Chapter One
Owen
Being an NHL goalie means learning how to stay calm while chaos explodes around you. The crowd screams. Bodies crash into the boards. Grown men try to screen your vision while frozen rubber rockets fly toward your face at terrifying speeds. Most days, I can handle that just fine.
The second I step into the Venom arena, the familiar chaos crashes around me instantly. Music blasts through the speakers. Equipment managers wheel carts down the concrete hallway.
Standard game day sensations.
My phone buzzes again in my hand before I can even finish my coffee.
Mama Bird:I think this contractor is trying to screw me over.
I stop outside the locker room door and stare at the message.
Immediately irritated.
Not at her.
At the idea of my mother standing in that old house alone, trying to deal with some asshole contractor pretending she doesn’t know what’s happening.
Owen:Which contractor?
Another puck smacks the glass hard enough to rattle it beside me while Mom starts rapid-fire texting back.
I picture her standing in that house alone, arms crossed, trying to act like she’s not getting taken for a ride. Trying to sound tougher than she should have to be. She shouldn’t have to deal with this shit by herself.
But she always has.
Last month, I replaced half her plumbing after a pipe burst behind the kitchen wall. Before that, it was the furnace. Before that, outdated wiring that nearly started a fire. That house eats money and spits out disasters, but Mom refuses to leave it behind because my grandparents raised her there.
Home, she calls it.
Some days, I call it a death trap.
“Everything okay, Owen?”
I look up from my phone and blink at Camden, one of my teammates. He’s stuck in the doorway, trying to squeeze his way through without bashing the door into my back.
“Yeah. Sorry.” I shuffle aside to let him in.
Camden steps through, but he waits beside me, his brow furrowed in concern. “You look kind of… pissed? Did something happen?”
I lift my phone and force a smile. “Oh, it’s nothing. Just family stuff.”
He grimaces. “Oof, I know how that goes. Is your mom okay?”
Camden and I aren’t that close—sure, we hang out, but we don’t talk about our feelings and shit like some of the guys do. A bunch of the legacy players grew up together and were friends as kids, and they’ve formed a tight-knit group that’s the core of the Vegas Venom. They’ve never been rude to me, but we’re not best buds, and Camden doesn’t know the details of my life. All I’ve really told him is that my mom’s the only one in the picture and that I spend my holidays and vacations in Boston with her.
“Yeah, she’s fine.” The other words I want to say get stuck in my throat.
My thumb hovers over her name like I’m about to call anyway. Like I can fix it from three thousand miles away if I just hear her voice. I don’t.
Game day. No distractions.
The thought sits wrong in my chest.
I’m annoyed that she didn’t tell me there was a problem until now. I’m frustrated that she waited until right before a game to tell me that there was a problem, but I also feel guilty as hell for leaving her in that house all on her own.
