Page 35

Chapter Thirty-Five

Cam

In the car, Dana congratulates me on my win and thanks me again for the tickets. She adds, “We’ll be back for sure, but only if it’s not a problem to get the tickets. Please tell me they don’t cost you face value.”

I slant her a look. “They don’t. You’re welcome any time. Once I know my contract status for next year, I plan to buy a house, which would give me more room for guests.”

She nods, ignoring or accepting the fact that I didn’t outright say she’d be welcome there. I’m still afraid that all this is too good to be true, but I’m serious about my plan. I’m going to do my best to trust them and to prove myself trustworthy.

“I met one of the owners,” Dana says casually.

I stiffen, and she notices, dropping her gaze to my hands clenched on the steering wheel. I do my best to loosen my grip and ask, “Greg?”

“No, Christina.”

Damn . Something must have happened or she wouldn’t be teasing the subject out like this. I glance in the mirror. The kids are sharing pictures on their phones, probably of the game or a few candids of the players from the lounge. I manage to stay unclenched and silent, hoping she’ll drop it.

She doesn’t. “You seemed to be important to her.”

My heart twists in tandem with my lips. “Nope.”

“That was a strong response.” Dana’s brows are raised when I glance at her. “Come on, Cam. There is clearly more than owner/player going on here.”

“Not anymore,” I mutter. There is silence in the backseat and the kids are staring wide-eyed at me in the mirror.

When my eyes meet Zoe’s, she smirks. “Haven’t you ever heard the saying, don’t shit where you eat?”

“Zoe!” Dana scolds.

“Sorry, Mom. Don’t poop where you eat.” She’s still smirking, the brat.

Thankfully, Robbie doesn’t weigh in. He seems bored by the topic and goes back to his phone, humming to himself.

“It was casual.” Great. Now I sound defensive to an eighteen-year-old.

“It didn’t seem casual to her,” Dana says quietly.

“Yeah, well, that’s her problem. She’s the one who broke it off.”

“Do you know why?”

I glance back at Zoe. She’s rapt. Oh well, I guess I’m sharing with the class. “I want children and she doesn’t.”

“If it was casual to her, that wouldn’t matter, would it?”

My brain stutters as Dana’s words register. She’s right, damn it. Christina would have just ridden out the next month, getting the best sex of her life (per her; I’m not bragging), and prepping for our dances.

Zoe’s voice breaks into my thoughts, sounding incredulous. “You want kids?”

“Yeah, I do. Why does that surprise you?”

“Cuz, you know.” She flaps a hand. “Hot hockey player, twenty-four, making a mint. I’d expect all of you to be like Jack.”

She’s already seen to the core of my player roommate. Priceless.

“Plus,” she continues. “After witnessing Mom’s experiences with marriage, I sure as heck am not eager to think about it—sorry, Mom. I guess I assumed you’d feel the same.”

“Here’s another way to view it.” I try to explain my thoughts. “Like you, I had one wonderful, supportive parent, so I know what that feels like to a kid. I want to recreate that for my own. I haven’t had a family since my mom died when I was sixteen, and I’d like one.”

Zoe is nodding.

Dana says, “You have one now. Families don’t all have to be the same. No matter what Zoe believes, I wouldn’t trade my relationships for anything because they gave me these kids. Now, I’m giving them to you to share, as well. Maybe that can be what family looks like, too.” Dana’s words match what I’ve been considering this weekend.

We’re off the exit ramp to the airport and stopped at a light. I stare forward, not ready to meet her eyes as her words sink in. Swallowing, I manage, “Yeah, it can. Thank you.”

She squeezes my arm. “You need to decide how flexible your view of family can be. And how flexible hers can be. And most of all, what you want more, should it come down to it.”

Her words echo Saint’s and reinforce my thoughts. I want Christina most of all.

Zoe is silent, eyes downcast, as we pull up to Departures. But when we all get out and I grab the roller bag from the trunk, she steps in first wrapping her arms around my waist. “Thank you, brother.”

I hear the emphasis on the last word. She’s reinforcing Dana’s message about family. I choke and tighten my arms around her. “Thank you for coming.” I glance up. “All of you.”

Zoe steps back and nods to me once, allowing that half smile, half smirk to climb one side of her face. “I’ll see you in January.”

“I’ll be here.”

Robbie throws himself against my legs. “Please say you’ll come to one of my games soon.”

I laugh. “I’ll check the schedule and do my best.”

Dana tugs him away.

I don’t wait. Stepping in, I wrap my arms around her. I bend my face to her hair and whisper. “Thank you. Thank you for giving me my family. For being my family.”

“Absolutely. Don’t be a stranger. Or a lurker on Instagram.”

That lightens the mood enough that I can lift my head without embarrassing myself. “Text me when you get home please. And call me if anything goes wrong with the flight.”

“Yeah, yeah, you said that already.” Zoe is too cool for this and is already walking away as she tosses the words back.

Dana smiles and nods and grabs Robbie’s hand.

I watch them until they are inside and lost in the crowd for the TSA check, feeling strangely bereft.

* * * *

She’s not here tonight. The rink feels colder. Maybe it’s from the high off Saturday’s game and having my family here, but I suspect it’s more Christina’s absence.

I go through my warmups by rote, trying to concentrate on the game and the team we’re facing. Try as I might, I can’t find my Zen.

The game starts, and every shot on goal seems faster, sharper. I’m barely there in time to make the saves. Every reach feels slower, longer. Maybe the other team can sense it, or maybe the rest of my team is struggling with the fourth game in six days, because the pucks whizz at me more frequently. Eventually, one gets by me. I jab my stick at the ice three times, the only frustration I ever allow myself. We’re down before the end of the first period in our own house.

As we head off for the first intermission, I glance over. My seats remain empty, mocking me with their folded silence.

When I’m struggling with focus, I channel the Vancouver goalie whose number I chose to wear, picturing his fantastic saves from the first night I saw him play. He was in the zone that night, his attention on the puck absolute. And nothing got by him. I vow the same for the next two periods.

But when I scrape onto the ice again, my gaze shoots to the stands. They’re still empty, and my concentration is in tatters.

I let two more goals in that period. Thankfully, the rest of the Tornadoes have rallied and scored twice as well.

In the next intermission, Coach Steele stares at me hard. “What’s up with you tonight, Hill?”

Ugh. We always know he’s unhappy when he uses our real names rather than the nicknames we’ve garnered from the team. “Nothing. I’ll do better.”

Saint slants me a look.

“Do I need to put Murphy in?” Coach asks.

I hesitate for a micro-second. Dan’s eyes pop wide before I crush his hopes by saying, “No, Coach. I got it.”

Coach narrows his eyes at me.

Jack nudges my shoulder as he comes to stand next to me. “We got this, Coach.”

“No more goals on us, eh?”

“Yes, sir.” “No, sir.” Jack’s and my simultaneous responses are as snappy as if we were Marine recruits.

As I skate to the net, I keep my eyes riveted on it. “Empty. As you will be for the next twenty minutes. Empty.”

Ignoring the thought that Christina’s seat is also empty, I don’t look up, around or down. Finally, my Zen is back. It’s me and the little black disc, and I’m gonna win this round.

It’s amazing what the threat of being replaced can do for one’s concentration. At least in hockey.

A week later, we’re back from another exhausting three-game road trip, this time looping up through two Canadian cities and down through New York. Canadian fans are a joy to play for. Sure, they’re loyal to their teams, dedicated and knowledgeable. But unlike some Americans who go beyond loyal to rabid fandom, their expertise in good hockey shows. When a visiting team makes a particularly hard goal or save, there are as many cheers as boos. It’s a more respectful ambiance in which to play.

It was also easier to stay in the zone without Christina’s empty seat hovering in my peripheral vision. We split the trip with two wins and a loss. And partied like tourists in New York City after kicking some Banker ass. The puck bunnies sure didn’t seem to care about their team losing, so I ended up bunking in with Saint while Kyle and Jack commandeered Jack’s and my room to get their freak on.

Saint kept trying to catch my eye when we were winding down at the bar, so I hurried back and grabbed the bathroom first, feigning slumber by the time he finished preparing for bed.

Dana texts after each game, abandoning Instagram for direct communication after their visit. I’ve started looking forward to those messages as reassurance that people are watching and caring. I sit on the plane back to Austin wondering if these will taper off as the holidays approach and they get wrapped up in the world in front of them. Or maybe the texts will continue until she knows Zoe is safely settled here.

I remind myself that Dana chose me over my father in a way. Not everyone leaves.

But Christina did, and my chest aches every minute of every day from her departure. Perhaps more so as we get closer to the Holiday Ball. Dana’s words resonate in my head again. What do I want most? I take out my phone and open it to the notepad app. I need to make a list of alternative versions of family. Then I can decide what I love the idea of, what I can live with, and what I can’t live without.

The one thing I’m certain of is that Christina is on top of the list. The question is whether she’ll feel the same.