“No.” He appeared to relax a little. “I won’t. But it wasn’t the only thing that went wrong. We couldallbe playing better. And I think there might be something we can do about it.”
“What?”
“When Reed, Grayson, and I play together, the way we communicate feels more like telepathy. I know what move they’re going to make before they make it. I know where theyare on the ice without even looking. Itrustthem. Skating with my brothers today made me realize that the Devils don’t have that. And we need it if we want to win.”
“But you’ve played with your brothers for years. You can’t develop ‘telepathy’ overnight.”
“True,” he admitted. “But half the guys on the team have never played together before, and it shows. Sloppy mistakes were made yesterday that never would have happened if the team communicated better. If they had more confidence in each other. I think a little team bonding could help.”
I glanced up at him as his words sunk in. “You want the guys to hold hands and make friendship bracelets?”
“If it gets them connected, then yeah. We’ve got to do something, don’t we? We need to win this next game so you can stay.” A look of surprise flickered across his face, as if the words had slipped from his mouth without permission.
He didn’t take them back though…
“So, what do you think?” he said. “Could this work?”
A few weeks ago, I would have laughed Parker’s suggestion off entirely. But after the time we’d spent together, after he’d helped me so much, I felt like I understood him so much better.
“It could,” I said, unpacking some clothes. “What do you want us to do?”
“I’ll text everyone to meet at school first thing tomorrow morning, and…” He stopped and began to smile as I pulled out a hockey jersey. “Nice jersey. Is it yours?”
“Oh.” I frowned as I looked over the bright blue jersey, which had a large raven plastered across the chest. I’d never seen it before. “It must be one of my dad’s.” I took another lookin the box and realized none of its contents were familiar. “I think this is all his. Must have gotten mixed up in the move.”
I went to pack the jersey away, but as the material slipped through my fingers, I caught sight of the name across the back. My heart all but stopped. There, in faded white letters, was my mom’s maiden name. Hollis. Below it, the number thirty-three.
“What’s up?” Parker said, his voice filling with concern. He must have noticed my shaking hands.
“I-I think this was my mom’s.” My eyes were wide as I looked up at him, shock making my grip on the jersey unsteady.
“Your mom played hockey?”
“No. I mean, I don’t think so. My dad never said anything about it.”
I started searching frantically through the box. It wasn’t just the jersey. There was a medal with my mom’s name printed on it—Abigail Hollis. A goalie mitt. Newspaper clippings and old ticket stubs from some of my dad’s NHL games. A signed puck. A photobooth strip showing smiling pictures of my mom and dad in college. But it was the last item I lifted from the box that had tears welling in my eyes. In a tarnished silver frame, there was a photo of a hockey team wearing bright blue jerseys with ravens across their chests. They were all boys, except, there, sitting front and center, wearing goalie gear just like mine, was my mom.
I was instantly struck by a feeling of betrayal. Then an overwhelming sense of loss. These were all her things, and I’d never seen them before. Never even heard about them. A whole part of my mom’s life I knew nothing about. One thatmust have been deliberately kept from me. Why hadn’t my dad said anything?
Parker came to my side. “She looks just like you.”
His words relaxed me slightly, making my heart swell with pride. It wasn’t the first time I’d been told my mom and I were similar, but I hadn’t realized those similarities were more than skin deep.
“Are you okay?” he added.
“I’m confused.” I glanced up at him and asked, “Why didn’t I know about this?”
“I don’t—” We both froze as a creak sounded on the stairs. Footsteps in the hallway. Parker stared at me, panicked. I nodded toward my closet and he rushed to it.
I placed the frame and the jersey back in the box and quickly closed the lid before hurrying to help Parker shut himself in.
“Mackenzie?” my dad’s deep voice called softly. It was followed by a knock on the door.
Anger, annoyance, and confusion tore through me. I didn’t want to face my dad right now. I wasn’t sure what I would say. Probably many things I’d regret.
“Mackenzie, are you in there?”
I’d been planning to shut Parker in the closet alone. But it sounded like my dad didn’t know I was here yet, so instead of answering him, I silently slid in next to Parker. There was barely enough room as it was, but he shifted his body as I closed the door behind me and pressed against him. My hands were on his chest. His were on my waist. I didn’t have it in me to care.
