“Tournament?” The strangulation on my voice has increased tenfold, so the word barely escapes. “What tournament?”
“Didn’t he tell you about it?”
I snort. “He called me asking what the Ice Out was, that’s all.”
Coach’s brows lift. “He didn’t tell you about how he wants me to run the open practice like a tournament?”
“Nope.”
“Or how he thinks the Ice Out crowd should vote in their favorites?”
I roll my eyes. “He doesn’t tell me shit like that.”
“But . . .” Coach’s brows furrow deep in confusion. “He’s working with your daughter on all the publicity and communication—”
“What?” In a distant afterthought, I realize I’ve stood, shoved my chair backwards. “My daughter, as in Sydney?”
“Yes?” Coach’s brows have pulled so low they’ve built a shelf over his eyes. “He’s hiring people for the event planning and press coverage. I’m doing rosters. And Sydney’s in charge of social media—”
“Syd is working withJesse?” The world’s gone fuzzy around the edges, a tunnel vision of anger. My fists clench too tight.
Who the fuck does he think he is, dragging Syd into his bullshit? I know he’s out of touch, but shit.
“She’s got some really good ideas,” Coach says, and his voice sounds like it’s coming from very, very far away. Or maybe it’s because I’m already moving, walking, walking away.
The door claps closed behind me as I exit the office.
Chapter 33
Nat
Sydisn’tathome.Of course she’s not; she’s off with my estranged brother, which means she’s at our late father’s house. Because for some reason I cannot fathom, Jess still owns it.
I pace a lap across the kitchen of my townhouse.
Torn.
What do I do? Let this go? Wait for her to come home? But she’s withJesse. At Dad’s house. Talking Ice Out shit, which Jess is too removed from Day River to begin to understand.
Syd’s just a seventeen-year-old kid, excited about a new opportunity—she doesn’t understand it any more than he does.
No, I need to go to Dad’s old house. To a place I haven’t been in fourteen years, a place riddled with dark memories and lurking skeletons I buried long ago.
But in the end, the choice is clear. Syd’s at Dad’s house. So that’s where I need to be.
I crank the music in the Lexus as I merge onto the highway.
The house where Jess and I grew up lurks on the south side of town, in a quiet, slightly run-down neighborhood. Was a good place to grow up, lots of kids and lots of ponds. Like growing up with a hockey team.
I’d probably never have learned to skate otherwise.
Hell, I fucking loved it. Because it meant hockey any time. Weekends, after school, sometimes before it. We’d be at the pond, skates on our feet and sticks in hand. Ice in our hearts and hockey in our blood.
Was the only time I really felt whole. Alive. Seen. Like my life was going somewhere.
Driving through the old neighborhood now, not much has changed. That dry cleaner still sits on the corner, next to the nail salon and the Chinese restaurant. There’s the old hardware store, the local grocery. Gas station. McDonald’s. Then the houses: older, quiet, a little worn and rough around the edges.
It feels the same. It feels so different.
