Page 13 of What if It's Us

I cross my arms over my chest and shake my head, mumbling, “I knew it.”

Harrison glances at me questioningly, folding his arms across his own chest. “Knew what?”

“He’s like me.”

“Evan?”

“Yeah. He’s a foster kid.”

Harrison cocks his head. “You were a foster kid?”

“Yep.” I nod. “Moved around the system till I was in eighth grade.”

“No shit,” he says. “How have I never known that?”

I lift my shoulder. “I don’t know. I don’t talk about it much anymore because I’ve been with Nick and Rebecca since I was thirteen. They’re the ones who raised me. They’re the ones who gave me hockey. As far as I’m concerned, they’re the family I’ve always had.”

Harrison claps me on the shoulder. “I’d love to hear about this, Ledger. About how you grew up. How you found hockey. I never knew any of this about you.” He cringes slightly. “But also?—”

“Yeah.” I pass him an understanding smirk. “Time and place, and this isn’t it. Totally get it. Convo for another time.”

“Hundred percent. But thanks for sharing with me, bro.”

“You know me,” I tell him, winking. “My life is an open book.”

He huffs a laugh. “Right. Tell me that when you’ve asked out Marlee Remington.”

I want to tell him that I’ve been thinking about her a lot lately. Especially since the wedding. I want to tell him about what Layken said to Marlee when we were dancing. I want to tell him everything and get his take on it, but he skates away before I get the chance to say anything.

Probably for the best.

We’re here for the kids.

My gaze slides back to the enthusiastic kid wearing the number thirteen jersey. The kid I just learned I have something more in common with.

The kid I have a soft spot for and now I guess I know why.

I turn my back and take a quick study of the parents seated in the stands or standing around the wall watching their kids.The moms with their expensive purses and designer jackets or the dads with the latest expensive cell phone in their hands and I wonder if any of these wealthy-looking adults are Evan’s foster parents.

Harrison blows the whistle, bringing the boys into a huddle to talk to them before dismissing them for the day. I watch as Evan skates off the ice and heads toward a surly teenage boy who can’t be more than seventeen. He’s busy with his cellphone and doesn’t give much attention to my new friend, just aimlessly scrolls while Evan takes off his gear.

“Hey Evan!” I shout as I glide across the ice, stopping at the wall next to where he’s seated.

He looks up at me as he unlaces his skates. “Yeah?”

“Really great job today, bro. I’m proud of you. You keep up the hard work and you’ll be skating circles around me in no time.”

The kid beams from ear to ear. I don’t miss it when his eyes slide to the older teen paying no attention to the fact I just told his foster brother that he’s going to be a great hockey player one day.

His shoulders fall a bit but he tries to hide his disappointment.

I know exactly what that feels like.

Eyeing the distracted teen, I’ve never wanted to slap a guy so fucking hard in my life.

Dude, just pay the kid a little attention.

It’s not that hard.

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