Chapter 2
TWO
ISLA
Over a hundred of us gather in the field house as Rick, the man who organized this entire camp, stands in front of us. We’ve known all week that the last day of this camp wasn’t going to be in the arena, but instead in this huge field house. We just didn’t know why.
“We have some surprise guests here today,” Rick announces, clasping his hands together. “Players, coaches, scouts, and other people who have made a name for themselves in the sport traveled to be able to meet with you all.”
He names off person after person, and the girls—including myself—erupt into cheers when a few of our all-time biggest idols for female players walk out and wave.
My heart races with excitement because even though I’ve been very blessed to meet a lot of important people in the industry, I’ve never gotten a chance to meet some who were brought here.
“Next, we have Nick Pelletier.” Rick keeps talking, rattling off all of Nick’s accomplishments, but I can no longer hear anything he’s saying.
The only noise in my ears is the sound of my own heart pumping, and my blood runs cold.
Without being able to stop myself, I stare at a man who I’m not supposed to know I have any connection to.
The coaches each shake his hand, and his gaze sweeps around the arena, looking at all the players.
But when he gets to me, I turn slightly in attempt to hide my face.
Still, I feel his gaze on me for a moment or two before, finally, it’s gone.
But even when I no longer feel the sensation of him looking my way, I still can’t breathe.
I peek subtly at the man who has now moved off to the side, next to the string of those who were announced before him, and I fight back whatever this feeling in my gut is. I can’t even decipher if it’s anger, sadness, or something else. All I know is, I hate it.
I’m not supposed to know that the man with the huge-ass ego who just strutted in, acting like he owned the place, is my biological father.
I’ve never wanted to hurt my mom or my dad by asking questions.
I never wanted my dad to feel like he wasn’t enough for me because that was never it.
It wasn’t about that. It was about wondering where I’d actually come from.
Or who I’d come from. So, against my better judgement, I looked into my biological father myself.
And I’m not sure I’ll ever understand how he went on to have a wife and kids that he seems to be so proud of after not once acknowledging my existence …
and maybe that’s okay. But I know one thing: if my parents knew he was going to be making a surprise appearance here, they wouldn’t have ever let me come.
Nick played four years of college hockey and went on to coach multiple high school and college teams before finally landing a head coach position for a major NHL team.
Dad played so many seasons for the Boston Bruins before he retired a few years ago. Which means we likely all crossed paths with Nick and my parents just kept it secret.
When Brody O’Brien struts in, tears so badly ache to spill from my eyes as I fight the urge to run up and hug him, knowing it would help this sickening feeling taking over my body right now.
But when I look at Brody, his eyes dart from Nick’s to mine, and he quickly tries to plaster on his typical grin, though he fails miserably.
“So, we’re going to let you all mingle for a while, and then later, we’ll be taking groups to the arena,” Rick says, smiling proudly before he walks toward the crowd, leaving us all to our own devices.
And before I even have a moment to digest anything, Brody is headed right for me. I have no doubt he can read me like a book and knows that I just saw my birth father for the first time in my life while knowing who he is.
“Hey, kiddo,” Brody drawls, throwing his arm around me. “How are you doing?”
I hug him back, my entire body shaking as I swallow down the emotion threatening to come out.
“How do you think I am?” I whisper, stepping back from him, nearly choking on the words. And when his eyes fly to mine, wide and nervous, I shrug. “Yeah, I know who he is, Brody.” I glance past Brody, looking at Nick. “Unfortunately.”
Brody O’Brien is a lot of things, but uncomfortable isn’t usually one of them.
He’s the dude who’s always got a shit-eating grin plastered on his face, but right now, the few wrinkles around his eyes appear deeper in this moment.
He’s been like an uncle to me for most of my life, and I’m sure he doesn’t know what to say or do.
“Isla,” he whispers, putting his hand on my shoulder and giving it a squeeze, “how long have you known that tool bag is your father?”
My eyes float upward as Nick talks to a few guys—among them, Hendrix—and I sigh.
“A little over a year,” I mutter. “I got curious, so I did some digging.” I look back up at Brody. “Please don’t tell my parents. Dad will get sad. He’ll think that he isn’t enough or something.”
Brody’s expression is pained. “You want me to keep something from Cam?” He grimaces. “Isla, he’s my best friend. And if you’re hurting, trust me, he’d want to know. He loves you more than anything in the world and—”
“I know.” The two words rush from my lips as a whisper-hiss, and I push my frizzy blonde hair away from my face.
“I know all of that. I just don’t want it to become a whole thing.
My parents have spent my entire life making sure that I don’t …
you know, have issues because of that guy over there. I don’t want them to worry—that’s all.”
His eyes stay on mine, and he pinches the bridge of his nose.
For a man covered in tattoos, he’s a softy with a big heart.
But he’s right; he is my dad’s best friend, and they tell each other everything.
Asking him to keep this from him isn’t right.
But my dad’s feelings will get hurt, and I don’t want that.
Finally, he sighs before wrapping me up in a bear hug. “I don’t like this, I. Not one bit,” he says against my hair. “If you need anything, you make sure you call me. All right?”
“I will.” I nod against his shoulder, catching Hendrix staring us down.
He doesn’t smirk or seem amused. Instead, his eyes just look blank, and eventually, I pull back and look up at Brody again. I’m sure I’ll get taunted for this later—because just like everyone thinks my dad has given me all the connections, they’ll now think the same about Brody.
“Go on.” He grins, jerking his chin up. “There are a lot of people in this field house who’ve been dying to meet the infamous Isla Hardy.”
Right away, my eyes roll before I can stop them.
“And why would that be?” I lift a brow. “To ask me about my dad and all of my uncles?” I cringe.
“A girl, my age, asked me if you and Bria were having marital issues because she wanted to climb you like a tree.” I pretend to gag.
“And when I said no, she asked about Uncle Link and Tate and called him a DILF.”
He stands a little taller, bobbing his head up and down. “That’s right. I still got it, I.”
I smack him lightly against the chest, and he chuckles before growing stern.
“I’m serious. If you need anything—if seeing him is too much for you—just tell me, okay?”
“I know,” I whisper. “Now, go talk to some aspiring young athletes, would ya? If you stand over here too much longer, people are going to think I’m trying to hit on you to get further ahead. And that’s just gross.”
Barking out a laugh, he winks before turning and wandering off. The second he’s gone, I’m hit with the reality that my biological father is ten feet away from me; my chest begins to tighten, and I feel like I may throw up.
My entire life, I’ve fought off the feeling that something is wrong with me. How could it not be when my own flesh and blood has never even acknowledged my existence?
When Nick is headed straight toward me, I stand here, frozen to the spot, like my feet are cemented to the ground.
His eyes lock with mine, and the closer he gets, the more I see traits of myself in him.
I don’t know what I’m going to say if he comes over here.
Maybe he’ll tell me he’s been dying to meet me but never found the time.
Or was scared. I have no idea, but I’m about to find out.
He’s two feet in front of me now, and I know that this moment is going to change my entire life—and not necessarily for the better.
For my whole childhood, he was someone without a face, someone I felt guilty for thinking about.
But then, once I put a face to his name, it became this deep-rooted ache inside of me as I wondered who the hell he was.
And now … he’s here. Not on a computer screen, where I’m reading and scrolling through his information, but actually here.
But just before he gets to me, his eyes dart past my head, and he walks around me like I’m a ghost. Like I don’t even exist.
Because in his world … I don’t.
My heart pumps faster, and my nostrils flare as I fight off the sick feeling threatening to make me embarrass myself in front of this entire room of people.
Without thinking twice, I force my legs to carry me toward the exit, blowing past anyone who may or may not want to talk to me. I need to get out of this room. I need to get away from him.
I push the door open and walk into the hallway, passing the vending machines and water fountain.
He looked right at me and still … didn’t stop.
My chest grows even tighter, and the tears spring to my eyes now, no keeping them inside. Everyone already thinks I’m privileged because of my last name—I’m not going to be known as the crybaby too.
Quickly, I stop in front of a door and shove my hand against it, stepping into the utility closet and flicking the light on. It’s dim as hell, but I don’t care. I need to be by myself right now so I can fall the hell apart in a place where no one can judge me or call me weak.