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TWELVE

Blake

I check the time on my watch for the hundredth time.

My parents and older sister are on their way to the hotel where they’ll be staying for the next four days, and I’m waiting in the lobby. It’s convenient since I’m staying here too, and we can spend a decent amount of time together. They rented a car since I don’t have one big enough to lug them all around, and Bodi needs it tonight anyway. Besides, I’ll be busy with hockey and they’re going to do some sightseeing.

“Blake!” Mom’s eyes beam as they come through the doors and she hugs me tightly.

“Hi, Mom.”

“It’s so good to see you.”

“Hello, son.” My father is a bit more formal, shaking my hand instead of hugging me. Things have been strained between us for a long time. I understand he made a lot of sacrifices for me to play hockey—like taking out that second mortgage on the house—but I can’t go back in time. I can’t control the fact that I fucked up when I was young and didn’t make it to the NHL.

I’ve apologized at least a thousand times for all of it. At some point, he has to forgive me and let it go. Because our current relationship sucks, and I know it will get worse if I retire in the next year or two.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Blake.” My sister Phoebe gives me a big hug, even tighter than my mom had, and grins up at me.

“It’s really good to see you guys.” I keep my arm around Phoebe’s shoulders as my parents walk to the registration desk to get their room keys.

It’s late in the afternoon so I’m done with today’s practice, and we have dinner reservations. Hopefully, it’ll be a quiet evening of catching up. My dad has never gotten over the disappointment that I don’t play in the NHL, and it comes up a lot when I go home to Michigan in the off-season. We’ve had some arguments about it over the years because it hurts my feelings.

“Are we going to dinner?” Phoebe asks me. “I’m starving.”

“Yup. I made a reservation at an Italian place one of my teammates told me about. I know that’s your favorite.”

“You’re the best!” she whispers, grinning.

I help them get settled in their rooms, and then my dad lets me drive the rental car since I know where we’re going.

“I can’t believe we’re finally going to see you in the big leagues,” Dad says as we hit the road. “For a playoff game, no less!”

Yup.

He can’t resist getting in the first dig.

I’m positive it won’t be the last.

“I’m glad you could be here for it,” I reply.

“We wouldn’t miss it for the world!” Mom adds. “It’s exciting.”

“For me too,” I admit.

“You’re playing well,” Dad says. “Keep your eye on the ball and off the puck bunnies.”

I groan. “Thanks, Dad.”

“Well, you do have a type.”

I do, but that’s none of his business.

And it has nothing to do with hockey.

Not anymore anyway.

“Those days are behind me,” I say. “I’m not eighteen anymore.”

“Leopards don’t change their spots,” Dad says. “I mean, men will be men. I’m not saying you should be a monk…”

“Ethan, please.” My mom says something under her breath that I can’t hear, and my dad grunts.

“I’m not saying anything he doesn’t already know,” Dad protests. “And this is his chance to prove himself. I mean, the NHL ship has probably already sailed but at least he has a chance now if he doesn’t fuck it up.”

I grit my teeth, my hands tightening on the steering wheel.

Same shit, different day.

My dad rides me like I’m fifteen again, my mom plays peacemaker, and I already wish they were going home. He never made it past the Major Junior level, so he put all his hopes and dreams and expectations on me.

It’s fucking exhausting.

I do like having Phoebe here—I so rarely get to hang out with her anymore. Even in the summer when I’m home for a few weeks, she’s busy working and doing her own thing. She’s three years younger, and I left for boarding school at fourteen, so sometimes I feel like I barely know her, and I want to change that.

She’s my sister—the only sibling I have—and I’ve recently realized she’ll be all I have once our parents are gone. Hopefully, that won’t be for a long time, but I don’t want to wait until there’s some kind of tragedy to reach out.

“How’s work?” I ask her. She has a marketing job for a big corporate outfit in Detroit.

“It’s good. Busy but I enjoy it. And I get to travel a little, so that part is nice.”

“Excellent.”

“How’s Bodi?” she asks, playfully wiggling her eyebrows.

I chuckle. “He’s good. Still single. Looking forward to seeing you tomorrow night.”

“Maybe we can hang at the bar tonight?”

“We have to be in bed pretty early,” I say, “but we can have a drink.”

“Seriously, Phoebe—why would you want to hang out with him?” Dad asks. “He’s just another minor leaguer who wouldn’t be able to provide for you.”

“He’s a friend,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I’m not going to marry him. Well, not unless he asks.”

She and I crack up while my father grunts his disapproval.

There’s more whispering from my mother, since they’re in the back seat together, but I ignore them.

It’s going to be a long few days.

We manage to pull off a win the next night, and everyone is in high spirits after the game. I didn’t score a goal but had two assists, so I feel pretty good about that. My father will probably have something to say about my productivity, but I don’t give a shit. We’re one win closer to making it to the second round, and that’s all I care about.

“Phoebe in the lounge?” Bodi asks me. The two of them stayed down in the bar until long after the rest of us went to bed last night, and I don’t dare ask about what happened after we left. Phoebe is twenty-five and more than capable of handling her own life. I just hope Bodi doesn’t mess with her.

“Yup.” I nod. “Along with my parents who are probably going to give me shit about my inability to score tonight.”

“Your dad’s going to give you shit?” Connor looks appalled. “Jesus, you’re in the NHL playoffs and you scored two assists. What the fuck more does he want?”

“Goals,” I say grimly. “All the goals, all the time.”

“That’s not how it works on a team like this,” Canyon interjects. “You’ll have to introduce me. Maybe I can find a way to set him straight.”

“Sure.” I smile to myself, imagining Canyon giving my dad shit. It probably won’t happen, but it would be fun if it did.

I go into the hallway that leads to the family lounge and see Rowan chatting with Gene, which gives me an excuse to talk to her. I haven’t talked to her beyond anything related to work since our almost-kiss the other night, and part of me feels like I should apologize. I really don’t want things to go back to being awkward and weird.

“Hey, Gene.” I hold out my hand. “How are you feeling?”

“A hell of a lot better than the last time I saw you.” He grins. “Good game, man.”

“Thanks.”

“We’re all going to dinner,” Canyon says as he brushes past us. “You’re all coming, right? Dinner’s on me and Ivan. Please invite whoever you like. We have the whole back room at a place called Luigi’s. Jensen and Marty will be there too—so it’ll be a good time.”

“I’m totally in,” Bodi says.

“Marnie and I will be there,” Gene adds.

“I think I’m going home,” Rowan murmurs. “It’s been a long?—”

“No way.” Canyon shakes his head firmly. “You’re coming. I’m not your boss, but that’s an order.”

She laughs. “All right, then. I guess I could get something to eat. I missed dinner.”

I want to ask why, but I know the answer.

From the moment she gets to the arena until she leaves, she’s busy. From stretching to mini massages to taping up knees and wrists and elbows, there’s always something for her to do. And I hate that she’s doing it alone. At least, Sunny was back tonight, but she’s not really a trainer. Just an intern earning college credit and some per diems.

Kind of like me.

Minus the college credit.

I don’t get a salary during the playoffs, we just get bonuses that vary in amount depending on if we win or lose the series. And each series provides a bigger payout. If we go all the way to the championship, I’ll make more than four or five times my yearly salary for the Rebels just from the bonuses. In the meantime, however, I live on per diems and what’s in my savings account. Which isn’t a lot.

This is one of many reasons I have to make this work.

If I can’t play at the NHL level, I can’t afford to keep playing in the minors. I’ll be thirty in just over a year. With no savings, a minimal retirement account, and no real-life skills. I don’t even know what kind of job I could get. Coaching? A scout?

At some point, I have to give it some serious thought.

Not when my family is in town, though. My dad would have a field day if he found out I was considering leaving hockey in the next year or two. And this isn’t the time for a lecture from him. I get enough of them.

“You should come say hi to my sister,” I tell Rowan. “She always looked up to you.”

“Unlike your parents,” she says dryly, “who hated me.”

“They didn’t hate you. They just didn’t want me to get tied down at eighteen.”

“Well, they shouldn’t have worried—you didn’t seem to want that either.”

I sigh.

We’re back to this. Apparently, our talk the other night didn’t cover all the bases. Not for her anyway.

“I was stupid,” I say quietly. “But I don’t know how many more times I can apologize for it.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

When I glance over at her, she’s avoiding my gaze.

She may have forgiven me for hurting her, but it doesn’t look like she’ll ever forget.

And it’s probably better if she doesn’t.

Except I really, really wanted to kiss her the other night.

“Oh my god, Rowan? Is that you?” Phoebe is staring at us in disbelief.

“Hey, Phoebe.” Rowan gives her a friendly smile. “How are you?”

“I’m good! How are you? Why didn’t I know you worked here?” she demands, giving her brother the side eye.

“I’ve only been here two seasons,” Rowan responds. “And the last time Blake was called up, I was out with the flu. So our paths didn’t cross.”

I’ve been wondering about that but now I know.

“So you’re working for the team?” Phoebe asks. “That’s so cool.”

“I’m an assistant trainer, although I’m acting head trainer right now.”

“Oh my goodness—is that Rowan Taylor?” My mother comes over to us, wide-eyed. “Are you here with Blake?”

I frown. “ No , Mom. She’s the head trainer on the team.”

“Really?” She cocks her head slightly, as if she doesn’t understand.

“It’s nice to see you, Mrs. Rourke,” Rowan says politely, even though I can see the tightness in her face.

“Are you kidding me?” My dad comes over and squints at Rowan. “You’re the girl from high school. What the hell are you doing here?”

“Rowan is the head trainer for the Phantoms!” Phoebe says, jumping in before I do since she probably recognizes the murderous thunder on my face.

“That’s incredible,” my mother says, giving my father a warning look. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you. Anyway, I’ll leave you to your reunion.” She hurries in the other direction, and I turn to my dad.

“Dad—what the fuck? Could you have been any ruder?”

“How was I supposed to know she works here? I thought she jumped on your NHL bandwagon—just like when you were kids.”

I grit my teeth, trying not to yell. “Well, she’s obviously done a lot better than I have career-wise, so maybe knock it off?” I don’t usually feed into his negative opinion of me, but in this instance, I feel the need to defend Rowan. “Anyway, I’ll see you at the restaurant. I texted Phoebe the address. Do not embarrass me while we’re there. Please.” With that, I turn and stalk down the hallway toward the players’ parking lot.

I need a few minutes to calm down before I say or do something I might regret.