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“Is everything okay?” Mom asks. “You look anxious.”
I let out a mouthful of air. “I’m just worried about everything going smoothly tomorrow night. It’s a big night for the team. And for Gramps.”
She nods. “I know. But you’re doing a wonderful job.” She reaches out to touch my cheek. “Thank you for letting Isabella stay with you. She hates hotel rooms.”
“It’s fine. I’m happy to have her.”
“She said you two had reconnected.”
“It’s been good to talk with her,” I say. I know Mom hated the fact that we barely spoke to each other for years.
“Sisters are important,” she says. “There’s nobody like a sister to give you some support.” She looks at me carefully, as though she’s trying to weigh what to say. “She was so upset when you told her you didn’t want anybody to know you were related.”
Mom’s not only talking about Isabella. And she’s not just talking about this week either. I know it hurt her when I changed my name. It must have felt like I was rejecting our family.
But it was the only way I knew how to protect myself at the time. Looking back maybe I should have brazened it out, been stronger. But when you’re in the eye of the storm the only thing you can think about is how to get out.
“I know,” I say, patting Mom’s arm. “I’m sorry.”
“I’d like us to all get along. It’s been lovely working with Isabella,” she continues. “And your dad loves watching the boys. But I want my other daughter, too.” She slides her hand into mine. “I’m proud of you, sweetheart. I wish you’d let me show that.”
“I know,” I say, my voice thick as she pulls me in for a hug. She’s so tiny it feels like hugging a twig. But she smells just like I remember. It makes me feel like I’m fourteen again. Desperate for her love. But maybe it was there all along.
“Okay, the security is all done.” Dad walks back into the room. “I’m gonna head down to the guest locker room. You coming?” he asks Mom.
“I’ll pass,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “I’ve done my fair share of locker rooms.”
Dad winks. “I know that, baby.”
Ugh. Gag alert. But the way mom smiles at him is kind of sweet. There’s still chemistry between my parents after all this time.
And it makes me yearn for Eli more than I can say.
CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN
ELI
It’s the next day and the two teams are actually bonding with each other. Greg’s older and wiser team take the Mavericks under their wing. Goran has a long, deep discussion with Greg about the next steps he should take in his career. Mackenzie’s brother, Brad is exchanging goalkeeping stories with Max, the two of them agreeing that the rest of their teams are assholes.
And I’m talking to Johnny, Mackenzie’s other brother, who’s a fucking hoot, just like I thought he’d be. He reminds me of my youngest brother, Brooks, except he’s not such an asshole.
I find myself wanting to ask him about Mac. About how she had to give up so much to take care of him and his brother when they were growing up. But instead I laugh as he recounts a story of how he and Brad swapped positions in college for one whole semester and nobody noticed.
Greg keeps looking at his watch, because his two new recruits haven’t arrived yet and they start practice in five minutes. I’ve promised him we won’t stay and watch – it’s only fair that the All Stars get a chance to learn how to play together without their opponents taking notes.
In a weird way it feels good to finally meet Mackenzie’s family. Sure, I’m pretty much avoiding Isabella, but once Mackenzie tells her the truth about us she’ll hopefully see the funny side.
And Brad and Johnny are completely chilled. I’m hoping they’ll stay that way when they realize I’ve been spending most of my time with their big sister.
Greg is interesting. I heard him telling Goran about how hard it was to get out from his father’s shadow when he was a kid. Every team would target him when they played because he was Wayne Gauthier’s son and they wanted to show him who was boss.
I guess being a celebrity in his own right has made him feel better about himself. So I’m giving him a partial pass for being so camera hungry.
“Here they are,” Greg calls out, standing and walking over to the two new guys who’ve walked in. He’s in my line of sight so I can’t see past him.
But then he steps to the side and my blood runs fucking cold as my gaze rests on a pair of ice-blue eyes I know all too well.
It’s fucking Hart. Center for the Toronto Maple Leafs. The asshole who caused the injury that sent me right out of the NHL and over here to the Mavericks. I haven’t seen him since that day, but he’s grinning at me now, and I’m trying to keep my cool.
