“And guess what. I just got word of an awesome hockey camp, where only the best players throughout the country will be invited, and some of the most elite coaches will be there with special appearances from players. I get to recommend five players, and I’m putting you down as one of them.”
My eyes widen as I sit here, completely shocked. The most hockey training I’ve ever had is shit through the school that was free. An exclusive camp? I don’t even know how the hell I’d fit in there.
But I know one thing: if I can get out of this town and make it pro, one day … I’ll be able to find my little sister. I’d have the resources, and I’d be rich enough to give her everything in life she needed. I’d make sure of it.
Holding my hand across the table, I shake Brody’s. And then I wait to wake up and realize I was just dreaming. Only that never happens.
I guess I should be thanking my piece-of-shit dad right now. He gave me this opportunity by making my life a living hell.
ONE
ISLA
FIVE MONTHS LATER
The smellof weed fills the air as music blasts through the speakers. It sounds like whoever set this party up called every person they knew to borrow their sound system. It’s loud. Too loud for me, but I’ve already been called boring way too many times tonight by my friends to tell them that I want to leave. My nickname is officially going to be Grandma, and honestly, at the expense of sounding like a complete loser, I’m beginning to be okay with that.
“Daisies” blares through the speakers, and even though I love this song, I just barely sway along because it’s far too peopley in here and obnoxiously noisy. I love the Biebs and all, but, good God, why would anyone think it should be this deafening?
My friends hang off each other, dancing like fools and living their best lives. The group of us that came together tonight haveonly known each other on a personal level since we got here last weekend, but I had heard their names long before as upcoming talents for women’s hockey.
I’ve been in New Hampshire for nearly a week, at a hockey camp that I didn’t even want to attend, but I knew it was a good opportunity for me. After all, only the best of the best male and female hockey players from all around the nation were invited to this, so here I am.
Part of me figured it would be too intense for the players to even consider partying in between training. Yet I now find myself surrounded by high and drunken idiots.
Blaze’s face gets closer to Nora’s, and I can just barely make out her talking about wanting to hook up with one of the dudes here, but just as I move a bit closer—because who doesn’t love some good, juicy drama?—Nora pulls her phone from her pocket.
“My sister’s calling me,” she says, stopping Blaze mid-sentence, bringing the phone to her ear before taking off toward the back door.
“Rude.” Blaze rolls her eyes, looking at me like she can’t believe Nora had the nerve to answer while she was talking.
But Blaze is also a little buzzed, and that’s making her a damn drama queen.
Blaze shrugs before diving into the details of a certain hockey player here who she wants to hook up with, but then a mysterious blond-headed man shows up beside us, and right away, she melts into a puddle at his feet, so I take that as my cue to head to the bathroom.
As I weave my way through the bodies of people, my mind wanders back to Nora answering her phone, and guilt tugs at my chest. As bad as it makes me feel, I turned my cell off when we first got here because my dad wouldn’t stop texting me. Every message was made out to seem like he was just checking in, butI know Cam Hardy better than almost anyone—aside from my mom. He’s overbearing with those he loves. And I think it killed him that, due to a work conflict, he couldn’t be here, helping out this week.
I love my dad. He came into my life when I was three years old and stepped into the role as my father without ever thinking twice. My biological father has never wanted anything to do with me, which probably seems awful, but I hit the jackpot with Cam because he’s never treated me like anything other than his child. Even when my mom had my little brother, Saint, part of me wondered if once my dad held a baby who was actually his own genetics, made by him and my mom, he’d suddenly feel less connected to me. But if he ever felt that way, he certainly didn’t show it. Ironically enough, growing up, Saint always whined that I’m Dad’s favorite. For a while, I figured it was him overcompensating—afraid that I felt less than or something—but here I am, hours away from him, and I had to literally turn my phone off because he wouldn’t leave me alone.
It doesn’t matter that I’m eighteen years old and will be going to college in the fall, far away from home. If anything, this trip, I hope, will get my dad used to me not being right there. My mom too, I suppose. Though she gives me a little more space to make my own mistakes.
When I finally reach the bathroom, I give the door a slight push, and it thankfully opens with no one inside. Quickly, I duck through the door and lock it before looking at myself in the mirror. I certainly don’t look like a person who is having fun, but I’m here with my friends, so I guess I can’t complain.
When I was eight, after I begged my parents for months, my dad took me to my very first hockey practice. He had taught me to skate pretty well, but he never wanted to push hockey on me, so instead, he did the opposite. Once he realized how much I wanted it, he went all in on helping me reach every goal I setwhile always reminding me that if I ever didn’t want to do it anymore or if the pressure got to be too much to make sure I told him.
Guilt strikes me again, and I pull my phone out of my pocket and power it back on. Most people dream of having a dad like mine, and here I am, trying to avoid him.
Right away, a few messages come in, and I’m torn between rolling my eyes and smiling. While my dad’s messages are nonchalantly trying to figure out what exactly I’m doing, my mom’s message is simple.
Mom: Have fun. Be safe. I love you. And remember, you can call me. Anytime, day or night.
I smile. My mom got pregnant with me when she was in high school, and yet between my two parents, she’s the one who’s more chill. Then again, that doesn’t take much when her competition is Cam.
Me: Thank you. Love you.
Just as I reach down to slide my phone back into my pocket, it vibrates again. Only this time, it’s once again my dad.
Dad: I see how I rate. You answered Mom’s message and not mine.
