Breaking the Glass (HEAU Hockey Legends #3)

Chapter 1

“Blow out your candles, Ciri, and make a wish,” my sweet father coos before kissing the top of my head. “Anything can come true if you will it with enough spirit. Or a fairy godmother deems it so.” He smiles and coughs, quickly quieting it. “Remember that.”

Gathering as much air into my lungs as possible, I still, running my wish through my mind, desperate for it to come true.

I wish that my dad and I will always have each other.

As I open my eyes, I expel the air, controlled and aimed at the candles, extinguishing every one. A tendril of smoke drifts up into the air from each smothered flame.

My father claps, pure glee stretched in his smile as I glance up at him, and he murmurs, “Happy birthday, my angel. I love you.”

Warmth blossoms through my chest. “I love you too.”

“Time for presents!” he cheers, way too excited to watch me open up gifts, before he disappears into the living room.

He’s always made such a fuss about my birthday, and I love him for it, but I always remind him that it’s not necessary. I already have everything I could want.

It doesn’t matter though. I know this is as much for him as it is for me, even if he doesn’t realize that.

While he’s ecstatic to celebrate all things me on my special day, there’s a heaviness in his gaze because he knows my mom should be here to party with us too.

If it brings him happiness to go all out, then it makes me happy too.

As he rushes over to me, his slippers pad across the wood floor, his arms full of presents balancing on top of one another. “Better hurry. Your friends will be here soon.”

That reminds me of the party we’re hosting tonight for my classmates. My gaze is pulled to the gold-and-white balloon arch covering the entrance of the room, cascading all the way down to two giant gold balloons resting on the floor that read 11.

“Thank you, Dad.” I grin up at him as he chaotically plops the perfectly wrapped gifts on the dining table.

Kindness rolls off of him in waves. “You deserve the world, Cirella. Never forget.”

“I won’t,” I promise him, lifting my hand up and sticking my pinkie finger out.

He takes mine with his, and we hook our fingers and lock the promise into place—an unbreakable bond.

A strange woman’s voice echoes down the hall and into the room, a sharp, poised tone. “Hello? Is anyone there?”

My dad doesn’t jump or act startled, like he knew she was coming. “In here, Adrianna!”

Adrianna?

A woman with long, dark hair, straightened to a T, shiny and thick, strolls into the room like the floor rises to meet each step. My stomach tightens, but I ignore the sensation, unsure what it means.

She’s smiling, big and bright, and my shoulders soften. Her gaze drops from my dad to me, and I smile politely.

“Happy birthday, Cirella. It’s so lovely to meet you! I have heard all the best things. You’re so bright and beautiful.”

“Thank you. It’s great to meet you too.” My voice is steady and sweet.

“Ciri, this is Adrianna. She is a friend of mine, and she’ll be the official host of your party tonight,” my dad informs me, offering a chair to his friend.

I may only be eleven, but I’m maturer than people expect. One of my greatest strengths is detail—noticing and dissecting.

It doesn’t take a genius to see that there is affection between them. I can see it in their stares and their posture.

I may not want a stepmother. But if it means my dad can find happiness again, then I’m all aboard.

“Thank you for helping us.” I flash another smile.

Her face lights up, and she clasps her hands, tucking them to her chest. “It’s my honor, sweetie.”

A cough tears through the room from my dad, who stumbles from the force, raising a handkerchief to his mouth as he walks from the room, excusing himself. “I’m going to get a drink.”

And now we’re all alone …

Adrianna is studying me, an intensity to her gaze that I don’t quite understand. “Are you excited for your party? To celebrate with all of your best friends!”

“Yeah,” I exhale, lying.

My best friend is my dad. That’s how it’s always been. I have friends at school, ones who are coming tonight, but I don’t think they’re coming solely for our friendship, more so to attend a lavish birthday party.

I often think I’m far more their friend than they are mine. I’d rather the night just be my dad and me playing Mario Kart in the game room downstairs, devouring popcorn and ice cream.

But this is tradition, throwing an over-the-top private birthday party—or at least, it has been since my mom passed six years ago. So, a party it is.

“Good. A girl like you deserves to be”—she struggles to find her final word—“celebrated.”

That same uneasiness that gnawed at me earlier returns. But I brush it aside. She seems nice and has given me no reason to distrust her.

“Besides, a house like this should be seen. Cherished. Just like the pretty art hanging on the walls, it’s far too exquisite to be kept hidden. Beautiful things should be doted on and spoiled with attention.”

“Right,” I murmur uncomfortably, adjusting in my seat.

A gut feeling—that’s what this is.

Something isn’t quite right with her and the things she’s saying. I just can’t put my finger on it.

Maybe I’m being too harsh because of the way my dad was looking at her. Maybe I don’t want him to move on from my mom just yet or try to replace her. Maybe I just want to spend my birthday alone.

“You’re very pretty,” I tell her, trying to fill the silence.

She smirks. “Thank you.” Studying me, she softly grabs my chin, tilting my head up and turning it side to side. “We can get you there. With time and a little help.”

I wasn’t really asking for that, and I like to think I’m pretty in my own unique ways. “O-okay.”

I’m not sure what else to say.

Thankfully, I don’t have to come up with anything because my dad walks back into the room right as the doorbell rings. Our guests are here.

Somehow, in the span of my five minutes, my entire view on the party has changed because here I am, excited for it if it means I can get away from Adrianna.

“I’ll get it!” I pop up from my seat, pulling my face from her grasp, and rush out of the room.

“She’s so excited!” I hear my dad whisper behind me, and my heart warms all over again.

Maybe the party won’t be so bad after all.

Unfortunately, the night proves all of my worries true, especially when my future stepmom accidentally spills my birthday cake all over me when she trips, plastering my face with buttercream.

After a lot of tears and an outfit change later, I rejoin the party, having a decent time the rest of the night.

Eventually, everyone goes home, and I finally have my house and my dad to myself. But then Adrianna returns moments after her goodbye, a duffel bag in her hand.

She’s staying the night, and in the worst turn of events, she stays the night after that, and the next, and the next.

Days turn to weeks, which turn to months.

In the blink of an eye, she becomes a permanent part of my life, and when my birthday rolls around the following year, I even get a gift I’m not expecting …

No party.

I should’ve been ecstatic. I didn’t really enjoy them anyway. But knowing it was Adrianna who suggested it only hurts my feelings—something she will come to do more frequently over time.

There are two versions of Adrianna that exist—the one my father sees and the one that only appears when he’s not looking.

It isn’t until my father gets sick that she lets her true self really show. Never in front of him, of course. The mask only comes off when he’s out of sight.

The personality reserved for me is far crueler than anything my dad sees. It was gradual at first, like the comment on my eleventh birthday about making me as pretty as her with help and time. Little jabs to bring me down a notch.

The harshness of her words come in waves, beating me into the rocks before giving me a split second to catch my breath. But right when I think I can paddle against the current, I’m swept back under all over again.

“Your father is so disappointed in who you’re becoming, Cirella.”

“You’re weak, broken, a child.”

“A waste of space.”

“God, you can’t even clean dishes properly.”

“No one will ever want you as a wife.”

“You can’t even take care of yourself.”

“No wonder your father is sick. He can’t stand to be around you anymore. Hopefully, I’m next.”

I can’t do anything right, ever, no matter how exactly I follow her instructions.

But her verbal scolds and lashings eventually reach a boiling point and find tangible, physical outlets—always in the form of a slap, a trip, or a shove of my shoulder.

The first time it happened, she cried and begged for my forgiveness, and I did, accepting her tears.

Just as her verbal abuse has worsened over the last several months, so have her temper and the speed of her hand to my cheek anytime I speak a word she doesn’t like.

But even more unfortunate than anything else in my life thus far was when I discovered that my dad was holding a life-altering secret close to his chest the night of my eleventh birthday party. One that he was forced to tell me when he collapsed that very night.

He’s sick … incurable, and the clock is rapidly running out. We were only lucky enough to have another year together, a year I will always cherish.

Instead of spending the day after my twelfth birthday playing with presents or relaxing, I’m spending it in my dad’s room, where he’s been deteriorating, fading away more and more these past months from the man I’ve always known.

It’s odd how your brain can numb every cell in your body in a time of crisis. No emotion. No pain. Nothing.

I should be crying. I should be bawling my eyes out until not a drop of moisture remains … but here I am, without a frown on my face, holding my father’s hand as he clings on to life, each passing second taking him further from me.