Page 4 of Boots & Scars

"You know," she said finally, her voice softer now, "I met your father when I was just a little older than you are now."

I perked up at this rare glimpse into her past. "Really?"

"Yes," she continued, a small smile playing at her lips. "We were both so young and so full of dreams. But it wasn't always easy."

"I can imagine," I said, genuinely interested.

She sighed softly and looked out the window as if seeing something far away. "Your father was perfect. He loved you so much. He'd be so proud of you. But not everyone is your father, Everly. Not everyone will treat you right. I don't want…" She looked away, a flicker of something sad lighting her eyes. "I don't want you to experience that. Heart break."

"Mom, I can't help if I do," I said. "That's just life, isn't it? Another step in finding the right one who won't break your heart. Isn't that what Dad did for you?"

"Dad was my first everything," she said with a wistful smile. "I suppose I was lucky in that way. But remember, Everly, it's not all like in the books and movies."

"I know," I replied, though deep down, I still hoped for my own fairytale romance.

Mom stood up and began clearing the dishes from the table. "Just promise me you'll wait," she said over her shoulder. "Love isn't all that it's cracked up to be, you know."

"I…" I let my voice trail off. In my heart, I couldn't help but dream of love's grand adventures awaiting me out there in the world beyond our little dining room.

I couldn't make that promise because doing so would make it a lie.

As we finished tidying up together, the conversation shifted back to lighter topics—my upcoming exams and summer plans—but that unspoken desire for more lingered in my mind like an echo of possibility.

“Well,” Mom said, her voice thick with emotion, “I suppose it’s time to head back.”

“Yes,” I agreed, trying to keep my own emotions in check. “Thank you for lunch, Mom. I appreciate it.”

“Are you sure I can’t change your mind about coming home for break?”

I stepped forward and pulled her into a tight hug. The familiar scent of her lavender perfume enveloped me, bringing a wave of nostalgia. “I’ll be home for summer,” I promised, squeezing her tightly.

She sighed deeply, her arms wrapping around me like a safety net she was reluctant to release. For a moment, it felt like she wasn’t going to let go. Her grip tightened as if she could somehow keep me safe from the world by holding on just a little longer.

Finally, she pulled back, her eyes watery and filled with unspoken words. “All right,” she said softly. “Let’s go.”

2

Cooper

Ididn't want to be here.

John Walker's office was stuffy, cluttered with too many books and awards that meant nothing to me. A thick mahogany desk dominated the space, papers strewn across it like leaves after a storm. Framed photos of his family and his time on the Chicago Honeybears — big fucking whoop — lined the walls, mingling with degrees and accolades. The carpet beneath my feet had seen better days, worn down by years of shuffling feet and restless pacing.

Walker himself sat behind the desk, leaning back in his chair like he owned the world. He reminded me of a cowboy—rugged, with light brown hair and a stern expression that suggested he’d seen it all and wasn't impressed by any of it. His eyes, sharp and blue, seemed to pierce right through me.

"You’re probably wondering why I asked you to come here," Walker began, his voice steady, carrying the weight of authority.

I shrugged, crossing my arms over my chest. "Not really."

John clenched his teeth, the muscles in his jaw twitching. "You know," he began, his voice dropping an octave, "after your little stunt in Texas, you're lucky to even be here."

I rolled my eyes, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. This spiel was old news. "Don't do me any favors, Walker."

His eyes narrowed into icy slits. "That's Dean Walker to you," he said with a sneer. "You're only here because of the affiliation this academy has with the NHL. To be honest, you should be in jail for assault."

"Fighting is part of the game," I shot back, meeting his glare with one of my own.

"There's fighting and then there's what you did," Walker retorted, leaning forward and placing his elbows on the desk. "What did Matthews do, huh? Talk about your fiancée—ex-fiancée, I should say."

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