Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
ISLA
The arena erupts into cheers, and up in the stands, I can see my dad, my mom, Nena, and Papa all jumping up and down, clapping obnoxiously because we just won.
Well, Mom and Dad jump; Nena and Papa more kind of …
bounce. Because in the last ten seconds, I blocked the shot that would have tied the game and put us into overtime.
I grin inside my helmet, knowing how proud my dad is right now.
This is the first game I’ve wanted them to come to because now that I have some time in front of the goal under my belt, I finally feel comfortable here.
I think he knew how nervous I was to take on this position, and yet he never doubted me.
Instead, like always, he reminded me how talented I was.
I pull my helmet off as my teammates come and smash their bodies into mine while screaming in pure excitement. But once they’re gone, I look at my parents again, who are now down in the aisle, beside the plexiglass, and I head over.
I don’t know why I ever cared to find out about my birth father. I have the best dad in the entire world right in front of me. He has never given me a reason to question his love. He’s never treated me any different than Saint, who is his blood.
Reaching the glass, I beam at all of them.
“We are so proud!” my grandmother squeals. “You’re amazing, Isla.”
“That was awesome, I!” Dad says proudly before he looks down at my jersey. “And I can’t get over that you asked to keep number nineteen, even with your new position.”
He stops talking, and my mom throws her arm around him, patting his stomach.
“No crying, Cam.” She giggles. “We had a deal.”
My dad gives her a look and shakes his head, but then wipes the back of his hand across his eyes.
“I’m not crying. I just … I got a piece of dust in my eye—that’s all.
” He pauses, sighing. “Fine. I’m crying, okay?
Can’t a man be proud of his daughter?” He looks at me.
“My God, you’re a star, kid. You may have not always played as a goalie, but you’ve proven that you’re more than deserving of the position. ”
“He’s right, babe,” my mom adds, her hair framing her face underneath her NEU beanie. She always loves the ones with the huge-ass pom-pom on the top.
“Damn right, he is,” Papa says, and I swear even his eyes are glossy.
It’s not like it’s my first college hockey game. I played last year too. But it’s the first time these four have seen me as a goalie in a college setting.
“Thank you, guys. I love you.” I glance over at the ice, seeing a lot of my team has left before looking back at my parents. “I have to go. Meet in the car in, like … twenty?”
“Yes, ma’am. Can we take you to dinner?” Dad asks.
“For sure.” I nod.
When he lifts his fist up, I do the same, and we fist-pump against the plexiglass before I turn and skate off toward the locker room.
The men’s hockey team had a game last night, and I can’t help but wonder how they did.
And no matter how much I want to hate Hendrix for being so cold last weekend, I keep imagining what it must feel like for him never to have any family in the stands, cheering him on.
I still believe that underneath his act, he’s just a broken boy. He’s a product of his upbringing, and now, he’s sabotaging everything good that comes his way because he doesn’t think he’s worthy.
I want to help him, but he made it pretty clear that he doesn’t want that. I have to be selfish right now. I have to take care of myself.
Even if he’s on my mind most of the time.
“So, you all ready for Uncle Brody’s fundraiser this weekend?” my mom asks, knowing damn well that not only am I not excited for it, but neither is my dad. Who, I know, is just going to end up bidding on a night with me so that no one else can do it.
“Yep, can’t wait,” I say, less than impressed because I know that Hendrix will be there—probably getting bid on by literally every woman in the place.
Every year, Brody hosts these event nights at different colleges. This year, NEU was chosen. But it couldn’t be a silent auction, dance competition, or ball, like other years. No, we have to get auctioned off like we’re freaking pieces of meat.
“You seem off, honey,” my mom says, eyeing me over after Dad and Papa go to talk to a few guys at the bar. “Everything okay?”
Twirling my straw in my water, I give her a subtle bob of my head. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired.”
“You sure that’s all it is?” She dips her head forward, making our eyes meet. “You can tell me anything, Isla. I hope you know that.”
I stare at my mom for a second before looking over my shoulder, making sure the guys are still chatting.
Lucky for me, I should have plenty of time to catch them up because both men love to talk.
But I’m not sure I want to tell my mom. And I’m really not sure I want to tell Nena.
It all sounds so stupid and immature when I think about how rough I’m taking this whole thing with Hendrix.
We never even dated. We’ve only hung out a few times. I don’t know why I care so much.
“I can go if you want to talk to your mom alone, baby,” my grandmother says, putting her hand over mine. “I won’t be offended.”
I smile, shaking my head. “No, Nena, it’s okay. I don’t mind if you hear too.” I blow out a long, dramatic breath before looking at my mom. “Though, for the record, who said I needed to talk about something?”
She gives me a you can’t be serious look. “I know you, Isla. You’re my daughter, and it’s kind of my job to know when something is up with you.”
I stare blankly at her, chewing my cheek.
“Okay, if you’re not going to tell me, how about I guess?” she whispers. “You liked that Hunt boy, and something has happened between you?”
“Why would it matter if I liked him or not? Dad would have ruined it for me anyway.” I slouch down, dropping my voice to a whisper. “So, it’s probably for the best that he ended things first. It wasn’t going to work anyway.”
“Dad just worries—that’s all,” she says, nudging my grandmother. “Nena knows all about protective dads with their daughters. Right, Mom?”
She laughs, taking a sip from her Diet Coke.
“Oh, do I ever.” Her shoulders shake. “Did you know that Papa actually kicked your dad off the ice once when he found out he was seeing your mom?” She laughs harder, shaking her head.
“My Lord, I’ve never seen that man so pissed in his life as he was when he got home that day. ”
“I did hear something about that,” I say, smiling at my mom. “You were brave to go against Papa. He’s kind of scary sometimes.”
My grandmother’s hand pats mine. “When it comes to you and your mother, he’s actually a squishy marshmallow. He just tries to act tough from time to time.”
While I appreciate all of this, I know that Hendrix has issues much deeper than my dad ever had. Dad might have had a reputation around campus for being Brooks University’s very own puck boy, but Hendrix has issues that I don’t think I can help with.
“So, tell me about this boy you like,” my grandmother says, seeming genuinely curious. “What’s he like?”
Mean. Angry. A tad stalkerish. A little psychotic. Was sent to juvie for God knows what. Has a huge dick. Knows how to use his tongue. An extreme dirty talker.
The list of the things I can’t say might be longer than the one that I can. But for my grandmother, I try.
“Well, he’s on the hockey team. He’s a defenseman—a really good one.” My throat burns slightly, so I take a drink of my water. “He has no family. His mom died when he was a kid, and his father is a monster.”
My mom and grandmother stay silent, almost like they’re waiting for me to say more when, finally, their eyes widen, and they nod frantically.
“Well, he sounds … great,” my mom says, eyes still wide. “So … what is it you like about him?”
I frown, fidgeting anxiously with my straw paper.
“To be honest, I don’t really know,” I say. “I just …” I sigh. “Never mind.”
“What is it, babe?” my mom whispers.
“Nothing,” I murmur. “It really doesn’t matter anyway. What’s done is done, and it’s over. Dad can relax now.”
“Where did you meet him?” Nena asks. “At NEU or before you transferred here?”
I swallow nervously. For so long, I’ve wanted to tell my mom the truth. Maybe it’s because my emotions are high after everything that’s been going on—or not going on—with Hendrix, but I suddenly feel the urge to spill my guts about it all.
Okay, maybe not every single detail, but … some things.
“I met him at that hockey camp in New Hampshire,” I finally mutter, playing with my straw. “He was sort of a dick. Well, at least at first.”
“Eh, sometimes, they are.” Nena shrugs. “But then he got better?”
I chew my lip nervously. The words are right on the tip of my tongue, but how am I going to say them?
Slowly, my eyes meet my mom’s. “He was a jerk until he found me in a closet, having a panic attack.” I blurt the words out before I can stop myself. A restaurant setting probably isn’t the place for this conversation, but if I don’t get them all out now, I may never.
“What?” my mom whispers, her eyebrows pulling together. “What happened? Were there … loud noises?”
My mom knows that the only times I’ve had a panic attack were when there were sounds that my brain interpreted as gunshots. And all of those times, she was either with me, or I told her.
“No.” I look down, still fiddling nervously with the paper from my straw.
“What was it, I?” Nena says, worried.
Slowly, my eyes lift to both of them.
“It was Nick Pelletier,” I utter, hating that saying the name hurts my chest. This man should have no effect on me, and yet, somehow, he does.
Their eyes fly to each other before looking back at me, and my mom’s face crumples.
“You … you know who Nick is?”
Bobbing my head up and down pathetically, I sigh. “Yeah. I … had a friend do some digging.”
“Why?” she whispers sadly. “You can always ask me, Isla. Always.”