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Prologue?
PART 1
Periods Suck…Period
Avery
Seven Years Ago
Imagine the most embarrassing situation possible. Now imagine getting your first period at the same time. That's me. Emerson Avery, queen of embarrassment and I wear my crown like I was born with it atop my head.
At fifteen, I was quite the late bloomer when it came to meeting Aunt Flow, but I would learn about all the messed up and masochistic things my body was doing to itself three years later. I had the boobs and the odd outbreak of zits, but the red river had eluded me until the start of the tenth grade, and I was convinced that my mom had jinxed me. She finally gave me "The Talk" about sex and boys, and then, BOOM! Hello, menstruation. Mind you, I'd already long past heard about shark week and sex. All my friends had their periods, and some were already doing the dirty. Plus, you know, books, TV, the internet, and school gossip. I don't live under a rock.
When you think about it, there's a litany of euphemisms for menstruation. There's irony in the fact that the one thing only females suffer through starts with the word "men." It's as if a bunch of men were sitting around making the Webster's Dictionary, had a case of FOMO, and thought, "I know, let's call itmenstruation."
Idiots.
Let's be honest; men aren't missing out. This is why PMS stands for "Putting up with Men's Shit."
And whoever thought to call a period "a monthly friend" is a fucking asshole. What kind of friend goes out of their way to make your boobs sore, your face break out, and your insides feel like hosting a revolt against biology?
My first period was so embarrassing. If my best friend Holly hadn't stepped in to recuse me, I would have died on the spot. We were in tenth-grade gym class, and I'd been feeling off all day with what I thought was a stomachache.
WRONG!
In the middle of running track, Holly discretely jogged up behind me and whispered in my ear that I had blood running down my leg. I was mortified. The boys' hockey team was outside practicing conditioning drills, and, by Murphy's Law, this included my crush, Ryan Gunner. He looked so sexy in the sunshine, and I was running around looking like I belonged on Crime Scene Investigation.
Without thinking, Holly stripped off her long-sleeve shirt and tied it around my waist, attempting to usher me towards the girls' change room discretely. Fortunately—or unfortunately—Holly was, and still is, gorgeous with a rocking body she earned from playing loads of hockey, but she's utterly oblivious to her sex appeal. There she was, gallivanting around in short shorts and a sports bra in front of a high school boys' hockey team, which attracted about as much attention as if she were wearing nothing at all.
The coach was not impressed, yelling bloody murder at us—pun intended—as we bolted to the locker room. I love Holly. She'd do anything for me without considering her own well-being, and I'd do the same for her. I just wish we weren't both magnets for embarrassment. To this day, we still crack up about the whole debacle.
After practice, Ryan came jogging into the girl's locker room to check that I was okay, solidifying his place as the nicest, most considerate guy on the planet. We've known each other our entire lives, and other than Holly, he is my closest friend. He plays hockey with my stepbrothers, Ollie and Ozzy, and is two years older than me.
And no one can blame a girl for crushing on her brothers' best friend. He's gorgeous. Aside from the fact that hockey players have exquisite physiques, he has dark, almost black hair and blazing, crystalline blue eyes that make me blush every time I make eye contact. He's handsome in a striking way, with high cheekbones and a straight nose that I hope never gets broken on the ice or by a puck. Or a stick. Or a fist. And the cherry on top? It's the dimples. When Ryan smiles, his two dimples pop and my brain short-circuits. I take great pleasure in kissing them. Oh wait, did I forget to mention he's my boyfriend now?
That's right, ladies and gentlemen, on the night of my great embarrassment, he came home with my brothers and snuck into my bedroom to check on me—see, nicest guy ever!
He brought me tea and Skittles—our favourite candy—and made one of my life's most embarrassing days the best. Ryan changed everything by kissing me and making all my PG fantasies come true. And it would have been the perfect first kiss moment if my brothers hadn't walked in on us, ripped us apart, and planted a fist right in Ryan's face.
Needless to say, my brothers were less than impressed when we started dating. Even though they're not my biological brothers, I'm still their little sister. I guess teammates kissing little sisters is against "the bro code." Ollie and Ozzy have been feigning ignorance ever since. As far as they're concerned, Ryan and I have only ever kissed. Ha!
We've been together ever since, even though he's graduated and plays professional junior hockey in the Ontario Hockey League. We lucked out when Ryan got drafted to a team in Barrie—only a thirty-minute drive away—so we haven't had to do the long-distance thing. Ollie and Ozzy play hockey in southern Ontario in a city called London—not the one in England—which puts their fists two hours away from Ryan's face.
Barrie and London are in different conferences so they only play each other twice in the regular season. But when the two teams clash, Ollie and Ozzy put a little more grit into their hits. Deep down they know Ryan and I have shared more firsts than just first kisses.
All three of my boys will be done with the OHL this season, then they're all NHL-bound. Ollie and Ozzy are off to New York City to play for the Diamonds. Luckily, Ryan is staying a little closer to home and playing for the Montreal Acadians. It's still quite the drive or train ride, but at least we aren't on different sides of the continent. Ollie, Ozzy, and Ryan were all taken high in the NHL draft and they're all expected to make their respective teams' rosters this season. So it's doubtful any of them will be sent down to the minors.
It could be worse. Ryan could be playing on a Western Conference team. At least in Montreal, Ryan will only be a six-hour drive away.
He wants me to go with him, and I'm not going to lie, the thought temps me. But Holly and I have our hearts set on going to the University of Western Ontario. Holly has a hockey scholarship, and we plan to attend university together. It's been our plan forever. I've already accepted my spot in the sports marketing and public relations program. I've always known I wanted to work in the sports industry in some capacity, and I love working with athletes.
But the thought of leaving Ryan so we can chase our dreams makes my heart ache. We'll still be together, but he'll be playing hockey all over North America—with thousands of puck bunnies hop, hop, hopping after him in every city—and I'll be busy writing papers and completing internships. There's texting and FaceTime, but sexy times aren't exactly the same virtually.
I don't know what to do.
I've loved Ryan since before I even knew what love was. From the start, he's made my heart skip and given me the butterflies with his shy smiles and dimples I love to kiss. He's it for me. I can't imagine a life without him in it. He is the yin to my yang and all that. We are simpatico. We can read each other's body language and justknowwhat the other is thinking.
It was like we developed our own love language when we wanted to communicate without words, especially when too many ears were listening. When he wanted to sneak into my room at night, he would run a hand through his hair and wink at me as a reminder to leave my bedroom window unlocked. We thought we were so suave and discrete, but I'm pretty sure my parents knew what was going on.
