Page 113 of Racking Up Penalties
“And we can present them with your portfolio,” Ethan chimes in, already scrolling through his contacts. “Highlight your recent pieces—show them exactly what they’d be investing in.”
“Plus, we’ve got social media,” Liam adds, a note of excitement in his voice. “A strong online campaign could attract the right attention.”
“Okay,” I say, nodding vigorously, buoyed by their ideas and energy. “We’ll create a buzz, get people talking. Make it so they come to us.”
“Let’s do it,” Tristan agrees, his blue eyes meeting mine with an intensity that sends a jolt of courage straight to my core.
“Let’s make it happen,” Ethan echoes, his previous anger now channeled into a fierce determination that mirrors my own.
With their ideas taking shape, hope begins to flicker brighter within me. Together, maybe we really can turn this setback into a stepping stone toward success.
Chapter 49
The buzz of my phone cuts through the silence of my room while I’m studying. I glance at the caller ID but the number flashing on the screen isn’t one I recognize. Yet something about the area code tugs at my memory.
“Hello?”
“Is this Ethan Matthews?” The voice is weathered by time but warm, striking an unexpected chord within me.
“Speaking.” My response comes out guarded, muscles tensing.
“Ethan, it’s your grandfather, Harold. And your grandmother, Edith, is here too.”
A flux of emotions sweeps over me—surprise, disbelief, a trickle of something that might be happiness or might be pain. It’s been years since we spoke, a chasm of silence left in the wake of family feuds and pride.
“Grandpa… Wow, it’s been a long time. How—how did you find me?”
“Son, we’ve always known where to find you. It was never about that. We’ve wanted to see you for so long, and now we’re in town. Could we meet? There’s so much we need to say.”
A hesitant pause hangs between us, a crackling void filled with the weight of a thousand unasked questions. I’m not sure what to feel, let alone say. My mind races, replaying years of longing masked as indifference. All those missed birthdays, holidays, milestones—my high school graduation without them in the stands, the countless hockey games played to silent bleachers where they should have been cheering.
“Sure,” I manage finally, my voice steadier than I feel. “That would be—yeah, that would be good.”
“Thank you, Ethan. We’ll be at the Elm Street Bistro at 1 PM tomorrow. Does that work for you?”
“Tomorrow, 1 PM. Got it.” I confirm, even though a part of me wants to run from this, skate until the ice melts and I can’t feel anything.
“Great. We’re looking forward to it. So much.”
“Me too,” I lie, half-truth at best, and hang up before the conversation can turn into something more complicated.
I sit there, phone still in hand, feeling the aftershocks of the call ripple through me. My chest tightens, a mix of anticipation and dread making my breaths come short. I need someone to ground me, someone whose presence is as calming as the steady rhythm of skates on the ice. Tessa.
Grabbing my keys, I leave my room, taking the stairs two at a time and driving across campus until I reach Tessa’s door. She swings it open before my fist even falls, her hazel eyes bright, hair cascading around her shoulders like autumn leaves in a sunbeam.
“Hey, Tess,” I say, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes. “You got a minute?”
“Of course! What’s up?” Her voice is a melody that somehow makes everything seem okay, even when it’s not.
“Got a call from my grandparents. They want to meet tomorrow. After all these years.” My words tumble out, raw and unpolished, but with Tessa, I don’t need to hide behind a façade of confidence.
“Wow, Ethan, that’s huge! Are you okay?” She steps closer, her concern palpable.
“Will you—would you come with me? For support?” I ask, trying to keep my voice casual despite the vulnerability clawing at my throat.
“Absolutely. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Tessa’s smile is soft, reassuring, a life raft in a sea of uncertainty. “We’ll face this together.”
“Thanks, baby girl,” I murmur, gratitude lacing my tone.
