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“Dad? Did I do or say something to upset you?”
“No, baby. I’m just worried about my player. He’s a loose cannon, and I’m having second thoughts about having him work Erik over. He’s been known as the bad boy in the hockey universe. You know the type.He’ll hurt you before you can hurt him, but I think it may be his way of protecting himself.”
“Maybe you should apologize.”
He throws the dish towel over his shoulder. “Yeah, maybe. He’s been through so much, and I hope this doesn’t bring back all those memories.”
“He’s a hockey player; I’m sure you’re overthinking it.”
Chapter Eleven
REED
Lying on the couch with an ice pack on my face, Roscoe, Harper’s emotional support Aussiedoodle, sits by me with unwavering focus. I never truly believed in emotional support animals, thinking it was a way to take your animals on to planes or to the grocery store. But Roscoe feels changes in your heartbeat, your temperature, and senses when something is different. And it’s obvious I’m fucked up, so he stares at me, waiting for a command.
“Go away. Roscoe, go.”
He sits there without barking. His brown eyes bore into me like he can hear my thoughts churning. The quiet from no one being home is deafening. I haven’t had a chance to look at the whiteboard but I’m assuming everyone is in class except for Logan who is probably training.
Hagan comes in from class. “Still hurting?”
“Yeah, can you tell Roscoe to leave me alone?”
Hagan laughs. “You know he only listens to Logan or Harper’s commands. I think they trained him to make the rest of us suffer.” He pauses and says, “I take that back. Roscoe is the second best thing to happen to Hap other than Logan.”
He calls his twin sister Hap instead of Harper. I look up from the ice and then move it to my other jaw. “Yeah.”
“Have you rescheduled with Brooke?”
“No, that’s over.”
He sits in the bean bag across from me. “Oh, that’s too bad. Harper invited her to the Evy Brown Cheer-Off in a few weeks.”
“What? Why?”
“Harper likes her. We all like her.”
Swinging my feet from the couch to the floor, I snap, “Then you go out with her.”
Immediately, Roscoe lays his paws on my legs. I’ve seen him do it to Harper dozens of times when she’s getting anxious.
Hagan chuckles. “See, even Roscoe knows this girl has your hackles up.”
“When did you become a Southerner? Feathers, hackles, cackles… whatever.”
“Adalee is from Alabama and uses words that I have no clue what they mean,” he says, shaking his head. “Well, if it doesn’t have anything to do with Brooke, it must be about the fight you got yourself into.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” I go to the kitchen and grab a new ice pack. I feel Hagan’s eyes following me as I climb the steps to my room.
The first thing I do is shut my blinds and pull the dark-gray drapes closed. My head hurts for the third straight day, but I don’t dare tell Coach or the training staff. It’s not a concussion; there hasn’t been a time since it happened that I wasn’t absolutely sure of my name, whereabouts, the year, and all of the other things they ask to indicate a concussion.
After napping, I grabThe Outsidersfrom my backpack, turn on my bedside lamp, and get lost in the characters’ problems instead of my own. But I end up realizing that my life is worse than Pony Boy’s. I don’t have older brothers to try to protect me. My parents didn’t die—they either didn’t want me or they didn’t choose me.
Instead of annotating the chapter, I write my biological father a letter in the notes of my phone and maybe one day, I’ll get the nerve to handwrite it and send it to him. Then I do the same to my biological mom. Neither of them wanted me, but at least my bio dad didn’t pretend to.
My alarm goes off, letting me know it’s time to eat and head to practice. The smell of fresh baked bread wafts through the house. Inwardly, I laugh because Harper must be making popovers. It’s the one thing she’s learned how to cook perfectly.
“Hey, smells good. Are there enough for me?”
