Page 10 of Hitting the Goal Line
“Because my parents are getting a divorce and they are arguing about Hunter going to go live with dad in Billings.” I sound angry and I am. At my dad, at Hunter, at everyone.
“Oh,” she says, tightening her arms.
“Yeah.”
We stay silent for a little bit, just listening to the music playing downstairs as Sophia’s mom makes dinner.
Eventually I break the silence, by asking Sophie a question that I’ve been wondering about.
“Soph,” I start.
“Yeah?”
“You’ll love me if I continue to play hockey, right? You won’t leave me, like my dad is?”
Sophia doesn’t say anything for a long time. She just tightens her arms around me even more and I even feel something wet fall against my cheek.
She’s crying. Just like my mom, I hate it when she cries.
“I will be by your side and love you for always and always. Hockey or no hockey.”
A ten-year-old girl loves me more than my dad.
CHAPTER FOUR
SOPHIA
Fifteen years old
“Sophia,c’mon. We don’t have all day,” my mom says from the other side of the curtain, waiting for me to come out in the fourth dress of the day.
I look at myself in the mirror and I make a face. When the lady that owes the shop was helping me put it on, it looked pretty, now I look like I’m wearing one of those dresses that would be worn by Marie Antoinette or something. Not a single inch of skin is showing, besides my face and hands.
“Sophia!” My mom yells out, sounding a bit annoyed. I would be too if my daughter was supposed to come out five minutes ago but just spent her time looking at herself in the mirror.
“I guess it’s time to get tortured,” I mumble under my breath and slide the curtain open to reveal myself to my parents and Blake.
My mom’s eyes go wide instantly, my dad just nods in appreciation and Blake looks like he’s holding in a laugh.
I don’t have to ask how they feel about the dress, I can see it in their faces, but the question flows out anyway.
“So, what do you think?” I ask as I get situated on the platform in front of a group of mirrors.
This dress is so much worse looking at it from all of these angles.
“Who picked this dress?” My mom asks with a fake smile on her face so that she doesn’t offend anyone.
“Your husband,” I grumble, pulling at the neck. It’s so damn itchy.
Through the mirror, I see my mom turn to my dad and give him the death glare.
“What? It’s a cute dress. I like it. Covers things up,” my dad responds and my mom shakes her head at him.
“She looks like an ugly ass cupcake,” Blake says, finally letting out the laugh that he has been holding in.
“I do not!” I argue but who am I kidding? He’s right, I do look like an ugly ass cupcake. A puffy one at that. But that still doesn’t stop me from narrowing my eyes and giving him the same look that my mom is.
When he sees the way my mom is looking at him, Blake controls himself and starts clearing his throat.
