Page 18

Brooke

The Drop.

That's the name of the second-hand clothing sale that will be held once a month during the hockey season. The idea came from Bear when he asked when it would drop, and it just seemed to fit.

The Drop has its own website, set up and ready to sell, as well as social media accounts. The entire team is following it, prepared to share, and I've already submitted my first paper on the prep work I’ve put in for the launch.

The first sale will take place the night of the team's first official game, and I have been busy visiting every thrift store in the area to gather stock; I have had barely a spare minute over the last couple of weeks. I have just been sitting at the kitchen island, working away.

Which is where I’m sitting when the knocking on the door starts.

“It’s open,” I yell, not taking my eyes off the screen, knowing it’s one of the guys and they can just walk in.

“How many times have I got to tell you girls not to do that?” Grant groans in frustration as he walks up behind me.

“But it was you?” I turn and shrug at him. “So, I don’t need to worry.”

“Brooke, it might not have been me.” He throws his hands up, exasperated, before pulling the stool up next to me. He’s in grey sweats and a Huntington U hoodie. Grey sweatpants should be forbidden for guys like Grant Anders. I’ve got work to do, and now I’m distracted.

“What if I had been a predator?”

“A predator?” I burst out laughing, surprised out of my previous train of thought, before noticing his serious face.

“I’ve been reading about women’s safety when they are alone since I know you don’t have a car at the moment. Do you know how many men follow girls home and try their door handles?”

“Um, no,” I say, a little freaked out that I hadn’t thought about that, but also taken aback that he took the time to think about me.

Fortunately, I had been getting rides with the guys and Cami, but once the season was in full swing, there would be times when I would have to walk or take the bus.

“You need to lock the door and protect yourself better.” He crosses his arms and frowns down at me like he's talking to a child, and I get irrationally annoyed because I'm tired and stressed.

“I can protect myself,” I say stubbornly, even though he is entirely correct. I’m not letting him know that.

“Sure, you can,” He snorts, standing up to walk to the fridge, and I stick my tongue out his back grabbing my keys and pulling the rape alarm on my set. Grant jumps about a foot into the air as it blares, and I can’t help but cackle as he scrambles to try to turn it off.

“That was not funny.” He points a finger at me before he runs a hand through his hair after he puts the pin back in. “That’s not enough, you know.”

“Oh, it is,” I say confidently, crossing my legs and leaning against the kitchen island and waiting patiently.

“Really? Why?” He looks at me all smug, just as Bear and Adam burst into the apartment brandishing their hockey sticks, shouting incoherently, making Grant jump again, this time almost falling off his stool, catching himself before he falls over completely.

“The alarms, not just to scare people off, it is also a call for those two.”

“Brookie,” Adam whines, looking sadly at me, dropping his stick to his side while Bear lifts his goalie mask off his face. “You promised no more tests.”

“Tests?” Grant laughs, dropping back onto his stool next to me.

“I may have used it on Cami when she used all the hot water last week.” I smile sheepishly, turning back to my laptop as Adam and Bear head out, looking disappointed it wasn’t a real run-through. “Thanks, boys. ”

“Trouble,” Grant openly says, nudging me, and I can’t help but smile back at him as he plays on his phone.

“I’ll start locking the door,” I say quietly, nudging his foot with mine, biting my lip, not looking at him as I continue to catalogue more sweatshirts in The Drop.

“Thanks,” he says just as quietly back, and we lull into a comfortable silence as I work, and he keeps me company.

It’s been nonstop since I presented to the team, and Grant has been checking on me to make sure I’m not lonely while Cami’s at practice.

I haven't made any other friends yet; I don’t know if that’s normal for college or if I just haven't found them yet, and that’s my lot.

All of my friends at my old college were ones I had made through Josh, and none of them had messaged me since the breakup, so I think that says it all for those friendships.

We sit there for I don’t know how long before Grant finally speaks.

“How long have you been at it this time?” he asks, putting his phone down and stretching his arms above his head, and I roll my eyes.

“It doesn’t matter, I’ve got to take the pictures tomorrow and then we are dropping on Saturday,” I mutter, saving another file, knowing he’d be annoyed that I had worked from breakfast through lunch until now, taking advantage of my free classes today. “I don’t have time.”

“Yeah, you do.” He reaches over and shuts my laptop, and I gasp, pulling my hands back and clutching them to my chest.

“You did not.”

“I did, and you’re taking a break. Come on.” He steers me off the stool and toward the door.

“I don’t want a break.” I sigh as we pause so I can lock the door behind us.

“Just a walk.” He’s still guiding me by the shoulders like I’m going to make a break for it. “Please, Brooke, just entertain me.”

When he says it in such a way that I just follow his lead, we walk side by side. The sun is out, so it’s not too cold without jackets, but you can feel a slight chill as fall settles in. “Cam, says she’s never seen you so focused on something?” he asks.

“I mean, Cami and I have known each other a long time, but we’ve never been to school together; she’s probably never seen me study like this.” I try to brush off that she’s right because I’ve never found a passion before.

But this is something I feel passionate about. I can feel it. I wake up and I want to find new pieces, or I’m looking for new social media trends to use while thinking of ideas to photograph future drops, if this one works out.

“So, how did you guys meet?” Grant asks, breaking the small silence we had fallen into, shoving his hands in his hoodie pocket as he walks.

“Figure skating class”, I pull my sleeves over my hands self-consciously and grin up at his shocked face.

“You were a figure skater?”

“No! I only did classes, but Cami kind of took me under her wing, and the rest is history.”

We drop into silence again. “I’m not very good at following things through,” I say hesitantly, unsure how much to tell him because opening up about this stuff is hard.

“My mom pushed so many clubs or activities on me, but when I lost interest or wasn’t the best at it, she pulled me out.

I feel like if I take my foot off the pedal with this, it’s going to fade out like everything else does. ”

“Sounds like a lot of pressure,” he sympathises. Looking at me with an understanding smile, and I can tell he is genuine, making me feel more comfortable..

“I guess I carried it on as I got older. Things just don’t stick with me.

” I sigh in frustration at myself. “Josh used to say I just had to finish college, and it wouldn’t matter, but I was never happy with that.

” “He wanted you to just stay at home while he had a career?” he asks as we cross the street, and he subtly moves me to the inner sidewalk while he takes the outer. “Seems a little sexist.”

“I think he just thought it was easier for me.” I laugh.

Josh always used to say I would find something, but never took the time to explore anything I got an interest in and by that point, I had convinced myself I couldn’t do it, so why try?

“Like he was doing me a favour by not helping me find something.”

“You needed support,” Grant states, getting what I'm saying instantly. “You didn’t need an out. You needed someone to push and support you.”

“Yes!” I can’t help but shout. “The only person who supported me was my dad; it’s why I stuck with figure skating the longest, he was pushing me not to quit.

” I press my lips together at the unexpected mention of my dad.

I don’t get to talk about him a lot. He wouldn’t let me quit skating; he said I had to commit to it and not let people down.

It was a valuable life lesson. Then he died, and my mom slowly wore down my self-confidence.

Now I don’t let people down, as my dad wanted me to. I just don’t believe in myself enough to try.

Grant seems to sense I don’t want to talk about my dad. “You still skate?”

I raised my eyebrows, looking up at him. “You think I could be Cami Logan’s friend and give up skating?”

“Oh, of course not.” He laughs, shaking his head.

“She makes sure I get on the ice enough.” I laugh with him, and then because I’m a glutton for punishment. “It also reminds me of my dad; he used to drive me to the rink.” I sigh, pulling my sleeves over my hands a little more and rubbing them together as we walk in silence for a bit.

“What about you, do you ever struggle with the pressure of it all?” I ask him. I can’t even imagine what it must be like to know already you’re going to play in the NHL and still complete another two years of college hockey.

“All the time,” he lets out a low chuckle, his face hardening a little like he’s in his head.

“Really?” I look at him, confused. He just seems always to have everything under control and together. I mean, how would he juggle hockey, college and partying if he didn’t?

“Leading a team, while trying to focus on my own game and keep my grades up, I’m always feeling the pressure.”

“How do you deal with it?”

“It used to weigh on me a lot in high school,” He shrugs, hanging his head down like the conversation isn’t an easy one. “I wanted to be in the NHL so badly, there was no other option. I had to make it.”

I stay quiet, waiting for him to continue.

“My parents noticed I was falling behind on some school stuff. I was on the ice and in the gym every day, and I was struggling to sleep. It wasn’t healthy.”

“How did you deal with it?”

“they spoke with my coach and he got in contact with some ex players some who had made it and some who hadn’t and they showed me I couldn’t do it with just my skill,” he takes a hand out of his hoodie and rubs his jaw self consciously “I had to do the work off the ice too.”

“You seem like you’re doing a pretty good job of that to me,” I say, nudging him with my elbow, trying to make him feel comfortable again, and he smiles down at me.

“I think you’re doing a great job, too, Brooke,” Grant says, putting his arm around my shoulder and squeezing. “I’m not going to let you quit.”

“Thanks, Grant.” I wrap my arm around his waist in return as we walk along.

Okay, one walk will not hurt.