Chapter One
Cody
“First weekend of June,okay, buddy?” My dad searches my face for some sign that it’s okay to go. That it’s okay for him to get into that shitty old Toyota where my older brother Danny is waiting in the backseat, tears in his eyes, and drive away. But it will never be okay. Even if I had been older or braver, it would never in a million years be okay that Danny gets to drive away with our dad while I have to stay behind with our mom. In stupid Black River, Utah, a town so miserable that evenArby’sclosed their local branch last summer. In what world would it ever be okay that my two favorite people in the entire world will soon disappear down the road behind a cloud of dust?
“I’ll come get you, and we’ll spend the whole summer together, okay, bud? Just me and my best boys.” My dad attempts a smile, but it morphs into a sad twitch, dying halfway toward hisgray eyes. I have my dad’s eyes, steel gray, whereas Danny has inherited the beautiful blue from our mom.
My dad lost his job at a poultry processing plant six months ago when they closed, and I know it has been hard on him with the divorce on top of that. I’m happy he’s found a new job, but does it really have to be all the way in Idaho? He told me it’s because his older brother lives there. That his brother can help him out until he can afford his own place. I’ve never met my Uncle Gary. It’s kind of weird having an uncle that I haven’t met, but I don’t think Mom likes him. Mom doesn’t like a lot of people.
“Once I’ve settled into my new job, I’ll have a long vacation coming up. Then, we can go camping and fishing. I’ll get you and Danny new fishing poles.” The desperation in my dad’s voice is palpable, his eyes begging me, his youngest son, for those two magical words that all parents love. That will allow him to drive away somewhat guilt-free. That will allow him to go on living his life, convincing himself that it’s okay to separate a son from a father and a brother from a brother.Those two words that will release him from the claws of his guilty conscience.Okay, Dad.Only the words get stuck in my throat, fighting my half-hearted attempt to speak them.
It’s not okay, Dad,I want to scream from the top of my lungs.It won’t ever be okay.I want to stomp my well-worn running shoes into the dusty ground and throw a tantrum of unparalleled proportions. The kind of tantrum that will rock the entire world, or at least the state of Utah. Even though I’m nine, I can’t remember ever throwing a tantrum before, but now seems as good a time as any. If I don’t flip out when my two favorite people in the entire world are getting ready to drive off to shitty Idaho and I have to stay behind, then when am I ever going to flip out?
But of course, I don’t. Because I, Cody Manning, am agood kidlike our neighbor, Mr. Willowby always says just before he ruffles his arthritis-ridden hands through my straw-blond hair and hands me a sticky lemon bonbon. A head of hair that’s always‘such a mess and why can’t you just for once try to look presentable, Cody?’I think Mom sees it as some personal offense to her when she pulls at it every morning before school and church while she scolds me. But of course, I never say anything. I just take it and bite back the sting. At least I catch a break from her nagging when my hair is forced under a goalie helmet and somewhat tamed every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon at the rink and every other Saturday for a game.
Yeah, I’m a good kid if there ever was one. The teachers in school love me because I never make a fuss. Grownups hate it when you make a fuss. I know that as sure as I know that Trevor Lewis is the best hockey player to come out of Utah, ever. My best friends, Mark and JD, always correct me that Steve Konowalchuk holds the best all-time stats, but I know in my heart that Trevor is a superior player. Just like I know that my mom, Karen always gets that half-moon-shaped frown between her brows when she disapproves of something. Like she does right now. Because I’m one step away from making a fuss, clinging desperately to my father’s green shirt, threatening to tear a hole in it, and that’sunacceptable.
I want to remind my mom that there are a lot of things in the Manning household—which is, as of this day, half a household—that are unacceptable, but she’ll probably just throw her favorite sentence at me. ‘Life ain’t fair, Cody Manning, so you might as well get used to it and suck it up.’Well, her third favorite sentence, if I’m being honest. Her favorite as of late has been ‘fuck you, Glenn’and ‘you’re slagging, hon,’when she picks me up from practice. I still haven’t quite figured out how my mom knows that I’mslaggingbecause most of the time she has herface buried in her phone during hockey practice. Maybe she has superhuman powers. I wouldn’t put it past her.
“It’s time to go, Glenn,” Mom spits at her soon-to-be ex-husband, pulling at my shoulder.It’s time to go.
Dad forces his face into a ‘please be brave for me now, bud, so I don’t break’expression, and my body is overwhelmed by a deep-seated feeling of pity. Not self-pity. No, never that. I may only be nine, but I already know that self-pity will get you nowhere fast. No, it’s pity for my beloved dad, who’s trying so hard at this very moment to get away without losing it. And pity for my older brother Danny, who—as late as last night—had once again offered thathecould stay behind in Black River and I could go to Twin Falls, Idaho. Only Mom wouldn’t hear of it.
‘Cody’s staying with me. Coach Jackson says he’s showing great promise. Now, why would he throw away his future and go to Idaho with you, Glenn?’she’d whisper-shouted to not wake me. But I was already awake, perched at the top of the stairs, peeking through the banister, my gaze locked on my brother’s slumped figure. Apparently, Danny isn’t showing enough promise, even though he’s at the top of his class, in the math club, and on the debate team.
My gaze finds Danny’s through the dusty car window, while he’s on a fast track to biting his bottom lip into a bloody pulp. Danny is just a kid, too. Only thirteen, but still the coolest big brother ever. The bravest, too. My protector. My sidekick. Myride-or-die,as Danny calls me, so I call him that back. Trailing my right index finger through the layer of thick dust, I shrug at my older brother, who, in return, places his left hand with his palm against the glass. I spread my fingers and mirror Danny’s gesture.I’ll see you soon, baby brother,Danny mouths on the other side of that awful glass, his breath hitting the window, faintly obscuring his face. Or perhaps it’s my own tears thatare distorting the image of Danny. Hard to tell, since I’ve never looked at my brother through a vale of tears before.
“I’ll text you once we get there, Karen,” Dad’s timbre voice washes over me and I squeeze my eyes tight, memorizing every syllable and every nuance of his voice.
“Fine,” my mom hisses as she pulls me from the car and against her right hip, wrapping her right arm around my chest in a suffocating grip. Crouching on the ground in front of me, my dad smiles wistfully, patting my left cheek fondly.
“I’ll see you soon, okay, bud? I love ya, Cody.” Nodding slowly, I lick my dry lips, the aftertaste of cheeseDoritoshitting my tongue along with the distinct salty taste of tears.
“Okay, Dad,” I whisper, clenching my fists, my fingernails digging into the soft skin of my palms, threatening to penetrate the skin. “Love you, too.”Please take me with you, Dad. I’ll be good. I’ll be better. I’ll do whatever you want. You won’t even know I’m there. Just please, don’t leave me behind, Dad.“I’ll see you soon, Dad.”
Chapter Two
Luke
Late. Late.I’m notoriously late. Story of my goddamn life. My mom went ten days past her due date because ‘someone felt like living rent-free for just a little longer.’It’s a standing joke in the Carrington household that I’m late for everything and I would probably still live at home long after my twin sisters, Elly and Lilly, had left for college.
Boy, were they wrong! I love when people are wrong, and I’m right. It doesn’t happen often, though. But when it does, it tastes sweeter than a half-melted Reese’s you forgot in your coat pocket. I’m a long way from Lancaster, Pennsylvania now, ain’t I? All the way over in Aurora, Colorado, of all places. Everyone knows of Denver, of course, but very few know of the town just outside the larger city. Well, that changed three years ago when Aurora got their very own NHL team, the AuroraMountain Lions. If the guys can just pull their heads out of the puck bunnies’ butts long enough to remember that we’re in the NHL to play hockey and not chase tail, we’ll perhaps be able to compete with the Colorado Avs one day. The last couple of games could’ve fooled you, though. It doesn’t exactly help that our goalie and my roommate, McKinney, is now out with a pretty serious shoulder injury.
No one who knows anything about hockey—or claims to do so—anticipated that a smallish town like Aurora would ever get its own NHL team. Okay, so maybe Coach Bassey did. He coached in the minors in Aurora, while running his own gym on the side, and when outside investors were looking for someone local and experienced to lead the new team, eyes quickly fell on him. Originally from Chicago, Coach Jamal Bassey was one of the first black players to really make it big in the NHL, playing for the Detroit Detonators for more than a decade. Who would’ve thought that the son of two immigrants from Nigeria—a country that is more than 60% desert—would end up becoming one of the greatest right-wingers of the 90s? Not many, I can tell you that. When a reporter fromDetroit Newscaught on that Bassey meansGodin the indigenous language of the Efik people, the rest was history, and a hockey legend was born.
Fiercer than a mama bear, Coach is relentless—and loud—in his faith in his boys.
‘Are you mice or fucking mountain lions?! Do you need a lamb like the motherfucking Kansas Cannoneers to beat you in your own town? In your own goddamn arena? You need an escort to find your way, or are you fucking lions chasing prey? Are you out for blood or here for the tail? Because tail will only get you so far whereas blood, sweat, and tears will get you fame.’With his ebony skin revealing a slight blush and golden-brown eyes burning fiercely, Coach roared through the locker room thirty minutes before our epic game against theCannoneers two years prior and I sure as shit felt it. The promise of fame cutting through the stale locker room air.
Yeah, Coach Bassey is a sucker for questionable animal metaphors, but his boys aren’t exactly academic masterminds expecting analogies of Shakespearean proportions. We aren’t dumb, by any means—I, for one, hold a degree in History and International Conflict Management from the University of Albany. But the curse-drenched pep talk did seem to do the trick because the Lions indeed roared and beat the Kansas team comfortably by 5-2. But now, two years later, it has all turned to shit, and our morale is at an unprecedented low. Fans are still loyal and supportive, but the media is smelling blood, raising doubt if a small town like Aurora really belongs in the NHL or should just leave it to the pros from Denver.
Bzzzzzzzzz.
Shit!The dreaded sound of the intercom nearly makes me spill my protein shake all over my gray sweats. Now I’m really fucking late. Pushing thedoorbutton on the wall station, I bend to get my boots. Hopping around on one leg, my shake sloshing all over the laminate floor, I scan the cluttered hallway for my parka and gym bag. It’s fucking freezing in Colorado in January and even though Pennsylvania isn’t exactly known for its mild winters either, it’s got nothing on a Colorado winter.
The heavythump, thump, thumpon the stairs caused by my fellow D-man and best friend extraordinaire, Riley Cameron, transfers to my heart, and beads of sweat break from my forehead.Shit,where are those goddamn keys? Brushing a hand through my hair, I stare at the empty spot on the small table in the hallway where they’re supposed to be.
A heavy fist connects with the door, causing the hinges to rattle ominously, and I quickly place my drink on the table to avoid any more mishaps.
