“Wait. Earlier, you said your dad owned the rink?”
“Yeah. He was a h—”
“Hockey player,” we both say at the same time.
I blink my eyes twice. “Your dad was Pete Simmons? The hockey player?”
“Yeah.”
“Wow.” This guy was incredible for the years he played in the league. I’ve always admired him as a player on and off the rink. He was always great to the Bristol Bay community, offering free and low-cost hockey programs to children in the area, getting kids on the ice and out of trouble.
“So,” I start as I try to figure out all the thoughts in my brain, “I highly doubt Ella Simmons, hockey prodigy and daughter of two very famous alumni, got rejected from both the hockey team and any kind of financial aid as an orphan.”
“They know my stepmom has money,” she says with a shrug.
“I think we need to find the letters.” I quirk my eyebrow in challenge.
“Okay,” she agrees without putting up a fight.
Chapter Nineteen
Ella
“Okay.” I glance down at my watch as we hide behind a giant, black SUV across the street from my childhood home. “She should be leaving for beach yoga any second.”
“She does beach yoga at five at night in December?”
“No. She goes to the pizza pub for all-you-can-eat pizza, but she always lies and says she attends yoga instead. She should be gone for at least a solid hour. Probably more.”
“And your sisters? Are they home?”
“No. They are also at the same pizza place. They just sit at the farthest booths from each other and pretend they don’t see each other.”
“Diabolical.”
“If you say so.” My eyes are trained on the door, and that’s when I see it fling open with Vienna barreling out with a pink yoga mat in hand. Two minutes later, my sisters sneak out the door and disappear.
“The coast is clear,” I whisper to Dallas as I emerge from behind the vehicle.
We cross the street to Vienna’s house, as I try to ignore the pit in my stomach.
“Hey, Ella!” a neighbor yells and waves to me, but then disappears inside.
“Hey,” Dallas places his large hand on my shoulder. “This is your home. You belong here. Don’t feel like you’re trespassing.”
“But I am.” My voice meek.
“Come, show me where you grew up,” Dallas places his hand into mine and tugs me forward until we reach the front steps and tug on a locked door. “We forgot about this step. We are such amateurs,” he says with a laugh.
I crouch down to the welcome mat and flip it up. A shiny key appears there, unmoved. “Aha!” I yell as I’ve just unearthed an ancient, buried treasure.
I hand it over to Dallas, and he places the key in the lock and twists the door open. “We’re in.”
Our heads flip from left to right as we enter. “My room is up these stairs,” I say, as I point to the wooden spiral staircase in front of us.
We tiptoe up the stairs. I point to the first door, and Dallas opens it. He turns around with confusion in his eyes. “Up here?”
“Yeah,” I say, a little breathy.
