I amnotat all satisfied in that department, but she doesn’t need to know that.
“I thought Kyle broke up with you?” My ex’s name coming from her mouth has me seething.
“I broke up with him,me.” I lowly growl, emphasizing the last word.
“Sure, okay.” She purses her lips.
Shaking my head, I ignore her and turn toward the ice to continue watching the guys. She brings out her nail file, filing her nails down to the core, or at least that’s what it sounds like. It’s the type of sound a chalkboard makes when you drag a piece of chalk down it, and the noise makes me physically cringe.
Clenching my jaw, I refrain from saying something. If filing her nails keeps her quiet, I’m not going to complain.
“I'm going to the restroom.” She announces as she stands.
“Cool.” I respond, not even glancing at her as I lean back into the chair.
Lifting my legs onto the chair in front of me for comfort, I look down at my notepad and chew at my lip as I tap my pen against it. Lakelyn asked if she could be the one to ask the questions, and I happily agreed to that. But I have a feeling she'll be asking all the wrong ones. Iknowshe’ll be asking the wrong ones, so I decide to write down a bunch of random questions and circle the main ones I want to ask.
A shiver courses through me, making me pull my cardigan tighter around myself for warmth, and I snuggle into it, letting our a sigh. Nina did tell me to wear something more fitting and warmer, but I waved it off saying I’d be fine. I was in fact not fine, and I could already hear her scolding me over this.
I’m used to the cold with my hometown becoming Antarctica by the time winter rolled around, but I severely underestimated how cold it would be here. Do they have the air con on too?
The sound of skates slicing across the ice and the occasional thud of a puck hitting the boards fills the air as my eyes dart around from player to player. My eyes zero in on Hunter and Chase as they weave pucks in between bright orange cones, the former tilting his head back laughing at something the latter said.
Both of them were announced as co-captains this year, the first time that’s ever happened in Riverside Dragons history. When their Coach spoke about it, he said it’s the best decision he’s ever made in his thirty plus years of being a Coach.
My eyes zero in on Greyson, the team’s goalie next as he makes an impressive save. I read on the Riverside Dragons website that he’s one of the top ten goalies in college hockey, and even though I know fuck all about sports, I knew enough to know that was impressive.
Continuing to watch him with curiosity, he sagged his shoulders and leaned against the goal. I could see him heaving a breath in before taking a glove off his hand and bringing it to his helmet, moving a few strands of hair away from his eyes.
My head tilts to the side as I watch Chase skate up to him. They engage in a conversation that clearly had Greyson annoyed because I could see his jaw clenching from here, but not wanting to intrude on their conversation, even if I couldn’t hear what they were saying, I shift my attention to Coach Gillingham who stood behind the boards speaking with two of his players as he pointed aimlessly at the clipboard in his hand.
Lakelyn and I met with him briefly before practice began so he could introduce himself. He explained how he’s been a Coach here longer than the oldest player on the team has been alive, and expressed how much joy coaching brings him, especially when he sees his players advance to the NHL and further their careers.
The look in his eyes when he spoke about the team was one of deep admiration. He spoke about them like they were his sons, his own flesh and blood, conveying that coaching them was the most fulfilling thing he could do. And even when he said, with a grunt, that they were the most annoying bunch he’s ever had to coach, you could still hear the love he had for them in his voice.
Drifting my eyes to my phone to check the time, I note that it’s been ten minutes since Lakelyn said she needed to pee. Where the fuck is she? I glance around and spot her down by the door that leads onto the ice, flirting with one of the guys as she twirls her hair around herfinger.
Professor Davenports words circle my mind.Suck it up and deal with it. But if this is the first day, and she’s already down there flirting instead of being up here with me going over the outline for the article, how am I meant to suck it up and deal with it?
And how long is it going to take before I completely lose my shit with her?
Chapter 4
Greyson
The cold air of the rink bites at my cheeks as I adjust my pads, trying to shake off the frustration from the last few missed saves. Practice was going terrible, and I could feel the eyes of my teammates on me, glaring into my soul, and judging me for how awful I’ve been playing.
I’d woken up this morning in a good mood, but then everything went downhill the minute I stepped into the locker room and Coach announced we’d be staying at a Blaine Heights hotel in November when we have our away game against Victron Cat’s, and as soon as the hotel name left his mouth, my whole body froze.
Blaine heights is owned by my sperm donor, Sebastian Blaine. The one person on earth I hated more than Theresa Montgomery, my egg donor.
Long story cut incredibly short…Theresa was a drug addict who cared more about finding her next high than looking after me. At the age of three she left me in our apartment—if you could even call it that—alone for days. If the neighbors hadn’t called in a welfare check when they did, the cops would’ve found my dead body instead of a barely alive one.
Fast forward to being in the hospital, they did a DNA test to see if my father was in the system because my mom was nowhere to be located—eighteen years later she’s still missing, probably dead, who knows, and who cares. Anyway, shock horror on the DNA test…Sebastian was in the system, but what did he do when he found out about me? He signed his rights away, wanting nothing to do with me.
Which then resulted in me spending my childhood bouncing around from foster home to foster home, wondering why I was never good enough for anyone. Some homes were nice, and others not so much. I was fifteen when my social worker decided to shove me into a group home, which to me was a nonverbal way of saying she couldn’t be bothered with me anymore.
The only constant thing I had in my life was hockey, and I focused my whole being on that. Especially in senior year of high school when scouts visited.
