“Of course, man. What did you think?”
“It was cool watching a professional team practice. Made me realize our coaches could go way harder on us than they do.” He shrugs at that, an impish smile playing at his lips.
“So you made the team?” He’d mentioned having tryouts at the family night, and I’m not surprised to hear he made it, but it’s just further proof that the kid must be good to make it on the team after tryouts had already been held.
“Uh, yeah.”
“That’s awesome. Congrats.”
“Thanks.”
I guide him through the maze of hallways that lead to the locker room, enjoying the way he takes it all in. There’s something to be said for seeing this place through the eyes of a teenage boy not yet jaded by the bullshit that comes along with playing pro sports. It brings back the wonder I felt touring this arena for the first time.
“You starting?”
Reed nods. “Yeah. I mean, it’s no big deal. It’s just the eighth-grade team.”
“Of course, it’s a big deal. Don’t sell yourself short. It doesn’t matter if it’s the eighth-grade team or the pros. Either way, you had to play your ass off to make it, right?”
“I guess so,” he says, unsure.
Arriving at the locker room, I push through the doors and motion for Reed to follow me inside. “You should be proud of yourself. I bet your parents are proud, right?”
Reed is behind me, so it takes me a moment to realize that he’s no longer following me. His footsteps have stopped, and he doesn’t answer my question. “Reed?”
When I turn, I know I’ve said something wrong by the stricken look on the kid’s face. My heart drops straight into my stomach when I take in his unfocused gaze and the way he wraps his arms around his stomach like he’s trying to hold himself together. It tickles something in my brain because the motion is so familiar, but the thought dies as quickly as it comes.
“Hey, you okay? What happened?”
Reed swallows hard, his eyes finally focusing, just not on me. His voice is barely a whisper when he says, “My parents are dead.”
Forget my stomach. My heart drops all the way to the fucking floor. “Shit, kid. I’m so fucking sorry.”
The shrug Reed gives me is practiced, but it doesn’t hide the grief I’m all too familiar with. My mom may not have died, but she’s still gone. Hell, sometimes I wonder if it would be better if shehaddied. At least then, I could tell myself that she didn’tchooseto leave me. But now, looking at Reed’s face, I can tell it wouldn’t have been better. Not at all.
“So your sister…”
“She’s my legal guardian. Has been for five years, now, so don’t worry. It’s not like it just happened or anything.” He tries to play it tough, but it’s obvious that Reed is a sensitive kid. He feels things deeply, even if he tries not to.
“Doesn’t matter if it didn’t just happen. It’s still painful, right? You don’t have to pretend with me, kid. Still, I’m sorry for stepping in it.” Blowing out a breath, I try to calm my racing heart. Now I need to find out who Reed’s sister is. I’ll ask Joelater. I know how expensive it is to play sports as a teenager, and I wonder if she’s struggling to pay for his football gear. No doubt it’s nothing compared to how expensive hockey gear is, but still, maybe she’d let me help cover Reed’s supplies. “I get it if you’re not up for a tour now.”
Reed scuffs his foot across the tiled floor. “I’d still like to see everything. If you still want to show me, that is.”
“Of course, I do. Come on. Don’t mind the sweat smell. I’m sure you’re used to it, but hockey funk is pretty brutal.”
He manages a grin at that, and I do my best to add some ridiculous commentary to everything as I show him around. When we make our way into the weight room, he seems to have gotten over the sadness I unwittingly pushed him into, and his eyes grow huge and round.
“Holy shit, dude.”
Chuckling, I watch as he takes in the state-of-the-art equipment, the huge TVs mounted to the wall, and massage tables in the corner. It’s all old hat for me, but I imagine it’s pretty impressive to a kid in public school. My private schools always had state-of-the-art athletic facilities, but I’m very aware that’s not the case in most public schools. “Pretty sweet, right?”
“Fuck, yeah.” His ears grow pink and he glances over at me. “Please don’t tell my sister I said that.”
“No worries, kid. I’m not going to tattle on you for swearing.”
He gives me a genuine smile at that, and I feel even more accomplished because of that than I did about scoring during practice. Somehow, I get the feeling the only other person who gets to see joy like this on the kid’s face is his sister.
“She’s usually pretty cool about it, I guess, but she doesn’t really like when I swear.”
