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I nod. “I do.” My lids flit closed in an attempt to keep from crying. Crying over what Reed has been through. Crying over what he’s facing at this very moment. Crying, hoping he returns to the team because he loves hockey. And that he returns to me, so I can tell him I love him.
“One more thing. We play Erik’s team this weekend.”
My dad hugs me and rubs my back. “Erik didn’t seem to bat an eye when Caleb showed his face, so it’s possible he doesn’t have a clue.”
“If there is someone I don’t trust, it’s Erik Bratt.”
Chapter Forty
REED
The letter remains unopened on my desk. I threw it there when I came in from Brooke’s the night of the Cheer-Off. It put a damper on the bliss I was feeling from roleplaying with Brooke. That girl has layers. I just wanted to revel in Brooke’s scent and memories of the night.
So much has happened between then and now. I’ve been completely distracted in class, at hockey, and at home. I do feel a weight has been lifted off my shoulders after telling Brooke about my past. But it doesn’t take away the pain of losing her. She’s not going to choose me, I know it.
I have to finishThe Outsiders. My paper is due on Friday, so I attempt to read the last several chapters. Who knew a letter would be so distracting? After reading the same chapter two times without annotating a single line, I realize it’s not going to happen unless I read the letter with the return address of NHL Headquarters.
It makes bile rise in my throat just thinking of what it might say. Maybe it’s a letter that all players eligible for the NHL receive, but the timing is suspect, being I was told a few weeks ago who my dad is.
The chair creaks as I fall back into the seat. Snatching the letter, I peruse the front and back before splitting the edge and pulling the contents out.Just open it.
Dear Reed,
There’s no way to begin a letter that I think will mean so little to you but means so much to me. I’ve asked your coach for a few days of your time. Coach Sweet said it was up to you and that you must clear it with him if you decide to come visit me.
If you want answers or to fill in the blanks, I’ll take time off so we can get to know each other. I hope to see you. This is a standing invitation. All you need to do is show identification at reception of the headquarters. Your name is on an approved list to the executive floor.
Eldrick Cross
There are some instructions on the back of the note about parking.
Hagan pops into my room with Roscoe by his side. He glances down at the opened envelope. “Are you going to the NHL?”
“It doesn’t work that way, and you know it,” I answer without looking his way.
“Do you want to talk?”
“Not right now, but thanks.”
Roscoe walks to the chair and places his paw on my knee. How can a simple gesture make a person feel better? It’s hard to believe, but it does. I rub his curly head and lean down, our foreheads touching. “He’s the best.”
“He is. He can stay in here if you like.”
I shake my head. “I have a paper to work on.”
“Okay, but we’re all here for you. We can go to her and fill her in on the person she knows you are but just isn’t trusting herself. She glows in your presence. It’s going to work out. I know it.”
With a simple nod, he understands that he’s not going to get anything out of me tonight. It’s been a long day, and I need to get some shuteye before I decide what I’m going to do.
When I leave the house this morning, I throw an extra bag of clothes and my backpack into the car. I want to be prepared for whatever decision I make.
When I talk with Coach, he convinces me that this is the closure I need to stop being so angry all the time. My mom never said much about my father, preferring my stepdad to take his place in our lives.
I wish I could say this road trip consists of the windows rolled down with Imagine Dragons or Twenty-One Pilots blaring. Or that Brooke was with me, her painted, rosy toes on the dashboard and hair whipping in the breeze. Instead, it’s snowing as I wind through the backroads on the way to the interstate. It’s cold, and the only channel that will come in without cracking with loads of static is a local Sunday morning talk show.
The host talks about basketball, which is how my name pops up. “Reed Bauer, the star of the hockey team, pulled Dane Greathouse from the burning complex. Maybe we should get him on the show.”
At least I’m known for something good now.
