PROLOGUE
DOMINIK LEWIS
High School - Boston
A new beginning.This will be a fresh start.
That’s what mom kept repeating on the car ride over, with our entire belongings thrown in the trunk as we made our way to Boston. She said it so many times I lost count. If I was legal drinking age, I would have recorded it so I could turn it into a drinking game later. I think she was trying to convince herself more than me. You hear something enough; you believe it.
This is a new beginning and the start of my hopefully very long hockey career. I should feel excited about the opportunity to progress and play with bigger teams. I’m definitely way ahead of the game for my age. But right now, I just feel numb to it all and I don’t know why.
Because coming here also meant a new start without dad. A life where he didn’t choose us. I have to grow up remembering how he didn’t fight for me. For my mom.
A reminder that I wasn’t good enough.
He was always a shitty dad. Never present, always said I’d never make it into the NHL and he barely showed up at my games. But it still fucking hurts to know we’re not good enough.
That I’m not enough. Maybe I’ll never be.
My mom is pretending to be okay with this. She wants to stay strong for me and keeps telling me he’s going to come see us, see Boston and fall in love with the city. As if that’s enough. She can pretend all she wants, but I also hear her crying herself to sleep at night and it kills me to know she’s in so much pain. It makes me want to throat punch the guy.
I’m going to build a better life for us, for her, and prove that piece of shit excuse for a father wrong. Everything we left behind in Minnesota, everything I scarified to get here will be all worth it one day soon. I’m going to make sure of it, using all the negativity thrown at me as fuel.
“Alright sweetheart, you’re all set.”
Looking up at the school administrator, I force out a smile. She’s an older lady, clearly a lifer, and the permanent smile on her face shows how much she enjoys her job. Her glasses sit on the edge of her nose, giving her this serious yet quirky look. She smells like those fake flowers you forget about and leave to collect dust for ages. The same ones grandma always had at her house. As she leans closer, sliding a bunch of colorful papers my way, I notice her name tag reads ‘Mary’.
“Your first class is Mathematics with Mr. Castor,” Mary explains.
“Cool. Thanks.”
I repeat her name in my head four times, knowing I’ll probably forget it as soon as I walk out of here. I’m good with faces, but names disappear as soon as they enter my brain.
“You’re welcome, honey. Do you have everything you need?”
I shrug. “I think so.”
She pushes up her wide glasses, observing me politely. “You know, Dominik, this is a close knit community and a lot of us are hockey fans. We’re all very excited you’re here.”
Shuffling the stack of papers in front of me, I hide my smile, feeling my face turn red. You’d think I’d be used to the compliments by now, but it still doesn’t feel real to me. I don’t know why I thought I could slip under the radar for a bit.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
She nods, her smile growing wider. “My husband and I have seen some of your clips on YouTube. Very impressive. I think you’re going to go far, son.”
The attention makes my skin itch. I’m not accustomed to it, especially the compliments tied to my hockey skills. Hockey isn’t just something I do; it’s ingrained in me, part of my identity. It’s not that I haven’t put in the effort for those stats, but playing hockey isn’t a choice for me—it’s a necessity. In these situations, I’m at a loss for words. Mom’s advice echoes in my mind: smile and say thank you. So, that’s what I do.
“Do you know how to get to your class?” Mary finally says.
“I’ll figure it out. Thanks again.”
I don’t know where any of my classes are since I literally just stepped inside this building, but if she’s willing to let me go, then I plan on slipping out and finding my way around. I’m not one to ask for help. Maybe I’ll get lost and skip algebra altogether. That wouldn’t be a bad thing.
Showing up in the middle of the school year is not ideal, but we had no other option. Mom and I packed up as soon as we got the news that I got picked to play for one of the top junior teams in Boston. It feels absolutely unreal to have this opportunity at such a young age. It’s going to propel my hockey career forward by several years, and I’m looking forward to getting started later this week.
“It’s a big school, dear. I think I should get someone to show you to all your classes.”
Oh no. I was so close. “It’s okay. I’ll find it and if I get lost or have any issues, I’ll come right back here. Promise.”
