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“Go on.”
“As I was saying, he brought my plant to the car, and before I could ask his name, I recognized the name on his jacket. You remember White Ice Training, right? It was you that mentioned it to me, wasn’t it? Oh dear, that must have been years ago.”
Of all the things she has forgotten over the past six months, I’m not surprised one bit that she hasn’t forgotten WIT or anything to do with my hockey career. It will be a devastating day when she does. If there’s anybody who loves hockey as much as I did, it’s my mom.
“I remember WIT, yes. That’s where Leo trained before getting drafted.”
I’m sure there isn’t a single person in the North American hockey world that doesn’t know of White Ice Training and Adam White himself. Leonard Orlo is just one of many who spent most of his career there before making it big time. As one of my closest friends, I’ve heard a good amount about the place.
“Oh great! Because I got you an interview there with Adam on Wednesday.”
My jaw slacks. Annoyance licks my spine. “You did what? That’s tomorrow, Mom.”
“Oh, you’re right.” She blinks a few times before shrugging. “He has a position open for a new trainer, and as soon as he heard your name, he insisted you come in. I barely even had time to talk you up, and you know how much I love doing that.” She has the nerve to look disappointed.
“An interview is pointless. I don’t want the job.” I push away from the table to put our glasses back on the tray. Mine is still full, but the idea of drinking from it now makes my stomach sour.
Mom’s mouth drops open. “What do you mean you don’t want the job? It’s perfect for you.”
“I appreciate the thought, but I’m done with hockey. I don’t want to work there.”
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”
“You need to call him and cancel the interview. I’m not going.”
“Scarlett Jasmina Carter. You are going even if I have to drag you there myself. I refuse to let you stay here and act as my shadow. Until I need that from you, you will continue to live your life as a regular, twenty-three-year-old woman. That’s final.”
She jerks to a stand and stalks off into the house before I can tell her how not final it really is. The door slams shut, and I hold the edge of the table in a white-knuckled grip.
Hockey has already broken me once. I’m terrified I won’t survive if it happens a second time.
