So, how the fuck did we get to where we are?
There’s nothing I can do about it, so that’s why I put it mostly out of my mind and am putting all my energy into hockey.
One win in the books, three more to take home the championship.
Coach Teller has been incredibly supportive since the loss in game one, reminding us statistics are just numbers—we control the future. Some of it is motivational bullshit but we’re a tight, solid group. We can make this happen. And we will if I have anything to say about it.
Alaska is cool despite the fact that it’s June and I take a moment to stare up at the clear blue sky.
It’s beautiful.
I enjoyed living here. The only thing I didn’t like was playing in Aaron’s shadow. As he got older, he had increasingly more serious injuries, so I got to play a lot. That’s why the Thunder took me in the expansion draft. And that’s also why the owner of the Blizzard, Gage Caldwell, let me go. I was supposed to be the future of this team but he knew I’d been waiting a long time. I’m grateful he gave me this opportunity to shine in Atlanta.
But after everything that’s happened, I almost wish he hadn’t.
I’d still be here, playing in the championship.
Except I wouldn’t be the starting goalie.
We won the whole thing several years ago, and I mostly rode the bench. So, I have my name on the damn trophy, but I didn’t actually earn it.
This time, if we win, it will feel different.
Since my parents have been to Alaska several times, visiting me when I lived here, I don’t feel the need to play tour guide or spend time with them. I already warned them that I would be busy with the team.
It’s harder to explain Holly’s absence, and I only told them that she had a job opportunity but would join us on Wednesday. I don’t even know if that’s true but it’s keeping them off my back for a little while.
“You okay?” West and I ride up in the elevator at the hotel together.
“Yeah.”
“You sure?”
“Why?” I snap, more irritated than I should be.
“Because Serena got up to get some water last night and found Holly in the kitchen crying.”
Jesus fucking Christ.
This isn’t the time for this conversation.
I’m doing my best to put her out of my mind.
So, I shrug. “We had argument. That’s all.”
He frowns. “No, I don’t think so. I mean, if you say you had an argument, I believe you, but I don’t think that’s why she was crying. It was something to do with her father.”
I frown, now paying more attention. “Did she say what?”
“No. She kind of made excuses and then went to bed.”
“She didn’t say anything to me.”
“What did you argue about?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You do something stupid again?”
