Chapter 34
Thirty-Four
Olivia
I startle at the sound of Tori’s keys clanging like a trip bell. I know she’s right outside the apartment’s front door. While
she fumbles with her carabiner, I panic. She and Ivy are back early from book club, and I’m not done setting up my surprise.
I lunge for the front door, my foot blocking it from swinging open.
“Hey, what’s going on?” Tori pushes harder.
“Just a minute.” I bear down and force the door shut.
“No way,” Tori says, but it’s too late, I’ve already relocked the dead bolt. “No more schemes. No more elaborate plans. I’m
coming in,” she adds.
“I have to feed my ant farm before sundown or they get indigestion,” Ivy complains.
I can’t fend both of them off. “Fine but give me a minute.” While Tori unlocks the door, I race back to the kitchen.
Tori stomps in like I’ve just slammed the door on her last nerve.
“Surprise!” I shimmy my hands toward the kitchen table where a brown bag of take-out dinner is half unpacked. The decorations are pathetic; I only had enough time to blow up three balloons. One end of my congratulations sign comes unstuck from the wall during the big reveal.
“Oh, no, whose demise are we celebrating now?” Tori asks apprehensively.
I tuck my hands behind my back. “I got a job and wanted to do something nice for both of you.”
Tori’s body relaxes. “Oh!” she says, eyeing up the take-out bag from her favorite Mexican spot.
Ivy gasps. “Success is the best revenge. Well, success and tire slashing,” she says, trailing off. “Is it the fancy tech firm?
Or some other powerful corporation with questionable ethical business standards? I bet the benefits are amazing.”
“Neither.” I reach down into my bag, digging past the streamers and balloons that never made it on the walls, and pull out
my Ice Dogs hoodie. The confusion on Tori’s face as I hold up the sweatshirt quickly fades when I show her the other side.
Assistant Coach is stitched across the back.
“Coach Hinckley.” Tori looks proud of me. So proud that for a minute I see a glimpse of our dad in her face. “Dad would have
loved this,” Tori says.
“Trust me, he does.”
For the first time in months, I hold my head high. This morning, I met my own gaze in the bathroom mirror and sat inside myself
comfortably as I stared back at my reflection. My dad and I have the same eyes; it was my perspective on the game that needed
to change.
Not even the news of Erik Parker’s induction into the Hockey Hall of Fame could spoil my week. Turns out the thing I feared
most wasn’t the Parker legacy, but my dad’s fading into oblivion. I won’t let that happen; instead of lashing out, I’m reaching
in. My dad is with me every time I step on the ice to coach his teachings. This is our legacy.
At my job interview, the Ice Dogs’ head coach and I hit it off so well that she hired me on the spot. They’ve got me running a recruitment camp for prospective freshmen this week. I’m getting back in the game, and this time it’s for all the right reasons.
Must be a bad day for seasonal allergies because both Tori’s and my eyes are watering. I drag my sleeves across my cheeks
and finish unloading the rest of dinner on the table.
“The job doesn’t come with stock options, but I’ll get to apply my analytics background to the power play. They’re even helping
me find an apartment through the school’s housing connections,” I explain.
Tori almost drops an armful of plates and utensils. “A job and an apartment?” Her eyes light up. She calls back to Ivy, “Ivy, grab the good Diet Pepsi.”
“But your resolution,” Ivy warns.
“She got an apartment too,” Tori shouts back.
Ivy lets out a celebratory shout from the kitchen and returns with three cans. Together at the table, we dig into our enchiladas
while I tell them all about my new coaching position. Over churros, I show them pictures of potential apartments I’ll be touring
next week. They hang on my every word with enough genuine enthusiasm to reassure me I’ve made the right career change.
Tori and I both reach for the last churro, but I get to it first. “I’m sorry I haven’t been the best roommate lately.” I hand
it over to her.
She accepts the peace offering. “It’s okay.”
Leave it to the eldest daughter to downplay my entire downfall so I don’t feel guilty about how I treated everyone. This time
I don’t let her let it go so easily.
“I mean it. I’m sorry. You don’t have a cold heart. You might be a bit patronizing at times, and you dress like a UPS delivery driver, and you make this weird clicking noise in the back of your throat when you drink fluids, and you always—”
“Okay.” She raises her hand to cut me off. “I got it.” She bites into the churro and a bit of cinnamon sugar falls on her
chin.
“But you definitely don’t have a cold heart,” I say with a smirk. “You’re always there for me, and I appreciate that.”
“Aw. Classic sisterhood moment, am I right?” Ivy jumps in. “I mean, I don’t technically have any siblings per se, but I have
a cousin who is a couple years older than me. We’ve had our own squabbles too, like the time she swapped my shampoo with Nair,
and I blew up her car.” Ivy tosses her head back and cracks up with laughter.
“Okay, now the borax on your workbench is a bit alarming.” I give her the side-eye from across the table.
“That reminds me,” Ivy says. “I’ve been working on something special for you.” She excuses herself and I mentally prepare
for what she’s about to gift me.
She returns with a taxidermized green cat. It’s a miniature Chilly, tiny Freeze jersey and all. She practically shoves it
into my arms. I don’t know where to hold the figure; it all seems so offensive. When I accidentally touch a claw in the exchange
I make a noise—ironically—similar to that of a dying cat.
“Wow. You really didn’t have to do this. Letting me stay in your room was more than enough.” I bare my teeth and hope it comes
across as a smile.
“But I felt so bad that our time living together was coming to an end. When I’m emotional, I create my most thought-provoking
work.” Ivy reaches out and pats the cat on its head. A puff of glitter shakes off and dances to the ground around my feet.
“And I thought I was emotional,” I remark.
A look of worry contorts Ivy’s face. Have I offended her? Or is this the moment she realizes the absurdity of the gift? Suddenly,
a look of realization. “She’s missing her drum. She needs her drum. Be right back.” Ivy darts out of sight.
I quickly drop the cat on the table like it’s burning my palms. “I don’t want this,” I hiss. I shake my head, unable to look
away from the cursed animal.
Tori leans across the table and in a low stern voice says, “Listen to me when I say this: That thing isn’t spending another
night hiding under our bed. Take it and I’ll forgive you for everything. I’ll even forget about you clogging the shower drain
last week with your hair and the five-hundred-dollar plumber bill to fix it.”
I groan, staring the cat in its beady little green eyes. “Deal.”
My whistle signals the end of practice and the relief on everyone’s faces proves that I’m pushing them as hard as I was instructed.
A few girls hang around, helping me gather up pucks. I take mental note of who’s putting in the extra effort. There’s a dull
sting in my knee, reminding me I’m alive. My toes are cold, my body is hot, and I’m right where I should be.
With the bag of wet pucks slung over my shoulder, I step off the ice to let the Zamboni flood it before our next session.
“Coach Hinckley.” One of the recruits gets my attention. “Someone is looking for you,” she tells me.
Quinn steps out from behind my player. She makes her way up the tunnel to me. Her face is so indifferent it stings. I swallow
the lump of spit that settled on the back of my tongue. It tastes like the black coffee I had for breakfast. My leg jitters
under my weight, also a lingering effect from this morning’s brew.
I’m on the road to bettering myself, which means I need to make things right with the people I selfishly took down with me.
It was an honor to work with someone as dedicated and passionate as Quinn, and I don’t want our friendship to end on the same note as my time with the Freeze.
I should have properly strapped down my head covering. I should have listened to Quinn.
“Coach Hinckley, huh?” Quinn says. “I’m shocked you gave them your real last name.”
“I’m trying this new thing where I’m honest with people.”
“Wonder who gave you that good advice,” Quinn mumbles under her breath.
Quinn and I sit on the bench and together we watch the Zamboni slowly lap around the ice.
“How have you been?”
Quinn coldly replies, “Busy.” She checks her watch. “And I don’t have much time before I have to head back into the Cities.”
I figured. The team is hosting a game 6 watch party at the rink later tonight and, win or lose, both Quinn and Chilly will
need to bring their A game for the fans.
“It means a lot that you came.”
“You said it was important.”
Sometimes actions speak louder than words, and with a bond like Quinn’s and mine, you don’t always get to speak to each other.
I begin doing a slew of overexaggerated hand gestures to her.
The first resembles crab claws—this one means “we need to talk.” She looks surprised.
They’re the official mascot handbook hand signals I was supposed to learn before the season started.
The next signal, I point my finger to the ground three times.
This one means “something is malfunctioning.” She nods in agreement.
Lastly, I hold my open palm out and trace a circle on the palm with my other finger. This one means “lead me.”
“A little late for all that, don’t you think? You were supposed to learn those back in October.”
She’s right. It’s not enough. “Rule number eighty-five,” I say with pleading eyes.
“You know rule number eighty-five? That’s really far back in the handbook.” She looks impressed, amused even.