I try to stand tall, not showing her that I’m nervous, even though I am. Part of me wants her to tell me I suck, and that way, I can just stick with a position I’m comfortable with. Thenthere’s the other side that hates to suck at anything. If she says that I’m an awful goalie, I’ll want to prove her wrong just to do it. So, here I stand, a walking conundrum.
“Hardy, you’ve got a lot of flaws to work on. And you’re way too small for a goalie.” She stares at me. “Even with all that gear, you look like a little kid.” She sighs. “But every coach said the same thing about you. You aren’t afraid. You took every bit of criticism and fixed what we were telling you to fix.” She pauses, breathing out the smallest chuckle. “And I don’t think you’ll sleep until you know everything about your position that you need to. Am I right?”
“Yes,” I admit, knowing how hard I am on myself. My last name is a legacy. I don’t want to ruin its importance.
“Thought so.” She cracks the smallest smile. “So, from here on out, you’re going to be our goalie until we can figure something else out and get you back to center. Deal?”
I feel like someone is squeezing my heart, but I fight not to show her that I’m nervous. This is going to be so much pressure, and even though I do okay with pressure … sometimes, I crack.
“Deal.” I nod.
“Do you have any questions for us?” Coach says, and for once, she sounds soft.
I open my mouth to say no, but then I stop. “Do I get to keep my number?” I say, and instantly, I’m afraid I sound like a spoiled brat. “It’s okay if not. I understand that nineteen isn’t a goalie’s number. But it’s just?—”
“Your dad wore number nineteen, always.” Coach finishes my sentence, and I know my cheeks are burning now, afraid that I’ve pissed her off.
“It’s okay if not,” I say, looking at the other coaches. “Sorry … it was stupid to ask.”
“It would be a pain to change numbers right now anyway.” Coach shrugs. “So, yeah, while nineteen may not be a traditional goalie number, it is allowed.”
Relief washes over me, and a big smile spreads across my cheeks. It may not seem like a big deal to most, but number nineteen means so much to me because it’s the number Dad wore when he met my mom while he played on my grandfather’s team, and he wore it up until he retired some years back.
It makes him happy to see me in his number, and after all he’s done for me and my mom, I love to see him happy.
“Thank you,” I say, still smiling.
“We’ll see you tomorrow morning, Hardy.” Coach Stratton talks now. “Be ready to work.”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you all for this opportunity,” I answer eagerly before turning toward the exit.
Sounds erupt from the hallway as I make my way off the ice, and I know it must be the men’s hockey team. As I head toward the women’s locker room, the guys begin to file past me, giving a few whistles and a couple of cocky grins, but I keep my helmet in one hand and my stick in the other as I pass by, ignoring them all.
I think I’ve gotten by everyone, but that’s when a familiar face steps from around the corner. His lips curve into the same smug smirk he’s always worn, with his hair a perfectly tousled mess.
My heart pounds as I get closer to the man who I used in a closet to avoid having a full-blown panic attack when I came face-to-face with my sperm donor.
Hendrix fucking Hunt.
The guy I’ve managed to avoid for over a year now is here, at NEU.
The same one whose face I couldn’t get out of my head when I lost my virginity nearly a year ago to a guy I was kind of dating.I knew that night that it was never going to work out between us. I mean, I’m no love expert, but I think it’s basic knowledge that when one man’s penis is inside of you, you probably shouldn’t be imagining that it’s someone else’s. Especially not someone like Hendrix freaking Hunt.
He stops when he gets to me, turning his body slightly.
“Well, well, well … if it isn’t NEU’s very own good girl, Isla Hardy.” His eyes dance with amusement. “You didn’t really think you’d get rid of me that easy, did you, Nineteen?”
I open my mouth to talk, but nothing comes out. Last I heard, he was going to college in Maine, so I have no idea why he’s here, in Massachusetts.
Before I force a reply, he reaches out, bopping my nose like the asshole that he is.
“I’ll be seeing you,” he drawls slowly.
Then he’s gone. And I’m left standing here, haunted by this ghost from my past.
I’ve regretted hooking up with him in that closet since the second it happened. But that was the point all along—to get my mind off my biological dad. But I sure as hell never wanted to see Hunt again, much less go to the same freaking college.
Yet here we are.
