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Got you, bitch.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Brooke

The next evening, we sit watching the Huntington Wolves with Gunnar’s parents behind us, with Sasha.

We watch the other team's centre as he rears back with a slapshot, slicing straight toward the net.

Bear drops low in a flash, pads wide, eyes locked on the puck as it hurtles toward him. He tracks the shot in, and with a sharp thud against his glove, he catches it.

The crowd cheers, and he just rises calmly, flipping the puck out of his glove and tossing it to the ref like it hadn’t just come in hard enough to bruise.

No rebound. No chance.

Bear is a stone wall in that net.

“Go Bear,” Cami shouts through her cupped hands as I look back down at my phone, replying to emails about the mostrecent Drop. She turns to me and tries to grab my phone for the not the first time. “Do you have to do that now?”

“I’m signing off tomorrow, so yeah, I do.” I laugh, moving my phone out of her reach.

I jump suddenly at someone being slammed into the glass in front of us, and laugh as Adam waves as he skates past, obviously responsible for the hit.

“He will end up in the penalty box!” Mrs C tuts as Mr C shouts, “Atta boy, Adam.”

“I much prefer how Gunnar plays hockey,” Sasha says primly. “He doesn’t go hitting people randomly.”

“He’s a right-winger. It’s a forward position.” I roll my eyes at her. “It's different from Adam’s defence.”

“I’m so proud.” Cami hugs me from the side. “Can you believe Brooke had never watched a hockey game before September, Mr C?”

“Could have fooled me, kid.” He holds his hands up for a high five, and my heart lights up for a second. I return it and Mrs C pats me on the back, saying Well done.

“Excuse me for a second,” I say, getting up before they notice the tears collecting in my eyes. Hurrying up the steps to the lobby and concession stand area, I lean against the wall. When Mr and Mrs C praised me. I instantly missed my dad and yearned for a mom who cares enough to pat me on the back for something as silly as knowing a hockey position. I play with the ends of my hair and take deep breaths, trying to calm down; holidays were always hard without Dad anyway, but now, without my mom too…

We never had a traditional Thanksgiving; we always went to the country club or a restaurant. But now, after hearing Sasha call me homeless, even though I know she’s wrong and I have a home at the apartment with Cami, I feel like I have nowhere to go home to anymore. What am I going to do after college?

Taking one last deep breath, I check the time on my phone, not wanting to miss too much of the game. I move to head back into the stands when my phone rings, and my mom’s name lights it up. I pause, eyes wide for a second. She hasn’t called since I hung up on her in September.

I answer without giving myself too much time to think and lift the phone to my ear.

“Hello?” I say tentatively.

“Brooke.” I hear my mom sigh. “How are you?”

I pull my phone back and stare at it for a second, having expected her to yell or berate me immediately before placing it back to my ear. “Um, I’m good, thanks. You?”

“I’m doing well.” I can imagine her sitting in her nice sitting room reserved for her important guests and phone calls. She never allowed me in there with its white sofas and cream rugs.

“Okay.” I pace around the lobby, feeling impatient, wanting to find out why she’s calling me now.

“I’ve been meaning to call, but I didn’t think you would pick up.” I can hear her shift uncomfortably, which is unlike her.

“Well, I did.” Rolling my eyes and feeling bratty.

“I was wondering if you would like to come home for Thanksgiving.” That was the last thing I expected to hear today.

“To the country club?” I can’t help but scoff; she just wants to show off in front of her friends, and she can’t go alone.