He sends the eyeroll emoji.
The guy knows me too well.
Me: Have you heard from Kia? She’s not responding to my texts.
Hayes: I’ll give her a call and see what’s going on.
With my brotherly duty taken care of, I pocket the phone, yank on my hoodie, and head out. Zane’s still yapping behind me, loud as ever. The guy needs to stuff a sock in his mouth before someone does it for him.
“You boys can thank me later when I break the record. It’ll be great press for the show,” he says before tacking on, “and the team, obviously.”
“Here’s an idea—maybe you should consider quitting hockey and focusing all your attention on your little reality show,” I toss over my shoulder.
A chorus of oofs and laughter follows me down the hall.
The temperature outside the arena is cooler, tinged with that pre-winter bite of November. It cuts through the heat that simmers low inside me but doesn’t come close to touching what’s eating me alive.
Once I reach my car, I pull out my phone and fire off a few more messages before I can talk myself out of it. Then I shove the device back into my pocket. I want her to read them and remember the way my hands felt on her skin this morning.
How easily she came apart in my arms.
More than anything, I want her to think about me just as much as I think about her.
Is that even possible?
7
Rina
My mother’s voice is a steady presence in my ear as I pace my apartment, half-listening while she rattles on about the latest grants she applied for.
“If I land the Guggenheim this time, I’ll be set for the year. No teaching load, just research. It would be absolute heaven.”
“That’s great, Mom.” I balance the phone against my shoulder as I sink onto the couch and tug a throw blanket around myself. She’s always been ambitious when it came to her career, and I can’t help but admire the drive that fuels her.
“And you?” she asks breezily. “Still busy babysitting hockey players?”
I roll my eyes even though she can’t see me do it. “I don’t babysit them. I manage the Railers’ brand. There’s a difference.”
“You could do the same thing for yourself, Rina.” Her tone turns crisp, professor mode sliding into place. “You should think about opening your own agency. You’ve got the brains and the talent. Why build someone else’s empire when you could build your own? One that would last?”
Her comments strike a nerve, the way they always do, pricking at the part of me that wonders if she’s right. Still, I brush them off with practiced ease. “Maybe someday, but for right now, I’m happy with my job. I enjoy it.”
She sighs. It’s a long and familiar exhale. The one that comes right before she delivers the lecture she’s polished over the decades. “As long as you’re happy. I just don’t want you to depend on anyone else to secure your future or your independence.”
Independence.
The single thought reverberates through me like a mantra. It’s one she’s been drilling into me since my father walked out the door and started a shiny new family with his shiny new wife. The reminder lands heavy just like it always does. Kind of like a weight in the middle of my chest I can never quite set down.
Before I can answer, my phone buzzes with a text.
Big D: On my way up.
My stomach dips like I’ve missed a step on the stairs. “Uh, Mom, I’ve gotta go.”
“Already? We’ve barely talked.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow. Promise.” I hang up before she can push, and stare at the glowing screen.
