“What’s this wish program?” I ask the attendant, a college-age looking kid with the name Reggie on his tag.
“Cam Castillo, one of the hockey players here, started this up as a nonprofit foundation. We give underserved kids a chance to skate with hockey players, along with all the gear they need. Some players teach a few classes to get them started. It really helps give the kids confidence and a chance to do something their families would not otherwise be able to afford,” he says, and points to his chest. “I wish this had been around when I was growing up.”
I can’t believe Cam didn’t tell me he’d started this. I know a little of his background, so it makes sense he’d give back now that he’s a famous hockey player. It makes me feel even more like shit that I do nothing.
Sure, I donate every time I see those sad animal commercials on TV. Or during those times of the year when they have the telethons for children’s hospitals. But I know my money could do so much more for people.
I whip out my Black Card so fast. “I’ll take everything you have.”
Reggie’s jaw drops. “Everything?”
“Yep. Can you ship to Denver?” As I watch the guy ring things up, I couldn’t care less what the total will be. For once, my money feels lighter. Like it finally went toward something that mattered.
Only it fires off something in me to do more. I’ll have to ask Cam about it, maybe expand the program into Denver with the Aspens. The PR department is always after me to do things like this. Maybe I’ll even expand it across the states. Yeah, that’s it. Something useful to do with myself when I’m not playing hockey.
Eventually, I return to my seat and settle in. Becca is a beautiful woman twirling around the ice. And the performance by the entire company is so good, they get a standing ovation at the end.
Cam finally gets to set his plan in motion. The one he called me about a few weeks ago, and the whole reason I’m here. I’m the official videographer for this life-changing event.
“Ready, big guy? This is your moment. Don’t blow it.” I chuckle. But he’s so suave; he’s got this.
He takes the covers off of his skates, then picks up the bouquet of two dozen red roses that’s so huge he had to buy the seat next to him for it. The crowd is clapping and on their feet, the performers still taking their bows, when he steps onto the ice.
In his tuxedo on skates, he’s one slick guy, gliding over to Becca. Her face freezes in shock at seeing him skate up to her with the flowers. Obviously she has no clue what he’s up to, given she breaks out into a smile that splits her face. He takes her in one arm and twirls her around, away from the other performers.
I film it; he’s had this all perfectly arranged with the arena staff. The guy manning the spotlight follows them until they stop near me.
Cam takes a knee in front of Becca, and the crowd goes insane. The noise level is through the roof.
Her hands fly to her mouth as he pulls a velvet box from his pocket and holds it up to her. No one can hear what’s being said, what he’s asking her, but everyone can guess.
Judging by her reaction, flinging her arms around his neck, it’s clear what her answer is as well.
Looks like I’ll have another reason to wear this tuxedo—totheirwedding. Although maybe I won’t jinx it and will buy a new one.
Jealousy spikes within me like a green monster on steroids as I catch the entire thing on video. My throat works; I am happy for them, but I want what Cam has found. I want true love.
Too bad that’s something my money cannot buy.
CHAPTER 2
GROWLY MAMA BEAR
STELLA BRANCH
TV is sometimesa mother’s best friend and babysitter. I steal every spare second to study while Aiden sprawls on the couch, glued to the screen. My laptop hums as I reread the same page for my class on curriculum design, my brain struggling to keep up.
An announcer’s voice rises suddenly. “And that’s the winning goal—left defenseman Eli Lewis finally puts it away for the Denver Aspens.”
So involved in my studies, I hadn’t even realized Aiden had switched channels to the end of a Denver Aspens game that’s gone into overtime.
I close my laptop a little harder than necessary. “Alright, kiddo. Extra time’s up. Let’s get ready for bed.”
“Please, can I watch a few more minutes?” He begs.
“Nope. It’s already an hour past your bedtime. Go brush your teeth.” I grab the remote as he shuffles off to the bathroom when I catch a glimpse of the player who made the winning goal on the screen—arms in the air, smile wide—celebrating the win.
My heart stutters and I quickly shut it off and toss the remote onto the cushions. I refused to give the player—and our past—another thought.
