Page 29 of Say It Isn't Snow
Elijah
You might not be able to say anything about the press release your team made glossing over the situation, but the girl you helped made a post on her social media. It’s being shared everywhere. The truth will come out that you weren’t beating up your teammate in a drunken bar brawl like they’re trying to spin it. Word’s already spreading amongst other plays in the league. All the guys on my team are just as pissed for you.
Dad
What’s this got to do with a girl?
Caleb
One of my younger teammates was putting his hands on her when she was saying no. I put an end to it.
Dad
I see. I’m proud of you for doing the right thing, son. What does this have to do with you leaving the team?
Caleb
The kid’s family has money and swept it all under the rug. I got the boot because the media was already reporting about the fight he started with me for stepping in.
Mom
That’s horrible. It isn’t right.
Layla
Wow, what the hell? How can they get away with that?
Elijah
Money is power.
Layla
I hate this.
Caleb
It fucking sucks, but just ignore the media and don’t talk to anyone weird that emails or calls you. Trevon’s got it handled for me and so does his legal team. I don’t want to play for a team that keeps a piece of trash like Chet on their roster, anyway.
Layla
True. I’m gonna make a fake account to troll him hard.
I read a text Elijah sends me separately from the group chat saying he’ll personally pull a penalty against Chet at his game scheduled against Seattle after the Christmas break. A smirk twists my lips. The baby brother who followed after me in everything my entire life all the way to the NHL is the one fighting my battles now.
Ready to retreat back to my bubble with Holly, I shut the world out again by pushing my phone between the couch cushions. My attention shifts to her dancing around the kitchen and writing notes on her tablet.
I amble over and brace my hands on the island next to her. She doesn’t look up from writing a note on the sketch of one of her pastries on her tablet.
“You’ve been baking up a storm,” I say.
“You know, at first I thought this sucked. I don’t like sitting still and being snowed in feels like I’m trapped in place. But actually?” She stops writing to turn a beaming expression on me that steals my breath. “This isn’t so bad. I’m getting so much work done! Usually I squeeze the seasonal menu changes in between custom orders or late at night. But I planned out the entire next year!”
“Impressive. If you’re ahead, we should get out of here,” I suggest.
She laughs as she swipes through her sketched recipes. “And go where? The cars are out of commission still. I don’t think we’d get far on foot.”
“When I was clearing out the shed for Greta, I found the old sleds.” I squeeze her shoulders and give her a teasing shake. “What do you say? Race me down the hill like we used to?”
