“Actually,” Bruce says, giving me a careful look. “I don’t think you’ve ever smiled the way you are right now.”
I don’t answer him, but I know he’s right.
* * *
Cameron
The buzzer sounds, ending the game. We won, but that’s not what has me grinning. The echo of Savannah’s cheers are still reverberating in my head, and it sounds fucking nuts, but I felt almost…protected by her show of support. I can’t remember the last time somebody cheered for me with such enthusiasm.
I get that she wants the Cannons to win so she can keep her job. But the genuine attention she puts on me is undeniable. And she knows I’m quitting hockey after this season. She’s the only one who knows, and she doesn’t judge me for it. She even said she supports my choice to do something else. For that alone, I want to make sure the Cannons bring home the trophy.
My cousins are always on my side, but they’re never sure if I want them rooting for me to score or hoping I don’t so my dad will get off my ass. My mom and brother are too intrinsically linked with my father for me to know where they really stand, and my coaches just want me to help them look good. To say I’ve become fucking cynical would be putting it mildly.
But Savannah’s cheering was pure and innocent. I could hear the passion in her tone, and she made me want to score. For her. Not for my career or my father or my coaches, but for this beautiful woman who seems to believe in my goodness when everybody else thinks I’m just a rebellious twenty-something who can’t figure out my shit.
I skate off the ice, raising my stick in salute to my cousins in the stands. Dylan, Colton, and Brayden are sitting with my father, who’s frowning.
“We won, Dad!” I call out to him as I walk by on my way to the locker room. “You can be happy for a minute.”
“Cameron.” Dad hurries into the aisle and chases me down.
I glance up at Dylan, who shakes his head at me.
He’s right.
I shouldn’t have poked the bear.
I keep walking, but I can hear him behind me.
“Cameron.” Dad is by my side in an instant, despite the fact that I’m speed walking to the locker room. “Stop.”
I come to a halt and face my father. Physically, we look so alike with our black hair—his now peppered with gray—strong jaw, and dark eyes. But personality-wise, we couldn’t be more different. Tyler Wild is obsessed with success and with his youngest son becoming the next greatest hockey player of his generation.
And part of me gets it, which is why I don’t fight him very often. Hockey has always come easily to me. I was an athletic child, and I loved the feeling of skating across the ice. I felt invincible and like no one, not even my father, could catch me.
The games were fun like a game is supposed to be. But my dad made it all about numbers and winning. If I didn’t have the most points in the league, then I had to try harder. Do more drills, spend more time with hockey and less with everything else, including school work. I had almost nothing else to hang onto.
I got lucky when I landed my sales job with a furniture distributor. I can do it from anywhere, and it’s allowed me to dream of a world outside of hockey. I’m learning so much it’s been like free business school, but I get paid a decent commission.
Plus, it led me to a guy who specializes in woodworking and custom-made furniture. He showed me the ropes, and I took to it. Making custom Western-style furniture became a passion of mine, and I’ve been fortunate to be able to do it for some of my sales clients. It’s enabled me to hone my skills and grow my brand.
My garage is filled with pieces. Right now, more of my income still comes from reselling other companies’ furniture, but I’ve worked my ass off, and I’m nearly there.
Until then, I play hockey. And since I talked to Savannah, I’ve been able to refocus on the parts of the sport I used to love. With my dad at every game, it’s been hard to reach for that childlike joy I once had for the ice. But something’s changed in me. I’m not sure what yet, but I’ve promised myself I’ll try to ignore my father’s unhappiness the best I can.
“You scored two goals tonight.” Dad’s frown gets bigger.
“So?” I raise the hand holding my helmet. “I’m doing okay. This team is a better fit for me.”
He curses under his breath. “This team is the bottom of the barrel. You don’t belong here. Remember—you want to get where Declan is. But you’re improving—two goals is okay.” He turns to leave. “Try to make it three next time. I’m having a scout in to watch.”
Shit. I was hoping he’d forget about calling scouts while I was playing for the Cannons.
“Don’t you think we should wait until I get called back up?” I say to his back.
He halts but doesn’t turn my way. “No time like the present to show them what you’ve got.”
And he’s gone. Swiftly down the hall and through the large double doors to the outside.
