Chapter 6
Chapter Six
NATHAN
The last time I saw Riley Carter, she was this scrawny little girl with braces, acne, and two frizzy pigtails running down her shoulders.
Bossy and annoying.
That’s how I’d describe her.
“Riley Carter!” The guy with the microphone booms.
He’s staring right at the woman who took off like Cinderella from my arms.
That’s Riley Carter?
My Riley Carter?
Braces and acne and little shy smiles Riley Carter?
Riley does a brief, awkward wave and dodges the spotlight the way she’s been dodging me around town.
And it hits me then.
That’s why she’s been avoiding me. Riley thought I’d recognize her if we crossed paths, but I had her right in my arms, right up against my face, and nothing registered.
To be fair, she looks nothing like she did when she was younger. I mean… I’ve never seen Riley Carter as a woman.
Which feels kind of creepy to even think.
Riley Carter?
A woman?
Worse yet, a woman I felt an attraction to?
Blah! I want to wash my eyes out.
Why didn’t she tell me who she was?
The thoughts swirling in my head are giving me a headache and the noise from the crowd is making matters worse. I glance around, expecting people to start throwing tomatoes at me.
You were hitting on your best friend’s little sister? Gross, dude!
But no one is looking my way.
There’s something more exciting to pay attention to. Darkness has taken over the sky and the adults are taking over the go-cart races.
More and more drinkers are gathering to watch.
The go-cart engines rumble as the attendants turn up the speed.
Money passes hands.
Things are steadily becoming rowdier.
I leave the fair and drive home. In the silence of my car, I try to make sense of this insane discovery.
Riley Carter.
Here.
In Lucky Falls.
Isn’t she an airplane repair technician? As far as I know there are no airports in Lucky Falls. There isn’t even a big chain grocery store. Is it possible there’s a private air strip here? Or maybe she’s on vacation?
Ridiculous.
Who’d vacation in a small town like Lucky Falls?
There must be some other reason.
And does Chris know?
The thought occurs that the siblings might be playing some kind of prank on me. That’s the only explanation for Riley’s strange behavior.
I park my car in front of the large gates that lead to my rental. Rather than open the gate and roll into the driveway, I call Chris right away.
He answers after the second ring. “Campbell Chicken Noodle! What’s up, bro?”
In the background, I hear a light ‘popping’ sound, like plastic hitting a table.
“You still play ping pong?” I ask.
“Yeah. We’re entering a tournament.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Trying to make it to the big leagues like you, bro.”
I snort. Chris played hockey with me all through school, but he didn’t have the obsession with the sport like I did. In fact, he decided to study psychology, claiming he was tired of getting bruises and wanted to ‘use his brain’. Whatever that means.
I resist the urge to catch up with him because there are bigger matters to discuss. “Chris, did you know about Riley?”
“Know what?”
I pause, weighing the sincerity of his tone. “You really don’t know?”
“Know what?”
“Where she is right now?”
Chris sounds affronted. “Don’t tell me she’s keeping in touch with you while ignoring calls from her big brother?”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him that I saw Riley in Lucky Falls, but something stops me. Maybe my frontal cortex is reaching maximum development or maybe it’s a sixth sense, but I somehow get the feeling that I shouldn’t be the one to spill the beans.
“Where did you see her?” Chris demands.
I clear my throat. “Online. On her profile. She was with some guy.”
“She was?” Chris makes a huffing sound. “The kid tells me nothing. I didn’t even know she was dating.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t know if he was a boyfriend or anything.” Sweat pops out on the back of my neck. I hate lying to my best friend.
“It better not be,” Chris warns.
“What do you mean?”
“She keeps picking bozos who don’t treat her right. I’ve lost all trust in her ability to choose decent boyfriends. At this point, she’d be better off a nun.”
I gulp. “I’m sure there’s some guy who’d treat her right.”
“No one is good enough for my baby sister.”
“No one?”
“Nope. Not even you, Campbell. I know too much.” He laughs.
“Me and Riley would never be a thing. It’s not something you have to worry about,” I say quickly. A little too quickly.
“Oh, I know you and Riley wouldn’t ever—“ He snorts like the thought is ridiculous. “You made sure of that.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Remember that journal we found—”
My dashboard lights up with another call.
I stiffen. “Just a sec. It’s my agent.”
“Sure, man. Do what you gotta do.”
I hang up on my best friend and answer my agent’s call.
“Hey, Renea,” I say as a foreboding feeling winds through me. “What’s up?”
“Nat, hey! How’s training camp? You impressing Max and Chance McLanely?”
My fingers tighten on the steering wheel, even as I infuse my voice with confidence. “Of course. I’m a legend, baby. Highest scorer. The best team player. All around golden boy.”
Laughter fills my ears. “That’s good. That’s good.”
“You know I’ll always make you proud, Renea.”
She deserves it.
My agent is an absolute angel. It would’ve been easy to write me off after the accident, but Renea didn’t. She was right there in the hospital room with my parents. And, when I insisted that I wanted to play despite the doctors’ warnings, she got me into the best rehab in the state.
At this point, I’m not making a single cent for the company and I feel like I owe it—not only to myself, but to Renea to try my absolute best to make it back to hockey.
“How’s the leg holding up?” she asks.
I look down at my jean clad leg. “Better than before.”
“I already put in my vacation notice and made arrangements to fly out there. No matter happens, I want to see Nathan Campbell on the ice again. It’s imperative.”
“Prepare to be amazed,” I say lightly, but my tongue feels swollen.
“I, uh,” Renea clears her throat and I know she’s about to deliver some bad news, “I heard from the Black Ice Collective. About your brand deal?”
I bite down on my bottom lip.
“They’re not renewing,” Renea says. “I’m sorry, Nat.”
I hang my head, feeling the sting of that final rejection.
Black Ice Collective was a brand that reached out to me when they were barely known in the hockey world.
I was the hotshot with companies clamoring to work with me and Renea advised me to choose a bigger portfolio.
But I liked the owners so I told Renea to sign, even if they weren’t as prominent as some other apparel brands.
I force out a laugh. “I don’t blame them. They stuck it out with me longer than any other brand. They were loyal to the end.”
“Are you really okay, Nat?”
I blow a raspberry. “Pfft. Yeah! I’m great! Thanks to my brilliant agent, I made some smart investments, so at least I won’t be thrown out on the street. And I have this opportunity with the Lucky Strikers. What do I have to complain about?”
“I’m really glad you’re taking it so well,” Renea says. “You’re a true champ.”
I end the call and, in the screaming silence, my smile drops flat.
Renea is wrong.
I’m not a champ.
I haven’t been for a long time, and there’s a quiet, sinister voice in my head telling me that I never will be again.