“You know, I kind of like it when you’re sassy,” he says with a smirk. “Does something to me. Unlike when you’re walking around, acting like a Goody Two-Shoes.” He shrugs. “Course, if my dad got me a spot on whatever college team I wanted, I’d probably keep my act together too, Nineteen.”
“Fuck you,” I spit. “I wasn’t given—” Pulling in a deep breath, I remind myself that it’s not worth it.
I’ve been dealing with this for years. Other players always assuming that just because my dad was a huge NHL star, I haven’t had to work for anything.
“You know what? I’m not wasting my breath on an egotistical maniac like you.” I move my head from side to side like a snake as the words seep from my lips. “So, whatever daddy issues you have, they aren’t my problem, asshole. Now, do me a favor and get the fuck out of my face.”
Planting a palm on his chest, I give him a shove backward. He doesn’t budge, but his expression changes from amused to something darker. And then he huffs out a laugh and drops his hand down.
I don’t stick around to ask questions though. I just bolt, heading away from the bathroom and out of this house. Because men like Hendrix Hunt are womanizers. And I don’t want him anywhere near me.
TWO
ISLA
Over a hundred ofus gather in the field house as Rick, the man who organized this entire camp, stands in front of us. We’ve known all week that the last day of this camp wasn’t going to be in the arena, but instead in this huge field house. We just didn’t know why.
“We have some surprise guests here today,” Rick announces, clasping his hands together. “Players, coaches, scouts, and other people who have made a name for themselves in the sport traveled to be able to meet with you all.”
He names off person after person, and the girls—including myself—erupt into cheers when a few of our all-time biggest idols for female players walk out and wave. My heart races with excitement because even though I’ve been very blessed to meet a lot of important people in the industry, I’ve never gotten a chance to meet some who were brought here.
“Next, we have Nick Pelletier.” Rick keeps talking, rattling off all of Nick’s accomplishments, but I can no longer hear anything he’s saying.
The only noise in my ears is the sound of my own heart pumping, and my blood runs cold.
Without being able to stop myself, I stare at a man who I’m not supposed to know I have any connection to. The coaches each shake his hand, and his gaze sweeps around the arena, looking at all the players. But when he gets to me, I turn slightly in attempt to hide my face. Still, I feel his gaze on me for a moment or two before, finally, it’s gone. But even when I no longer feel the sensation of him looking my way, I still can’t breathe.
I peek subtly at the man who has now moved off to the side, next to the string of those who were announced before him, and I fight back whatever this feeling in my gut is. I can’t even decipher if it’s anger, sadness, or something else. All I know is, I hate it.
I’m not supposed to know that the man with the huge-ass ego who just strutted in, acting like he owned the place, is my biological father. I’ve never wanted to hurt my mom or my dad by asking questions. I never wanted my dad to feel like he wasn’t enough for me because that was never it. It wasn’t about that. It was about wondering where I’d actually come from. Or who I’d come from. So, against my better judgement, I looked into my biological father myself. And I’m not sure I’ll ever understand how he went on to have a wife and kids that he seems to be so proud of after not once acknowledging my existence … and maybe that’s okay. But I know one thing: if my parents knew he was going to be making a surprise appearance here, they wouldn’t have ever let me come.
Nick played four years of college hockey and went on to coach multiple high school and college teams before finally landing a head coach position for a major NHL team.
Dad played so many seasons for the Boston Bruins before he retired a few years ago. Which means we likely all crossed paths with Nick and my parents just kept it secret.
When Brody O’Brien struts in, tears so badly ache to spill from my eyes as I fight the urge to run up and hug him, knowing it would help this sickening feeling taking over my body right now. But when I look at Brody, his eyes dart from Nick’s to mine, and he quickly tries to plaster on his typical grin, though he fails miserably.
“So, we’re going to let you all mingle for a while, and then later, we’ll be taking groups to the arena,” Rick says, smiling proudly before he walks toward the crowd, leaving us all to our own devices.
And before I even have a moment to digest anything, Brody is headed right for me. I have no doubt he can read me like a book and knows that I just saw my birth father for the first time in my life while knowing who he is.
“Hey, kiddo,” Brody drawls, throwing his arm around me. “How are you doing?”
I hug him back, my entire body shaking as I swallow down the emotion threatening to come out.
“How do you think I am?” I whisper, stepping back from him, nearly choking on the words. And when his eyes fly to mine, wide and nervous, I shrug. “Yeah, I know who he is, Brody.” I glance past Brody, looking at Nick. “Unfortunately.”
Brody O’Brien is a lot of things, but uncomfortable isn’t usually one of them. He’s the dude who’s always got a shit-eating grin plastered on his face, but right now, the few wrinkles around his eyes appear deeper in this moment. He’s been like an uncle to me for most of my life, and I’m sure he doesn’t know what to say or do.
“Isla,” he whispers, putting his hand on my shoulder and giving it a squeeze, “how long have you known that tool bag is your father?”
My eyes float upward as Nick talks to a few guys—among them, Hendrix—and I sigh.
“A little over a year,” I mutter. “I got curious, so I did some digging.” I look back up at Brody. “Please don’t tell my parents. Dad will get sad. He’ll think that he isn’t enough or something.”
Brody’s expression is pained. “You want me to keep something from Cam?” He grimaces. “Isla, he’s my best friend. And if you’re hurting, trust me, he’d want to know. He loves you more than anything in the world and?—”
“I know.” The two words rush from my lips as a whisper-hiss, and I push my frizzy blonde hair away from my face. “I know all of that. I just don’t want it to become a whole thing. My parents have spent my entire life making sure that I don’t … you know, have issues because of that guy over there. I don’t want them to worry—that’s all.”
