Page 138 of Stick It
Something shifts in her expression, understanding settling in. Finding a modicum of self-restraint, she nibbles on her bottom lip, staring at me with wide eyes full of questions.
I chuckle, gesturing toward her. “You can ask.”
She flashes me a grin. “So why change your name to Carter? When?”
I nod, running my fingers along the seam of my sweatshirt. I showered and changed as soon as I managed to stem the flow of tears that just wouldn’t stop after I arrived. “When I started college. I wanted to carve out my own career, my own legacy. If I kept my dad’s name, I’d never just be Dylan. I’d always be Patrick Callahan’s daughter.”
Wren’s face softens, something that looks like understanding flashing in her eyes. “That make sense, and honestly? That’s badass.”
A warmth blooms in my chest. “Thanks.”
She’s quiet for a moment before she speaks again, “Since we’re sharing truths…” She glances my way, her lower lip caught between her teeth. “I don’t think I ever told you my last name.”
I arch a brow, confused as to where she’s going with this.
“It’s Winslow.” I just blink at her, clearly not getting whatever it is she’s trying to say. “As in theAtlantic City SerpentsWinslow.”
My mouth falls open. My jaw hits the ground.
I splutter, at a loss for words. “Are you telling me your familyownan NHL team?”
Her face scrunches before she nods.
“Holy shit…and you saidIwas hockey royalty?”
She scoffs. “You are. I’m like…management royalty. Ownership royalty?” She tilts her head in consideration before shrugging. “Whatever. My family could own anything, it just so happens to be a hockey team. Your dad—you—actually play the sport. Ergo, you areproperhockey royalty.”
I shake my head, struggling to fathom whythatis what we’re hung up on right now.
“Is that why you’re so into hockey? Because of your parents?”
She shrugs. “I mean, I guess so. I grew up surrounded by it. My brother is actually a rookie on the team this year, but that’s not why I love it.”
I nod, understanding. We’re the same. We grew up surrounded by the sport, but that constant availability doesn’t foster love. You could grow up in our shoes and end up hating the sport. Loving it is something more. It’s ingrained in you. It’s in your blood. In your very soul. It’s a part of you that you can’t deny.
“Well, holy crap. I was not expecting that,” I say, collapsing back on the sofa, stunned.
“I don’t tell many people,” she admits, not looking at me. “People get funny when they find out who I am—who my family is.”
“Yeah.” Reaching over, I squeeze her hand. “Your secret is safe with me.”
She gives me a veryWrengrin. “Ditto, babe.”
I chuckle, the two of us falling into silence.
“Is it hard? Being here, at BSU—his alma mater?” she eventually asks, voice soft.
I think about it, letting the question settle in my bones. Then, finally, I shake my head. “No. It feels right. Like I was always meant to end up here. Going to NSU was part of me creating my own path, but…now, I kinda wish I’d been here from the start. He would’ve loved to see me in Steelhawks colors, wearing his old jersey.
She squeezes my hand, her fingers warm and reassuring. “I bet he’s looking down on you. Pumping a fist every time you show up one of the guys on the ice.”
A laugh breaks free, but there’s a lump in my throat, thesting of grief not as sharp as it used to be but still there, still woven into me. “Yeah. Maybe.”
She squeezes my hand again. “Definitely.”
And for the first time in a long time, I let myself believe it.
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