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Hands balled into fists, I narrow my eyes as the couple rounds the corner. Turner’s parents. I should’ve guessed.

Mrs. Turner’s step falters as she locks eyes with me.

I don’t look away.

She thins her lips and focuses on her husband as they pass me in silence. I’m tempted to ask why they stopped talking. If that’s how they feel, why hide it? Probably because they’re cowards.

My mood plummets, making my chest ache. I run a hand down my face, trying to get myself together. The last thing I want is for Dad to notice I’m upset. He’ll start asking questions, and I’m terrible at pretending I’m fine. Somehow, Dad always knows when I’m lying.

Isla finally appears, dressed in black leggings, an oversized pink hoodie, and white sneakers, carrying her bag in one hand. She’s limping a little, her gaze focused on her feet.

My brain jumps straight to her, tuning out the negative thoughts. Good. I need that. I push myself off the wall and block her path.

Her deep blue eyes lift to meet mine, and she smiles. “Sorry it took me so long.”

“You’re fine.” I take her bag from her. For a while, she’d argue and insist she could carry it herself. I never let her. So, about a year ago, she gave up, and now, she lets me take it without a fight. “Dad’s waiting for us in the car.”

“Okay.”

As we head down the hallway side by side, I look down at her. A year ago, she was an inch or two shorter than me. Now, she barely comes up to my chin. As my legs are so much longer than hers, I often have to slow down so she can keep up with me. I do that now, and for the first time, she doesn’t argue about it.

She must really be in pain.

“Does it hurt?” I ask. “Your ankle?”

“Just a little bit.” She shrugs, her long brown hair brushing her shoulder. “My dad called while I was in the locker room. Your dad called him. Sounds like there’s a whole operation, ‘let’s heal Isla’s ankle,’ in motion at home.”

I chuckle, both thankful for our families and a little annoyed by them. “Parents love to fuss over us.”

“They do.” She clears her throat. “Are you in trouble for missing the start of practice?”

Hiking her bag higher on my shoulder, I give her a sheepish smile. “Miraculously, no. Coach wasn’t happy about it, and he roasted me a little, but he said he understood. Went on about how important it is to be there for our friends and all that.”

Her lips twitch in a small smile. “Good. I was worried he’d be too hard on you.”

“Everyone knows I’m his favorite.” My tone is light and full of humor, even though I’m still reeling over the crap Turner’s parents were talking about me.

Isla snorts. “One day, your ego is going to hit the roof.”

I push open the door, letting her out first. “Good thing the rink’s got high ceilings then.” I wink at her as we head toward my dad’s SUV. “I am Colton Thompson’s son. I want to be a legend like him. I want to be in the NHL one day.”

Isla pauses, and I stop too. She studies my face, a small smile forming on her lips. “I’m sure you will be. You were born for this.” She pats my forearm. “I wouldn’t be surprised if one day, you’re even better than him.”

My stomach does some weird flip thing that makes my smile falter. I swallow thickly, my chest expanding, my head swirling with confusion.

“Um, yeah, maybe.” I clear my throat. “You’re lucky your dad played football. Nobody’s expecting you to be the next him.”

The corners of her mouth drop along with her shoulders. “I don’t think Uncle Colton wants you to be the next him either.”

My heart sinks a little. “I know, but other people do. Don’t think I don’t hear what my teammates’ parents say about me.”

“Ignore them. They’re a bunch of nobodies. Their opinions don’t matter.”

“You don’t understand.” I tear my gaze away from hers and head for the SUV again, my mood darkening. Crap. I hate this. I hate being mad at her. Especially when she hasn’t done anything wrong.

Forcing myself to stop, I turn back and focus on her.

“I’m sorry,” I say as she catches up. “I shouldn’t talk to you like that.”