Chapter 3 - Hunter
13 YEARS OLD
L ife has been crazy lately with hockey practice. The older I get, the more demanding the team becomes. I practice every day at five in the morning, which seems a bit excessive for a thirteen-year-old, but my mom doesn’t seem to mind. Instead, she’s glad to take me. I’ve always told her my dream is to play in the NHL, and she’s been supportive of that. She does what she can to make sure I can achieve that dream. Whether that’s working overtime to afford my season and gear or waking up every day at four in the morning to get me ready for practice and then school. Some parents leave and then return to pick up their kids, but not her. She stays on the bleachers with her computer and answers emails.
“Lilo and Stitch,” the movie, is playing on the TV, and my eyes burn as I try to continue to watch it. Ollie is draped over my lap, his head resting comfortably on my chest. I’m bigger than him now, probably from all the food I constantly eat. I’m always hungry after playing hockey, and even though he’s not small, our size difference is becoming more noticeable.
My arms wrap tighter around him, and I shut my eyes momentarily. I must twitch or something because Ollie immediately chuckles and pulls back. His blue eyes are wide and dilated as he looks at me, and I smile. He looks so pretty, with his dark hair tousled all over his head, and I tear my gaze away as my stomach clenches painfully.
Why does that only happen with him?
“Are you tired?” Ollie asks me, his voice barely above a whisper.
I nod slowly, “Yeah.”
Ollie grabs my hand and intertwines our fingers, and I squeeze him tightly until he winces. It makes me smile, but I loosen my grip and just hold him instead. He rubs his nose against my cheek, and when he turns his head, I kiss his temple softly.
“Boys don’t kiss like that,” Conrad, my stepdad, says. It makes me slightly wince. Ollie and I have always been affectionate, which has never been a problem. Though I guess the older we get, the weirder it looks. I never used to care so much about what he thought, but now that it’s been a few years of having a father figure, I want to be on his good side. It feels nice to have someone who cares about me. And yet…
“He’s my baby brother,” I snap.
“Hey! We have the same birthday,” Ollie protests, and I smile.
“I was born first.”
There’s a moment of silence, and our dad sighs. It’s a tired sound, and I narrow my eyes at him. He wipes a hand down his face slowly and looks over at me with pleading eyes. I know exactly what he wants, so I put a very annoyed Ollie on the couch next to me, letting him drape his legs over my lap instead.
“Thank you,” Dad says, and Mom rolls her eyes.
“Yep,” is all I answer, turning my head to watch the movie once more.
Ollie grabs my hand again, and I don’t reject him. I don’t have it in my heart to do so, not after I put him on the couch. So I just loosely hold his hand and close my eyes, letting him burrow closer to my side. Once we’re flush with each other, I let myself fall asleep.