PROLOGUE
HENDRIX
“I don’t really understandwhy Brody O’Brien is coming to personally meet me,” I say to my coach as we walk down to the conference room at my high school. “I get that he has some mission to help poor kids or whatever, but I …” I stop, stuffing my hands into my pockets. “I don’t think I’m a kid he wants to help.”
“Let’s just hear him out, yeah?” Coach says, giving me ashut up and be goodlook. “You never know, kid. This could be your big break.”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes because I’ve been on this earth for nearly seventeen years. I don’t think big breaks really happen for guys like me.
We reach the conference room and walk inside. No one is in here yet, and Coach hits the light switch, turning them on. A few days ago, he sprang it on me after practice that a former NHL player wanted to meet me. I know who Brody O’Brien is. I mean, shit, everyone knows who Brody O’Brien is. But what he wants with me, I don’t know. He has a foundation that gives kids whoare less fortunate a chance to follow their athletic dreams by helping with the financial burden of the expenses sports bring. And sometimes, they give scholarships. But the recipients are probably all good kids with great grades who are in some shitty circumstances.
Not kids like me, who got out of juvie a few months ago.
Moments later, Brody walks in and strides right over to me. His smile is almost entrancing, and even though the dude has got to be in his forties, he still looks as young as he did in the posters I saw of him on my friends’ walls when I was younger. Besides maybe a few wrinkles around his eyes and his short, practically buzzed hair that has a bit of gray in it, he looks no different.
“Coach Martin,” Brody says, holding his hand out. “Thanks for meeting me.”
Once they shake hands, Brody looks at me and does the same. “You must be Hendrix Hunt, man.” I shake his hand, and he smiles. “I’ve seen some tapes of you on the ice. You’ve got some serious talent.”
I glance at Coach, who just nods toward Brody, telling me it’s not a good time to question where the hell this guy got game tapes of me playing. I know it had to be Coach Martin, but I don’t understand why he’d care enough to do that.
“Uh, thanks,” I murmur, not knowing what the hell to even do right now. It’s not like I was brought up to have respectful interactions with people.
“Let’s sit,” Brody says, waving a hand toward the chairs. “I’ve got some exciting stuff to talk about with you, Hunt.”
It takes my feet a few seconds, but eventually, I inch toward a chair and plop my ass down. Maybe it’s because I’m sitting across from greatness or possibly because I’m embarrassed that I’m the kid with the life so fucking sad that someone like O’Brienhas to swoop in to help. Whatever it is, it has my brain all messed up.
“Before we start, I want to ask if you’ve ever heard of the One Wish foundation.” He chuckles. “I’ll add, you may hurt my ego if not, but it’s fine. I’ll just know that I’m a loser, is all.”
Coach laughs, but I just stare across the table before swallowing.
“Uh, yeah, I have.” I nod once. “I’ve heard of it.”
“Great. So, that’s why I’m here. Before I carry on, I want to tell you that I started this foundation because when I was growing up, I wished that there was one around. So, please, don’t be embarrassed that we’re having this conversation because …” He pauses, looking at Coach Martin and cringing. “Well, to be perfectly honest, excuse my language, but I grew up in a very fucked-up environment, and I want to help other kids who face similar adversities. Do you feel comfortable talking to me a bit about what One Wish could do to pay you back for the shit the world has handed you?”
I stare blankly at him. Despite him trying to connect with me, my cheeks heat with embarrassment. My whole life, I’ve been the kid who no one wanted their kids around. My mom died when I was five, and my dad was a strung-out drug dealer. I hid behind my pain by fighting. And when I got back from juvie, I became an even bigger outcast. But, when you almost kill someone, that’s kind of the price you pay. It doesn’t matter if it was warranted or not or if you got out early. What matters is … it’s now a part of your past. And I don’t give a fuck what anyone says. Past and present? They might as well be the same fucking thing.
“Hunt,” Coach murmurs, patting my arm. “Go on, son. It’s all right.”
Looking from Coach, who gives me a reassuring head nod, to Brody, I inhale.
“Look, I almost killed someone not that long ago. I’ve been to juvie.” My throat feels hot with emotion as my sister’s face flashes through my mind. Guilt strikes me in the gut, threatening to make me crumple. “I don’t think I’m worthy in the way your other recipients are, sir.”
I wait for the shocked expression to cover his face, the way that it always does when people find out who I really am. OrwhatI really am. Only it never happens. Instead, he sighs.
“I know all about that stuff, Hendrix. We do a thorough background check on all candidates before we pay them a visit.” He relaxes back in his chair. “My old man was a drunk. Used to beat the shit out of me regularly. And my mother?” He breathes out a cynical laugh. “She’s a heartless bitch who I hope I never see again.”
Coach shifts nervously in his seat, but for once, I’m actually looking Brody in the eye now.
“I was a defenseman in the NHL for a long time, kid. I know a talented player when I see one. Let my foundation help you get the training you need to take this game as far as you can.” He pauses, narrowing his eyes. “You shouldn’t be put in a box just because of your parents being fuckups. You deserve to make your own story, not follow theirs.”
I wring my hands together under the table, looking down and closing my eyes while I process it all. This could mean private trainings with some of the best instructors. New gear. A lot of opportunities. But there’s still that voice in the back of my head, reminding me I don’t deserve it.
“Okay,” I whisper.
A grin spreads across his face, flashing his white teeth. “I swear to you, Hunt, you won’t regret this.” He nods. “And I promise, if what you want is to make it to the pros … you just have to be willing to bust your ass and put in the work. All right?”
“All right,” I mimic him, still in shock.
