Page 1 of Play Maker

CHAPTER 1

AXEL

TWO YEARS AGO (AGE 18)

“You can’t tell anyone.”

How many times had I heard that phrase?

Too many to count. I was raised in a household of secrets. Secrets and lies. Navigating my family dynamic was like walking barefoot in a room full of broken glass; you couldn’t move without getting cut. I couldn’t escape the suffocating tension at home, but I had hockey. At least on the ice, I had my skates to protect me.

But secrets were tiring; the more I had, the heavier the burden, and the more I wanted to hide.

“I won’t,” I replied as I stared at Preston Pearson, my best friend. After class, we’d snuck off to the local park to smoke and shoot the shit. “You know I won’t.”

Unlike my parents, I was true to my word. And to my friends like Preston. We met two years ago when I got roped into volunteering for our high school musical. I had no idea what I was doing—I was an athlete, not an actor—except what the teacher told me. Thank fuck I was tasked with something simple;coordinating the props. Preston was new to the school, but he’d secured the lead role in said musical within a week of his arrival. It wasn’t surprising to me because he was outgoing and persuasive. The guy could charm anyone into doing anything. That first day in the theatre, he teased me about my shaggy hockey hair, and despite the razzing, we became fast friends.

“Promise me,” he implored. “I almost got caught in a lie last week and I freaked out.”

“I get it.”

“No, you don’t,” he snapped. “Because you’re straight. You don’t need to hide. I’m only telling you about Friday night because I trust you. And I need you to give me an alibi.”

“Alibi? Are you committing a crime?” I quipped.

“It’ll feel that way if my parents find out I’m fucking a guy.”

I didn’t care if Preston was gay, and I didn’t understand why other people did. What did it matter to them?

It mattered to Preston’s parents. They were always pushing him to date one wealthy debutante girl or another. We both came from wealthy Connecticut families where the bottom line was the only line. Keeping up with the neighbors and being seen with the ‘right’ people was everything. Appearances were important and they wanted Preston to have the whole ‘wife and two kids’ scenario, just like them. Their idea of the perfect family. Hah. Like that existed.

“Ax? Did you hear me?”

“Yeah, sorry,” I muttered. “You know I’ve got your back. I’ve got practice tomorrow, but I’m done by seven. So, what’s our story after that?”

“We’re going to your place to watch movies and binge on pizza, then studying first thing Saturday morning at the library.”

I rolled my eyes.

“No one’s gonna believe that. Me, studying early in the morning? Please, I can barely get through class as it is.”

“My parents will believe anything as long as I’m with you,” he replied. “You’re a Lund. That means you’re trusted without question.”

“Barf. If only they knew.”

Preston ignored my comment. I’d told him a few things about my dysfunctional family, but not everything. Secrets, remember? I was good at keeping them. Even from my best friend. Not that he didn’t try to get me to talk, but I tended to keep myself to myself.

“Just two more weeks until graduation, and then I can kiss this lame fucking town goodbye,” he admitted.

Getting away from Redgewick was my dream. Not that the small town near Rochester, New York was a bad place to live, but everywhere I went people knew me. I wanted a fresh start, a place where I could do my own thing without everyone stuck in my business. Unlike Preston, who got accepted to college in California, I was headed to Langston, my father and grandfather’s alma mater. With the top-ranked hockey team in the country, I should be thrilled. But I wasn’t. Why? Because the campus was in my hometown and that meant I was still within my parents’ controlling reach.

“Not me,” I griped, taking a long drag of my cigarette.

“Why don’t you just tell them you want to go to another school?”

Preston didn’t get it. His parents were first-generation wealthy so there was no ‘tradition’ to uphold. Tradition was a pain in my ass. But my parents were paying the bill, and I wanted to play nice until I had access to my trust fund. Only three more years. Then I could tell Bradford and Venetia, AKA my parents, to take their Lund expectations and screw off.

“You don’t understand how it is with them,” I explained. “Ihaveto go there. It’s a done deal. I probably didn’t even need tosend in an application. I’m sure my admission was taken care of when I was born.”

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