When I get back out to my car and unlock it, Byrdie winks at me again. As my vehicle crawls down the winding road, dust and gravel fling beneath my tires again, and I know she’ll need a luxurious car wash.
The mountains and swaying trees begin to disappear from my rearview mirror as I leave the area.
Damon’s words ring out in my head.
But October is just around the corner. Let’s imagine you’ve been cleared to play. What does that mean for you?
I know my body will remember what to do.
But the ice... it doesn’t just remind me of the game. It reminds me of Jack. Every time I think about stepping on it, I see him—his lifeless form, his blood.
I want to play.
God, I miss it so much.
But how do I tell my team and coach that it’s not my body holding me back, it’s someone else’s.
Bellaand I make our way from the bar to an empty high-round table. We slide onto the stools, using the metal bars attached to the base to help hoist ourselves up.
Bella takes a sip of her Caribbean-colored cocktail. I’ve gone for a Shirley Temple.
“I’m so proud of you for coming tonight,” Bella says before flashing a grin so wide that I can see all her teeth. “Mom and Dad would be, too.” Her voice catches, and as I look at her, not only do I see the older sister who took care of me, but our mom, Jenna Silver.
“They’d be so proud of you, too,” I say, resting my hand over hers. “I’m sorry Mom and Dad aren’t here to meet Brodie. I’ll do my best to honor them when he shows up. I’ll welcome him with open arms like Mom always did—and threaten him six ways to Sunday like Dad.”
Bella chokes on her drink. “You couldn’t frighten a sloth.”
I give her a grin and just shrug. “It’s the thought that counts,” I say.
Suddenly, a breeze sweeps in, and I’m immersed in the feeling of being in the middle of the woods on an early morning, taking in that first breath of fresh air as I begin my hike on a woodland trail.
A tall body emerges behind me, filling my peripheral vision. His back dominates my view.HARPER 87stretches across hisjersey, broad shoulders moving with easy confidence. He drifts across the bar and returns to a table a few feet from ours.
My breath hitches when he takes his seat and turns to face me.
Good Lord.
Ocean blue eyes and a sharp jaw framed by high cheekbones come into focus. That mahogany hair looks as though it’s used to fingers running through it all the time. There’s not a lick of gel or hairspray in it, and yet it screams perfection, as if with one simple flick of his head he’s ready to serenade the ladies.
His jersey clings to his muscles that he very obviously earned from endless hours on the ice. The different shades of blue and gray on the fabric complement his olive skin tone.
Without a shadow of a doubt, Hockey Boy is aten.
Fingers snap in my face, and my head shifts to the right to find Bella’s grin—mischievous and unmissable.
“It’s lucky you said you can have a conversation.”
“W-What?” I splutter out.
“You were looking at him. And I totally get why.”
“I was not,” I say quickly as I reach out for my drink and hope its coolness will soothe my flaming skin, but Bella’s words put me on high alert.
I am not my mother.
I am not my mother.
I am not my mother.
