Page 27

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Cam

After a workout and a late morning skate, I shower and grab my phone from my locker to tell Chris I’m picking up tacos from her favorite place. I need a snack before we run through our dance routines at her home studio, but I would never assume that she’ll feed me.

Out of habit, I open Instagram and scan my feed. Since I lurk under an alias and don’t interact with other users, I’m shocked at the message notification.

Opening it, I gape.

@ProudINMama

Hi - I think this is Cameron Hill’s account. If so, Zoe is coming to Austin in January to start deferred admission at UT Austin.

Apparently, my stepmother not only knows of my existence, but suspects I’ve been following her and the kids on Instagram. But what the hell does she want? She doesn’t ask me anything, even to confirm that it’s me. She randomly throws this information at me, assuming I want to know. Fuck, I shouldn’t have been such a chickenshit and avoided DM’ing her. Then I wouldn’t have been caught by surprise.

My thoughts are whirling. Chris’s intimation that I might be a bit of a control freak flits through. But there are more urgent matters to consider. Am I supposed to reply? What would I say?

I lean my elbows on my knees and stare at the screen. At least we don’t have a game today. This would severely mess with my focus.

When Jack comes by and asks if I’m going to lunch with them, I snap out of it. Declining, I stand. I need to talk to Christina or Saint. They’ll help me figure out what I should do. No, there is no “should.” It comes down to what I want to do.

I drive over to Christina’s, checking Instagram at every stoplight in case I’ve received any more DMs. I should have minded my own business and gotten on with my life.

I’m almost to her house when I remember I was supposed to pick up tacos, so I detour and grab those, ordering from the car then running in to pick them up. While Austonians are still adapting to hockey, today would be the day I get stopped by fans and I don’t have the patience for it even though I usually plaster on my biggest smile and play the game. I head back to Christina’s

Two quick knocks on her front door and I’m striding inside.

She looks up with a grin from where she stands pouring waters for us at the kitchen bar, then tilts her head when she spies my frown.

I dump the takeout containers and lean over to give her a quick kiss. “I need your help, please. Look what I got today.” It’s already open on the screen when I unlock the phone and shove it toward her.

Her gaze flicks over the message and she blinks, then smiles as she hands it back. “Cam, this is awesome. She’s reaching out. What are you going to say?”

“That’s just it. I don’t know. She doesn’t ask me anything. She tosses that tidbit out there.”

“Okay, sit and eat, and we’ll talk about it,” she says, scooping our food onto plates. She loves takeout, especially tacos, but hates eating out of takeout containers.

I sit, but I can’t eat. I put my elbows on the counter and rest my head in my hands. “I should have DM’ed her. Then I could control the narrative.”

Chris snorts. “Oh my gosh, this is family. I get that your dad sucks, but let’s allow the jury to still be out on this woman you’ve never met. Besides, you wouldn’t have been following them if you didn’t want some connection.”

“But why is she messaging me?”

“Maybe for the same reason I suggested you message her. Let’s review. What do we know?” Chris looks around and grabs a pad and pen.

God, I love that analytical brain of hers when it goes into overdrive. Analytical Chris is hot. I want all of her from that brain to her always-sore dancer’s feet. It hits me: this isn’t casual anymore.

Unaware of my sudden distraction, she asks, “Dana’s aware you’ve been following her on Instagram, but she only reached out now. Why?”

“Because she wants something from me?” I half growl, half ask.

“I can think of some other reasons.” At my questioning look, she cites, “She was trying to respect your privacy. She was as unsure of her reception as you have been of yours. Something changed in her relationship with your father. She only just figured out who you were, etc. My point is, now that her oldest child is coming to Austin for whatever reason, she decided it’s worth trying to establish a connection. She may want to know someone is watching over her daughter—”

I growl, “Exactly.”

She continues unphased. “Or she hopes you’ll want to know Zoe will be here, since you’ve been lurking like a weirdo on Instagram. Half in the family, half out. Heck, one of them could have spied you at your brother’s game. Which, by the way, is the same level of passive-aggressive contact you’re frustrated with in her message. Maybe she’s meeting like for like.”

Perhaps I should have gone to Saint. But no, he’d have called me on my shit as much as Chris, even though he doesn’t have as many details about my family situation. Dammit, I hate when she’s right.

No I don’t. Her perspective is clearer than mine, and I need that to figure out what I want. Saint’s advice filters through my head. I don’t share myself easily, which makes it hard for others to trust me. I’ve been doing the same thing with my stepmother.

“Cam? You okay?”

“Yeah. I think…I think I want to answer her. I don’t know what to say.”

She’s nodding. “You have the first decision made. I figured you’d end up there, or you wouldn’t have been following them to begin with. Now you have to decide what you want from the relationship. And if you want one with Dana or just Zoe for right now.”

“I wish I knew where my father fit in with all this. Is he behind that message? Why wasn’t he at my game with them or Robbie’s practice?”

“Do you want to ask that?”

“Of course. But Saint’s warning about establishing trust with my teammates comes to mind.”

She hums in agreement, letting me work this out on my own.

“So what do I say?” I tug on my hair in frustration.

“Why not respond to what she said about Zoe for right now. A congratulations. An acknowledgment it’s you. And, if you want to and feel ready, maybe an offer for Zoe to reach out if she needs anything when she’s here?”

“Yeah. Something short for now, to ease into things. Alright, let me think about that and I’ll send something later. Let’s dance before our muscles go totally cold.”

“You all right so soon after tacos?”

“I didn’t even finish one, I was too distracted. You?”

“I’m good. We’re just running through the routine at this point. We both know it and just need to keep it fresh.”

My grin is wide and teasing. “More time for other stretching exercises afterwards, then.”

* * * *

After practice and dinner at Christina’s, I have to drive home. I was in such a rush to discuss my stepmother’s message that I drove to her house.

I lie on the couch staring at Dana’s DM for far longer than it should take a twenty-four-year-old to formulate a text message.

Finally, I go with something benign.

It is. Thanks for coming to my game in Chicago, and tell Zoe congrats, but please leave her Chicago Icemutts shirt at home.

Within a few minutes, I get a response of laughing emojis.

Then,

Dana

We’re thinking of coming down to Austin for part of Thanksgiving weekend to see her dorm assignment and your Saturday game. I’m actually online right now trying to find the best seats available. (Zoe says if we’re going to enemy territory, we better be able to see the whites of their eyes.)

Zoe cracks me up. But Dana’s “we” was not defined. I debate how to ask without sounding like a dick, but I’m not offering to hook them up with tickets if my father is attending.

The devil in me rears its head. I smirk; it must be Zoe’s influence. Why wouldn’t I offer him the best seat in the house? He may not appreciate the skill or hard work it takes to play this game at the highest level, but he’ll sure as fuck see the price of the ticket—about $200 a seat for what I’d be able to get through the org.

Not letting myself think about it any further, I type.

I can get you tickets. How many do you want?

I hold my breath, my finger tapping the edge of the phone. Please say three, please say three. The app shows she’s typing for what feels like eons. Finally it comes through.

Cameron, I already think of you as family, but you don’t need to do that. The kids want to see you play again, and I can make that happen.

I don’t mind. It’s a perk with the job. Seriously. I like the idea of them being there.

Ugh. I’m rethinking the “them” as soon as I hit send. She’s going to believe I have something against her, when it’s more about not knowing if my father will be with them. I quickly send another message.

How many? I can leave them at Will Call under your name.

3 please.

Yes!

Send me your flight info when you get it and I’ll see what else I can arrange.

Hopefully, she’ll think I mean a stadium tour, but I’m still trying to suss out whether my father will be with them for the trip. If he isn’t coming at all, I’m warming to the idea of meeting my siblings. And Dana seems cool.

I’m looking at hotels tomorrow, so if you can recommend one somewhere between the UT campus and the stadium that aren’t full of rowdy students, I’d love the help. But you’re new there, so don’t worry about it if you don’t know.

I don’t, but I’ll ask around. Oh, and I assume you do want seats where you see the whites of our eyes, rather than in a team box or something?

Ah, you’re sweet. I’d love the wine and food in the box, I’m sure, but the kids want to be as close to the ice as possible.

Hint - there’s wine and food down there, too, if you don’t want to deal with the concessions. Of course, I’m not sure the junk food will be up to Zoe’s standards if it’s delivered.

I get another laughing emoji again. Holy crap, I’m joking around with this woman I’ve never met who actually thought marrying my father was a good idea. I need to pace myself until I know what her long game is. If she’s setting up for Zoe to live with me or for tuition money or something, I’m going to be pissed. I need to ease into all of this.

But this feels like a promising start of a relationship with my half-brother. Adding a stepsister and stepmother into the mix would be a bonus.