14. Luke
CHAPTER 14
LUKE
T he doc cleared me for practice after a few more days of rest, and now I’m back on the ice, prepping for our next game. For the most part, the team is gelling well. As much as I might not want to admit it, Derek was right. Time definitely helped.
But Jayce is still a bit of a wild card. I haven’t figured out how to get through to him about functioning as a team. The kid is in need of a little humility.
I skate over to the boards where Ethan’s chugging water and snow him. Ice shoots almost to his waist—my best to date.
Ethan shakes his head. “Gee, thanks, Jammer.”
I smirk. “I’m pretty sure I owed you one.”
He gestures toward my leg. “How’s the knee?”
“Good as new.” Which was a relief. When I went down, my first concern landed on what the end of my hockey career would mean for Kinsley’s college tuition. But then my thoughts drifted to the idea of not playing again, and that tightened the fist in my gut even tighter.
“And you and Sophie?”
I shake my head. “Give it a rest, man. We’re not together.” I gave her an opening, and she declared us friends .
But the mention of her draws my attention upward to where she’s sitting with Ethan’s fiancée, Mia, a few seats above the net. Sophie aims her camera at the second line, taking slapshots in rapid succession. Wade’s getting his goalie workout times two today because the next team we play is known for their aggression and speed.
She lowers the camera and darts a glance my way that doesn’t stick. I haven’t seen her much since Jacksonville, and I’m beginning to think she’s avoiding me now that my interview is finished. Probably for the best. Right now, I need my head completely in the game for what’s ahead.
Ethan nudges my arm. “Did something happen between you two after we left your room?”
I swivel toward him so fast a muscle spasms in my neck. “What? No, of course not.”
He holds his hands up in surrender. “Hey, I didn’t mean it that way. Just seems like you two connected on the ride up. We figured you might have had a chance to talk .”
I don’t miss his emphasis on the talking part. “She was finishing her interview with me. That’s it. So you and your cohorts can quit playing matchmaker.”
Although I’ll admit, I keep revisiting how she pulled the comforter from the other bed and kind of tucked me in before she left. And I may have been a little more awake than she thought. Can I help it if my curiosity got the better of me?
I almost wound up like the proverbial cat—killed by the compassion I glimpsed in her eyes. Then she left the connecting doors open, which I assume she did in case I needed help during the night. That right there made something in my chest tighten and grow warm all at once. Her thoughtfulness reminded me of how my mother would leave Kinsley’s door cracked so the hallway night light would stream into her bedroom.
I’m finding Sophie’s compassion even harder to resist than those eyes of hers. By the time I woke in the morning, the doors were closed. I thought about knocking but figured I’d see her on the bus, but she wound up sitting with Hannah.
“Nope, I fell asleep right after you guys left.”
Ethan lifts his attention to where Mia sits. She smiles and waves at him, and he grins like a lovesick puppy. “Don’t fight it, Jammer. Could wind up being the best thing that ever happened to you.”
“It’s not that. I just—never mind.” I shake my head with my words and pull my gloves off to grab some water. How can I attempt to explain when I’m not sure about what I’m feeling toward Sophie? Every encounter with her tears down my self-protective measures. Up to this point, I’ve seen nothing in her articles that’s concerning. I want to trust her, but that niggling doubt never completely goes away.
He puffs out a small chuckle. “See? You’re fighting it.”
I decide to get real with him—as real as I can without giving him the full sob story. “I have enough on my plate at the moment.” Which is true. I have to stay focused. Distractions won’t help, and there’s a lot more than just the team succeeding riding on my shoulders.
As Derek blows his whistle to end practice and signal it’s time to go to the workout room, Payton joins us. His gaze bounces between us, then settles on Ethan. “What did I miss? Did they…you know?”
I want to swat his lifted brow right off his face. “Will you two give it a rest?”
Ethan shakes his head at Payton. But I’m still not sure they believe me. “Time for workouts. Get moving.”
We’re shedding our gear in the locker room when I hear a familiar voice coming from the coaches’ office. I tug on a dry shirt, ready to head in that direction.
Gabe’s command stops me. “Everyone, get decent.”
He scopes the locker room, then waves someone in—my sister, Kinsley. She hesitates at first, then walks past Gabe. She crosses her arms and lifts her chin as if to challenge me.
A cat-call whistle comes from the lockers to my left. “She’s a?—”
Without taking my eyes off my sister, I shoot my hand out and pin Jayce’s head to the cabinet door above his cubby. Like I said, I’ve got three inches and a good thirty pounds on the kid. He isn’t going anywhere until I let go.
“Kinsley, what are you doing here?”
Coach walks up behind her with a concerned expression and shrugs.
She drops her arms. “I’m quitting school.”
I drop Jayce like the hot potato he is. “You’re what?!”
Like the spoiled brat she’s NOT, Kinsley puts her hands on her hips, tilts her head, and enunciates every syllable, making me feel more like a parent than her brother.
What has New York done to my sister?
“I said. I’m. Quitting. School.”
First, I’m grateful that Gabe made sure the team was presentable before he brought my sister into the locker room. Second, Kinsley met Gabe during my Barracuda days and always liked him, so I’m glad he had first contact. He said we can use his office to talk, but I don’t want interruptions. And I especially don’t want Jayce anywhere near my kid sister.
The conference room is occupied at the moment, so the only place I can think to go is the end of the hallway near Sophie’s office. I don’t recall seeing her today, so maybe she’s not there. Even if she is, I’m sure she’d give us a few minutes if she’s not in the middle of an interview.
When I see that Sophie’s not there, I bob my head toward the open door. “Let’s go.”
Her over-dramatic eye roll precedes her exaggerated clomp into the room—classics Kins .
I’m doing my best not to lose it with her—that’s the last thing this situation needs, but when it comes to my sister, I’m not great at controlling my emotions either. The main reason I returned to hockey was so I could cover the rest of Kinsley’s tuition. I can’t let her give up on her dream this easily.
My mother told me once that I feel things deeply, yet lack a release valve, which results in an eventual angry blowout. I’m thinking she may have been right. I wish she were here now to help my sister because this feels way out of my skill set. What if I say the wrong thing and she digs her feet deeper into this decision?
I take in a deep, calming breath as I shut the door.
“Who’s office is this?” She sits on the gray bench and tugs that pink pillow onto her lap—a good reminder for me to remember how my mother used to handle situations like this. I vaguely recall Kinsley having a similar moment at age ten when she joined a soccer league. She wanted to quit after the first week, but Mom talked her into giving it more time. Kinsley wound up playing all the way through high school.
I sit against the edge of the desk and cross my arms. “Sophie Adams. She’s the repor—journalist assigned to the team. Now, explain to me why you’re here?”
She takes on a curious expression. “Assigned to the team?”
“Yeah, to do profiles on us. Answer my question, please.”
“Is she covering the games too?”
“Yes.” I drop my hands to my hips. “Cut the crap, Kins. What are you doing here?”
First, her chin trembles, then one fat tear slides down her cheek, only to be followed by several more in rapid succession.
My chest clenches about as hard as my jaw. It takes a lot to bring my sister to tears—like losing our mother. Something major must have happened at school to make her want to quit, and my brain resembles a drop-down menu, imagining a list of worst-case scenarios with very specific and succinct responses. In other words, no one messes with my sister and gets away with it.
I rein in my gut reaction and crouch down in front of her, putting my hands on her knees. “Hey, it’s okay. Just tell me what happened.”
She wipes her eyes and sniffles. “I don’t think I’m good enough.”
I yank my head back in disbelief. “What are you talking about? Of course, you are. You got a partial scholarship to Columbia. If that’s not confirmation, then I don’t know what is.”
She shrugs and lifts her hands. “Then they made a mistake!”
I tuck my chin and take a breath, trying to keep my expression neutral. “Start at the beginning and tell me what happened.”
The door opens, and Sophie walks in. Her eyes widen at the site of us. “Oh, sorry.” She looks behind her as if to make sure she’s in the right place. “I didn’t know anyone was in here. Of course, how would I, since it’s my office. Do other people use it when I’m not here?” She lets out a soft giggle and holds her hands out. “That’s fine if they do. I was just curious. I mean, why not, right? It’s totally understandable?—”
Fighting a grin at how cute she looks, I rise, holding my hand up to stop her verbal vomit. “Sorry we invaded your space. We just needed a quiet place to talk.”
She bounces those gorgeous brown eyes between Kins and me. “Is this your sister?”
I nod. “Kins, this is Sophie Adams, the journalist I told you about.”
Sophie blinks at me and smiles. “How about I go grab a cup of coffee and come back later?”
Kinsley stands as well. “Wait. Maybe you can help.”
“Oh?”
Totally caught off guard, I glance between them to gauge the situation. “Kins, I don’t think she has time?— ”
“Why not ask me first and find out?” The slight upward twitch of her brows feels like a challenge.
My sister smirks at me. “She probably would know better than a jock.”
I grunt.
Sophie lets out a soft giggle. “What is it you need help with?”
“One of my assignments. Write about someone who’s had the most impact on your life.”
“What are you studying?”
“Journalism.”
“Journalism?” Sophie snorts first, then laughs before shooting a scathing look at me. “Really, now?”
I must seem like a walking, talking hypocrite at the moment, but part of the reason Kinsley decided to use her love of writing this way was to offset the damage that rag reporter did to us. My sister is a modern-day Joan of Arc and always has been. Give the girl a cause, and she runs with it until she either wins or falls flat on her face—hard. That’s when I usually step in and pick up the pieces, which have been literal at times.
Let’s just say I’m glad her weapon of choice is a keyboard and not a sword.
Kinsley swings her attention between us with a confused expression. “Am I missing something here?”
Realizing I’ve lost control of this conversation, I run a hand across the back of my neck, trying to figure out what to say or do next.
Sophie approaches my sister. “No, not at all. What’s your question?”
I pause in mild shock. Sophie had a clean opportunity to expose me for being a hypocrite because my sister’s studying journalism, yet she didn’t.
Kinsley rummages in her backpack until she pulls out a paper and holds it out to Sophie. “He gave me a C minus, but I know this is some of my best work.” She hedges her hand back, seeming hesitant to share after all. “I thought I was good enough, but now I’m not so sure.”
Sophie extends her hand. “May I?”
I can’t stop staring at her. Her voice is warm and compassionate toward Kins, as is her expression.
Kins hands over the paper this time. “You sure you don’t mind?”
“Not at all. Happy to help.” Sophie sits in the chair at her desk and then scans the pages, flipping from one red-marked page to the next until she finishes the last one. “This is really good.”
“My professor clearly didn’t think so.”
Sophie tilts her head. “His comments aren’t saying that at all, Kinsley.”
My heart warms at how she says my sister’s name like a caring friend.
She rises from her chair and hands the paper back. “He’s trying to push you to expand your thoughts and bring more emotion into your writing. That’s one of the biggest challenges we have as writers—to tap into that emotional place so we can inspire, uplift, educate, or captivate the reader. Emotions are a big part of a piece like this.”
Kinsley nods, but she still appears as if she’s on the verge of tears. “I’m not sure I’m cut out for that.”
Sophie shakes her head. “I disagree. I think you’re more than capable. You’re just afraid. I hope that’s not too blunt.” She casts a hesitant look my way as if to check and see if she’s out of bounds.
I give her a curt nod, encouraging her to continue.
“Part of writing is accepting criticism. For some people, that’s not too hard. For others, like you and me, it’s more challenging because it feels like a knife to the heart at times.”
Kinsley’s eyes widen, and she bounces on her feet. “Yes! Exactly. ”
Sophie points to the paper. “And this is about your mother, who you tragically lost. Those are big emotions. It’s understandable that you’d be afraid of them. Can you ask your professor if you can revise it or maybe explain your situation? He might let you submit something new…something a little less painful.”
Kins nods vigorously. “He said I could talk to him about it.”
Her face lit with excitement, Sophie holds her hands out. “See? He’s trying to help you.”
My sister tucks her chin and stares at the paper. “So…you think I’m good enough?” She lifts hopeful eyes to Sophie. “To be a journalist…”
“Definitely. And that’s the point of a critique—to teach us what we did well and what we can improve upon. It’s an ongoing process of growth and improvement.” She shifts her focus to me. “Kind of like your brother learning to play hockey. He wasn’t pro-worthy from the get-go, right?”
Kinsley smirks. “Not. At. All.”
“Hey!” I growl and give her a light shove.
Sophie smiles at us. “Don’t give up before you become good at what you love, Kinsley. You’ll get there.”
Kinsley does something I’ve rarely seen my kid sister do with anyone other than me or our mother. She rushes over and throws her arms around Sophie, thanking her. And I think Sophie’s eyes are a tad glassy.
Once Kinsley let go, Sophie grabs a business card from her desk and hands it to her. “If you ever need input with a project or just want to talk about being a journalist, call me. I’m happy to help.”
Kins beams at her. “I will. Thank you.”
I’m still staring at Sophie when my sister jabs her elbow into my side.
I let out an oof and rub my side. “Right. Thanks.”
Sophie gives me a pointed stare that promises a revisit to my sister studying journalism. And I’m actually looking forward to it. Because even when I’m not talking to Sophie, I’m thinking about her.
All the time.