at him with such pure hatred.
He’s as delusional as he is a cheating sack of shit.
“I’m sure you could still find a way to rough him up a bit.”
“Not in a way that wouldn’t risk my reputation and draft odds.”
His eyes twinkle with mischief. “You’re gonna have to get creative with it.” He pats my back. “I know you can think of something.”
“Maybe. Thanks.”
I should talk to Matt about it. I’m sure he has some ideas in that evil head of his.
“Always. You know I have your back. If you need the team to take a fun little road trip up to meet you in a dark alley, all you have to do is say the word.” He winks.
I reach out and push his head, sending him rocking on his ass. “Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind.”
My chest grows warm at the reminder that my hockey family here still cares about me. God knows I won’t ever stop caring about them.
