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“Eldrick Cross.”
“My dad is…”
He nods as I watch his throat bob. “You really didn’t know?”
“No.” My jaw tightens. “So, you didn’t take me as a transfer because I was an asset to this team? You had me transfer here out of some sense of duty or obligation to a former friend?” I hit my fist against the wall out of instinct. “This weekend just keeps getting better.”
“You have an opportunity to be better than him… on the ice. It’s up to you whether to rein in your anger and use the talent you were born with.”
“Yeah, cause there’s no way I can be better than him as a person,” I say, fuming in disbelief.
“Because evidently, the NHL commissioner is a piece of shit. He says and does all the right things in front of the cameras, but when it comes to supporting the girl he got pregnant and his son—nothing.”
Coach opens his mouth but changes his mind, and I don’t stay around long enough to find out how he knows my dad or how he knows Eldrick Cross is my father. I leave my gear inside as I slam his office door and walk out of the arena. And right now, I don’t know if I’ll step back inside—ever.
Chapter Sixteen
BROOKE
Taking a seat in the last row, I acknowledge my inability to focus today. Ever since Reed departed from the café, there hasn’t been a single word from him. Not that it holds any significance now, but he was clearly furious about the jersey, leaving me to wonder if he even knew about my child. If he became enraged over a jersey and even more so when he discovered it belonged to my father, the mere thought of me having a three-year-old would set him off without a doubt.
We’re discussing a picture that the National Space Administration took of the dark side of the moon in my art theory class.
How does it make you feel?
Does the absence of color make art feel more somber?
As the class responds affirmatively, the professor clicks to reveal a new slide displaying the iconic portrayal of a military man, donned in uniform, embracing, and kissing his loved one upon returning home.
“Does this feel sad?”
Students shake their heads, and some say, “No.”
The professor talks about how color has changed our perceptions. Even though we live our lives in color, photos seem to have a different life. Black and white makes us feel nostalgic. It takes me back to some photos my dad has hanging in his home office of his old college teammates. Some are on the gray scale, and some are in full color, and I need to practice this theory on his photos.
When class ends, my phone rings as I’m headed to my next class. I slip it from my backpack, hoping it’s Reed or at least not an emergency call from the daycare.
It’s my dad.
“Our game tonight is at six. I’d love for you and Caleb to be there again.”
“We can’t.”
He sighs heavily. “Okay, can’t blame a dad for trying.”
I believe he assumes it’s my distaste for hockey, rather than a certain hot head forward on his team. My dad’s mood seems different today, almost pained.
It catches me off guard when he asks, “Do you know Reed Bauer?”
I swallow hard, hoping he hasn’t heard that we were making out at the football bonfire. “We’ve met… through Logan and Harper. Why?”
“Oh, umm… he missed practice. Just wondering if you have seen him around?”
“Dad, we’ve met. We’re not friends.” When he remains silent, I ask, “How doyouknow Logan and Harper?”
“Logan has a knack for helping people acclimate. Last summer, the hockey complex was full, and I knew Logan owned some off-campus housing and asked if he had a room for Reed.”
“I wondered how the two of them became roommates. They’re totally opposite.”
