Page 124 of Stick It
Vince shakes his head, grinning as he addresses the guys. “She was getting shots past our forwards back when she was fourteen, half our height, and weighed about as much as a box of cereal.” Ethan glances at me, eyebrows raised, but I don’t acknowledge it. “This girl was born to be a hockey player.” The affection behind Vince’s words warms my heart, and he turns his attention my way. “The entire team is going to be right fucking there, rink side, your first NHL game, while you make history.”
I can feel my cheeks heating. “Gotta make it on to a team first,” I remind him.
He scoffs, and Isaac shakes his head, the two of them sharing a knowing look.
“Sweetheart,” Isaac begins, “the only reason why we wouldn’t be on the sidelines cheering you on is because we’re standing on that ice right alongside you. One way or another,youwillbe calling yourself an NHL player, and you know you’ll always have a home with the Timberwolves.”
“You are one of us,” Vince adds. “Whether you wear our jersey or not.”
My throat is dry, tears burning behind my eyes. It takes immense effort to keep my shit together, to not break down or lunge myself at Vince and accept one of his giant hugs.
“Vince,” someone calls out from the bar. “Food’s here.”
Vince gestures that he’s coming. “You guys want to join us?”
I shake my head before the others can pipe up. “Thanks, but we should get going. Early class tomorrow.”
He nods, looking at me knowingly. “All right. Well, it was great seeing you.” Glancing toward the guys, he adds, “Nicemeeting you all.” He lingers while we all pile out of the booth, and before I can say goodbye, he’s sweeping me into a hug. “It’s good to see you,” he murmurs, before pulling back, meeting my eyes. “You’re family, Dylan. Don’t be a stranger.” His words are soft, meant only for me.
“I won’t,” I promise, giving him another quick hug before letting go.
With a final smile and nod at the guys, he heads back toward the rest of the team. Quite a few of them are watching us, and I wave their way. They call out or lift their drinks in greeting before I head toward the exit.
“Thorn,” Ethan murmurs in my ear as we step out into the cool Vermont night. “You’ve got some explaining to do.”
Fuck. How the hell do I talk my way out of this one without telling them who my dad is? What my legacy is?
“You gonna tell us how you knowthe Timberwolves?” Jax asks as soon as we’re in the car and on our way back to BSU.
“She doesn’t justknowthem,” Finn adds, turning around in the front passenger seat. His eyes dance with intrigue as they take me in. “She’s been to their practices.Playedwith them.” He’s practically gaping at me. “You realize that’s, like, every hockey player’s fantasy?”
I can feel Ethan’s gaze on me through the rearview mirror. All of them have been brimming with excitement, burning with questions, since we left Murphy’s. For the hundredth time, I curse myself for suggesting we go there. As great as it was to see Vince and the guys, I do not needthis—these questions I’m not ready to answer. Facts about my life I’m not ready to share. I’m not ready to see the pity in their eyes when they realize the Timberwolves player who went down hard after a brutal hit andan accidental slip of a skate—who lay motionless on the ice as he bled out, the crowd falling into stunned silence as his teammates rushed to him, as the medics skated out too late—was my dad.
“So?” Jax prods when I remain astutely quiet. “You going to tell us?”
“I wasn’t planning on it.”
Griffin chuffs a laugh beside me in the back seat.
“Seriously?” Finn grouses.
Internally sighing, I can’t meet any of their gazes when I say with more force than necessary, “My dad worked with the team, okay? He’d bring me along and let me watch their practices sometimes.” There’s a burn in my throat, one I know they all notice as I snap my gaze up, staring each of them down. “Happy?”
Murmured responses are echoed as Finn turns back in his seat, and Ethan turns up the radio. No one says a word the rest of the journey home.
Later that night, I’m sitting on my bed, a marketing textbook open in front of me. Griffin left as soon as we got back to campus, but I know he’ll be knocking at my window soon enough. Kyle is out, still, so my bedroom door is open, and I glance up when a large body fills it.
Ethan leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, as his eyes peruse my bedroom. His gaze pauses on the shelf of mugs.
“I told you how Patrick Callahan came to one of my summer camps once,” he says thoughtfully, focus intent on the shelf before slowly pulling his gaze to me. “He was all excited that day ’cause he was heading home to his daughter after being on the road for the past week.” My mouth goes drier than the Sahara. “He said he needed to make a stop on the way because he always brought her a gift when he was away—a mug from wherever he was traveling.”
I couldn’t formulate words even if I tried.
Ethan’s gaze holds mine, and I stare right back. I have no idea if my walls are in place or if I’m giving everything away. If he can read every line of torment in my face, or if it’s a blank slate.
“I think about her sometimes, after I’ve watched a Timberwolves game. Wonder where she is, what she’s doing, how she’s coping.”
My throat bobs, my swallow audible. There’s a fine tremor to my hands as I move to hide them between my legs.
