“Damn right, he is,” Papa says, and I swear even his eyes are glossy.
It’s not like it’s my first college hockey game. I played last year too. But it’s the first time these four have seen me as a goalie in a college setting.
“Thank you, guys. I love you.” I glance over at the ice, seeing a lot of my team has left before looking back at my parents. “I have to go. Meet in the car in, like … twenty?”
“Yes, ma’am. Can we take you to dinner?” Dad asks.
“For sure.” I nod.
When he lifts his fist up, I do the same, and we fist-pump against the plexiglass before I turn and skate off toward the locker room.
The men’s hockey team had a game last night, and I can’t help but wonder how they did.
And no matter how much I want to hate Hendrix for being so cold last weekend, I keep imagining what it must feel like for him never to have any family in the stands, cheering him on.
I still believe that underneath his act, he’s just a broken boy. He’s a product of his upbringing, and now, he’s sabotaging everything good that comes his way because he doesn’t think he’s worthy.
I want to help him, but he made it pretty clear that he doesn’t want that. I have to be selfish right now. I have to take care of myself.
Even if he’s on my mind most of the time.
“So,you all ready for Uncle Brody’s fundraiser this weekend?” my mom asks, knowing damn well that not only am I not excited for it, but neither is my dad. Who, I know, is just going to end up bidding on a night with me so that no one else can do it.
“Yep, can’t wait,” I say, less than impressed because I know that Hendrix will be there—probably getting bid on by literally every woman in the place.
Every year, Brody hosts these event nights at different colleges. This year, NEU was chosen. But it couldn’t be a silent auction, dance competition, or ball, like other years. No, we have to get auctioned off like we’re freaking pieces of meat.
“You seem off, honey,” my mom says, eyeing me over after Dad and Papa go to talk to a few guys at the bar. “Everything okay?”
Twirling my straw in my water, I give her a subtle bob of my head. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired.”
“You sure that’s all it is?” She dips her head forward, making our eyes meet. “You can tell me anything, Isla. I hope you know that.”
I stare at my mom for a second before looking over my shoulder, making sure the guys are still chatting. Lucky for me, I should have plenty of time to catch them up because both men love to talk. But I’m not sure I want to tell my mom. And I’m really not sure I want to tell Nena. It all sounds so stupid and immature when I think about how rough I’m taking this whole thing with Hendrix. We never even dated. We’ve only hung out a few times. I don’t know why I care so much.
“I can go if you want to talk to your mom alone, baby,” my grandmother says, putting her hand over mine. “I won’t be offended.”
I smile, shaking my head. “No, Nena, it’s okay. I don’t mind if you hear too.” I blow out a long, dramatic breath before looking at my mom. “Though, for the record, who said I needed to talk about something?”
She gives me ayou can’t be seriouslook. “I know you, Isla. You’re my daughter, and it’s kind of my job to know when something is up with you.”
I stare blankly at her, chewing my cheek.
“Okay, if you’re not going to tell me, how about I guess?” she whispers. “You liked that Hunt boy, and something has happened between you?”
“Why would it matter if I liked him or not? Dad would have ruined it for me anyway.” I slouch down, dropping my voice to awhisper. “So, it’s probably for the best that he ended things first. It wasn’t going to work anyway.”
“Dad just worries—that’s all,” she says, nudging my grandmother. “Nena knows all about protective dads with their daughters. Right, Mom?”
She laughs, taking a sip from her Diet Coke. “Oh, do I ever.” Her shoulders shake. “Did you know that Papa actually kicked your dad off the ice once when he found out he was seeing your mom?” She laughs harder, shaking her head. “My Lord, I’ve never seen that man so pissed in his life as he was when he got home that day.”
“I did hear something about that,” I say, smiling at my mom. “You were brave to go against Papa. He’s kind of scary sometimes.”
My grandmother’s hand pats mine. “When it comes to you and your mother, he’s actually a squishy marshmallow. He just tries to act tough from time to time.”
While I appreciate all of this, I know that Hendrix has issues much deeper than my dad ever had. Dad might have had a reputation around campus for being Brooks University’s very own puck boy, but Hendrix has issues that I don’t think I can help with.
“So, tell me about this boy you like,” my grandmother says, seeming genuinely curious. “What’s he like?”
