Page 5 of Jaded

Jesus Christ, she’s blushing. Why does that make me slightly ill?

“You didn’t skip class, did you?” Brenda has no biological children—but she handles Avery like a seasoned pro. One would never guess she got thrust into the stepmom role far too early in life.

“I never skip.” Avery turns to me, his blue eyes sparking. “C’mon, Nat. Back me up here.”

“Nope.” I shake my head, swallow down my food. “I’m not getting on Brenda’s bad side.”

“Like you haven’t spent plenty of time there,” Brenda mumbles. “I’m pretty sure your seat is on my permanent bad side.”

Avery and Syd both laugh at that.

“Oh, Bren.” I flutter my eyelashes at her. “Bad side or not, mine is yourfavoriteseat.”

“Favorite seat, my ass,” Brenda snorts, but her voice is soft, like the soft spot she’s always had for me. Helping your rough-edged teenage stepson raise his daughter will bring you pretty close—but she stepped in to fill a critical role long before Syd came along. “You were a pain, and Avery is too.”

“This isn’t very nice.” Avery crosses his arms atop the table. “I am feeling disrespected.”

“Does an eighteen-year-old shit deserve respect?” I ask, arching a brow. “I don’t think so. Right, Syd?”

“Hey, leave me out of this.” Syd holds up her hands. “I’m the one who’s actually on Brenda’s good side.”

“Well, screw you guys.” Avery shoves his chair back and heads for the bathroom. Which leaves me staring Sydney down.

Syd glares before I can open my mouth. “Don’t say anything, Dad.”

“I just want you to be concentrating on school—”

“Nope.” She lifts a finger to ward off my protests. “I don’t think you’re one to give dating advice.”

“She’s got you there,” Brenda agrees, which is both entirely fair and wildly unfair. Maybe I haven’t held down a serious girlfriend in seventeen years, but still.

“Avery was right about the respect thing—”

“Jeez, Dad.” Syd rolls her eyes again. “You need a life. And no, watching Dingoes games and betting on the Ice Out don’t count.”

“I do not bet on the Ice Out,” I grumble, which is accurate. However, the truth is far worse—but I’d never tell Syd Iplayin the illegal Ice Out.

“Speaking of needing a life . . . ” Sydney’s voice assumes a carefully neutral tone—and her face an expression to match—as she turns back to her dinner. “Is it true the captain of the Dingoes is transferring?”

“Yes, it’s true,” I sigh, recalling my earlier conversation with Jerry about the Dingoes moving money around, trying to keep players on the roster. “Another one bites the dust.”

“Takes a Day River native to find the charm here,” Brenda says, her voice firm. “Outsiders just see cold and ice.”

“Most of us insiders do too,” I mutter under my breath.

Syd turns a pair of innocent green eyes on me. “You know the coach . . . Wasn’t he your high school coach?”

“Yep. Kicked me off the team eighteen years ago.” Put up with a lot of shit first, but I don't mention that. I know where she's headed with this train of thought, even before she speaks.

“You can’t tell me you don’t want to at least talk to him.” Those eyes go angelically large and round, and her words crack against my soul, like ceramic through clumsy wet fingers shattering on tile—crack, crack, crack. "Ask him if he'd take you back . . .”

Is she right?

Sure, there’s a part of me that still dreams about it. That wants to be on that ice, flanked by a team once again. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about talking to Coach once or twice before.

But even as a starry-eyed kid, I knew I wasn’t like my brother and father—naturally gifted, born to dominate. Maybe that’s why I started skipping class, drinking and doing drugs. Developed a fighting habit. Sometimes, it’s easier to think you’re not good enough than to have it proven beyond a doubt.

Now . . . I’m almost two decades out of the game. Gave up the drugs but not my fists. The Ice Out is decidedly where I belong.

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