“I would never—” She cuts herself off with an annoyed huff, but I push the sack farther out and she takes it, flashing a seriously flirty smile back at me. It’s a smile she hasn’t showed me yet, but I’m instantly addicted to it. I smile ear to ear when she shuts the door, thinking about how fun it is to make her smile.
At home, I find my mom’s bedroom light on as I pass down the hall. Per the usual, I wait for her to call out, but to my surprise it’s Bill’s voice that breaks the silence first. “Noah, did practice run late?”
I stop and turn to their bedroom door. “Nope.” I stare forward, not daring to make eye contact. This living arrangement is so complicated. My mom married Bill a day before I turned seventeen, after living as a single mom for my entire childhood. If I had it my way, I would have moved out on my own back then, but I’m not making enough. It’s been a weird transition for me, but overall, it’s been a relief to see my mom finally happy, finding someone who loves her. Oddly enough, I was the source that unknowingly brought them together. When Bill was scouting me, he accidentally—as he puts it—scouted my mom.
Maybe it’s a dream come true to see my struggling mother marry a billionaire, but it’s not without its issues. Bill offered me a spot on his hockey team, but he barely pays anything. I vowed to save what I made by staying here, but every day I regret this decision. It’s too much of my professional life blending with my private life, and I’m going to need to find another source of income soon so I can move out or I’m going to end up leaving this team. Leaving the team would be ideal, especially if I can move up to the NHL, but it’s not like I have offers waiting for me.
I wait, as I already know what Bill’s getting at. He’s an expert at meddling, and not just interfering, but negotiations where he ends up getting exactly what he wants. He’s not a bad guy. That’s not his deal at all. I appreciate everything he does for me. Butsometimes I think he cares too much and doesn’t know when he’s overstepping a boundary. I’ve learned to refuse to offer any more information than what he asks for.
The news program they watch every night blares from the wall TV, but he speaks over the theme song. “Why are you home so late?”
“I, ah, stayed to help someone.” I don’t dare tell him another detail.I don’t have a curfew, and I’m certainly not accountable to him.
“That’s awfully nice of you,” my mom adds, her voice sleepy as if she’s been fighting going to sleep. Her blonde hair is tied back in a ponytail, and she fidgets with the end of it. She always looks happy when she’s snuggled up to Bill, and I’m glad she has him. I don’t have to worry about her anymore, but it’s still so weird to see my mom married to my boss.I don’t like to tell people I’m technically related to Bill, because I would hate the guys to think I receive favoritism, because trust me, I’m far from his favorite player.
“Say, about the charity banquet next week.” Bill’s overgrown salt-and-pepper eyebrows wag at me. “I was thinking you should ask Kaylee Bradworth.”
I blink, recalling how this is how he gaslit me into asking Haileigh Goberson to the gala. I don’t even like Haileigh, nor did I want to go to the gala. I find her high-pitched laugh to be the most annoying sound on the planet. Bill had insisted it was a great “connection” to make since her dad is a Mapleton city commissioner. “Ah, no thanks. I wasn’t going to bring a date. It’s just deep-fried turkey. I don’t think any of the guys are bringing dates unless they have girlfriends or wives.”
“Kaylee’s dad is running for the Park and Recreation Board this year. He’d be a great connection to have.” I am not one bit surprised this is his speech, and I struggle not to roll my eyes as he drones on. “Especially if you want to do any coaching orperhaps go into personal training after your AHL career ends. Really, anything with athletics.”
Bill is all about working connections. I call it using people, but he says everyone uses everyone, which I think is disgusting. “I’m not bringing a date.” I stride away from their door, calling back, “Night.”
I didn’t care either way about the date situation or Kaylee. She’s a nice lady. We actually went to high school together. I’m sure we’d get along fine, but this is about me not wanting to be controlled by Bill. He’s the kind of guy that once you give an inch, he takes a mile, and he always has these little schemes he’s cooking up.
I want nothing to do with them.
No, thank you.
I pad down the hall, right as Bill’s elderly bulldog wobbles out of my room with something in his mouth. You have to watch Puck because he makes a hobby out of exposing your most private possessions. Like the time he found Bill’s private journal and decided to announce its existence to both our extended families right in the middle of Thanksgiving dinner. I laughed at that one. However, he then turned his detective skills on me and drug out my super-strength athlete’s foot cream. I stopped laughing.
“What do you have?” I reach my hand below his mouth and wedge my fingers between his jaws. There’s something trapped in there, and his jaw is clamped as tight as it will go. “Drop it,” I demand, but he lifts a nostril toward me and growls.
Out of patience, I jab my finger further inside his mouth and proceed to yank out the object. Once I see what it is, I’m glad I did. I could have just saved his life.
My prescription anxiety meds.
“Don’t steal these again.” I pat his head in more of a disciplinary than friendly way. “You could have died if you ate these.”
I swear he rolls his eyes and plods away, and I inhale a deep breath and clench the bottle in my fist. The only thing worse than a meddling Bill Baker is Bill Baker’s meddling bulldog.
I seriously can’t make up this drama.
six
Paisley
Friday morning, I stand under the covered entryway of the Mapleton Arena, glaring at the Granite Ice bus. It’s another blizzardy day here, with the wind whipping all over the parking lot. I pull my coat tighter around me, grateful I opted for my combat boots. Long Island gets cold, but not like this. I've been told this year has had an unusual amount of snow, but there is a valve in the clouds that is wide open and only knows how to dump mounds and mounds of snow.
To complicate this blizzard situation, it’s travel day.
That’s what the team calls it.
I’m calling it nightmare-in-a-white-bus-that-smells-like-rotten-gym-socks day.
Up until now, I’ve avoided traveling with the team as I was never invited. I don’t think it’s super common for Granite Ice to haul around reporters. However, there are only travel games left on the schedule, and I don’t have even one incriminating photo for my spread. I was out of options, so I asked Bill if I could ridewith the team. He didn’t seem that enthusiastic, but it worked out that their full-time social media person couldn’t make it, so there was an extra seat.
Which leads me back to this nightmare bus trip. I had my mind set on getting game photos, but I hadn’t thought about actually sitting on the bus with these guys. I really want to skip this part. I could take my car, but the weather is getting bad, and I hate driving in storms. I scan along the bus windows, seeing most of the seats are already filled, and I regretfully force my feet to move forward because I can’t give up now.
