Me About You (The Lakeland Bears #1)

Chapter 1

ONE

COOPER

“It’s incredible how much you two look alike. Twenty-five years older…or younger”—the reporter laughs at their unamusing and overused joke—“and you’d be twins. Add in the helmets and names on the back of your jerseys, no one would be able to tell you apart on the ice.”

Dad smiles. Even that is an uncanny resemblance—the same slightly heavier bottom lip and dimple carved into our right cheek.

Add Ryn Carmichael’s unsurpassed skills on the ice to the ‘Renaissance sculpted’ smile, and it’s no wonder he’s one of the greats. A walking billboard for aspiring hockey players.

“He’s far more handsome,” Dad responds, bumping his shoulder into mine. “Better player, too.”

“I think that’s yet to be seen,” another reporter cackles out with hint of sarcasm, but still a punch to the gut.

“On the hunt, though. Cooper, you’re halfway through the season and halfway to one of your father’s most coveted NCAA records.

” Dad’s name is tied to five major records, all have been surpassed in the past decade except for ‘Most Goals Scored in a Single Season’.

“Do you think you’ll be able to reach this one before the end of the season? ”

This one.

As if breaking records is the only way to define my success. The idea has my jaw tensing, teeth grinding, but you’d never know. Pasted on my face is the golden Carmichael smile everyone is expecting.

I take a big inhale through my nose before exhaling. Slowly. Giving myself a minute to not snap. To refrain from screaming out that I don’t care about breaking his records. I don’t want to be him, I want to be me.

“Reach it?” I tilt my head. Let a corner of my mouth rise higher than the other to form a teasing, cocky smirk, playing into their hand the way I’ve trained myself to do. “I’m going to beat it. Finally put this old legend to shame. It’s about time someone breaks the record.”

In the distance, behind the cameras, Mom is rolling her eyes.

She didn’t have to come, but insisted. Her phone hasn’t left her grasp even though a production intern keeps telling her to put it away. Jordan, my little sister, and I made a bet during a break in filming how many photos and videos she’ll take. I bet over one-hundred.

Dad was invited to do a docu-special on ESPN for retired athletes and their kids actively playing college sports. Apparently, we are all ‘Future Legends’ as the series is titled.

Everyone except for me.

Jordan is sitting in a chair to our left.

Dad and I are on a loveseat, which is way too small for us.

Knees bumping anytime we move. I’m not sure they accounted for our broad shoulders and thick thighs.

Large screens behind us are filled with pictures of our family from over the years—I count the seconds it takes for the pictures to switch, vying for a distraction. It’s thirty-two.

Dad’s been retired from the league for a decade.

He was drafted out of college by Minnesota where he spent thirteen years before retiring.

I was starting middle school, but Jordan and I were already deep into playing hockey.

Our older sister, Molly, was in every production our school and community put on.

He easily had a few more years in him, but we are his greatest achievement, and he didn’t want to miss any of it.

At least my sister’s achievements aren’t weighed against his career. They’re lucky, especially Jordan.

She hasn’t received a single question from the reporters asking about breaking records, picking apart her shots, or comparing her to Dad.

You are a spitting image of your father. Shorter, but wow, the Carmichael genes.

You didn’t want to wear the same number as your dad? Were you afraid you couldn’t fill in the big jersey?

Didn’t your father have double-digit offers?

Staying in college to pursue mathematics instead of starting your contract with Carolina. Interesting decision. What did your dad think about that?

It started when I was deciding on college, and Dad’s alma mater didn’t recruit me. No one even asked me if I wanted to go to Ohio State University…I didn’t.

That minor fact about me was brought up twice already in the interview because at least my sister received an offer.

“Why are you watching this again?” Jaxon picks up the remote from the arm of the couch, pausing the recording. “Isn’t this your third or fourth time now?”

Jaxon Greene, my ultimate hat trick: best friend, roommate, and teammate. We were assigned roommates our freshman year. Sharing the smallest dorm room on campus—I’m talking we could hold hands from our twin beds—does something to you, bonds you in ways you probably shouldn’t be bonded.

“You’ve got a famous dad? And share in his hockey genetics?” he tacks on. I turn my head, glowering. “That’s so cool. Why haven’t you ever mentioned that? No one in the house knew.”

“I—” I shut my mouth.

It doesn’t matter that I know he’s being sarcastic.

Jaxon is the team clown. Loud and never takes anything serious.

He’s easy going, doesn’t succumb to stress or pressure; he wouldn’t understand.

I’m not sure any of my roommates would. All they see are the opportunities it has provided me—which I am grateful for, I never want that to get misconstrued.

I hate the added pressure that comes with it. Maybe someone stronger would thrive in the added limelight. Maybe someone braver would use it to their advantage. Maybe someone steadier wouldn’t be burning out because of it.

I’m not someone.

But no one would know.

I wish Jaxon pausing the recording could pause the nagging in my head.

“Soooooo.” Our other roommate, Chase Jones, walks into the living room, clapping his hands together. “I know it’s my turn to drive, but I have zero gas.”

“You never have any gas,” Jaxon rebukes.

“There’s no point. I can walk to class, and if I need to go anywhere, usually one of you is going somewhere.”

“I’ll drive.” I snatch the remote dangling from Jaxon’s fingers and power off the TV.

It takes me thirty seconds to get off the couch, my body imprinted into the cushions from where I’ve been rotting all morning.

I came in here after making a protein shake, planning to get ahead on semester reading or watching highlights from last night’s NHL games I fell asleep during. Instead, I ended up on my phone.

I think I finally understand why it’s called doom scrolling.

One forty-five-second clip and I’m mindlessly digging the TV remote out from between the cushions and pulling up the episode, fast forwarding to segments on our family.

Since the episode aired earlier during winter break, this has happened a handful of times. And I end up in the same spot, same head space.

Over the back of the couch is my sweatshirt. I tug it on, the aglet smacking me in the face as I hustle up the stairs, three at a time, to my room to grab my shoes and bag.

Downstairs, the front door is open. The frame filled with my roommates waiting for me to fish my keys off the kitchen table.

Walking over to them, I know I’m nowhere near ready to be out on the ice, already skating on a thin layer in my mind.

“Dawson.” Dawson Karlsson, teammate and the house chef, turns around. “Think fast.” I toss my keys at him, and he catches them, only fumbling once. Thank goodness he’s not our goalie.

“Are you not coming with us?” he asks, running a hand through his shaggy brick red-brown hair.

“I’m going to walk.”

“You good?”

Jaxon is throwing his and Chase’s bags in the trunk while Chase uses a snow brush to remove the dusting that accumulated this morning on my windshield.

“Shotgun!” Jaxon yells, but Dawson and I ignore him.

“Ten thousand steps a day resolution isn’t going to hit itself,” I joke.

Dawson eyes me wearily. Then nods. “If you’re late, I’m not doing extra down-and-backs because of you.”

The engine roars to life. As soon as they’re out of the driveway, I tug on a winter coat and a Lakeland beanie, the navy-blue bear logo stitched into the gray fabric, before starting my venture to the rink.

It’s not a far walk. Maybe twenty minutes.

Practice is in an hour, so I have time, especially since campus is practically a ghost town.

We’re technically still on winter break, and most students haven’t returned.

Winter sports teams and students doing J-term are the only people here.

Even the juniors and seniors who are in off-campus housing are avoiding this central part of campus, now a winter wonderland.

I’m crossing the lawn when I spot a mess of red curls bouncing along a shoveled path.

I don’t know if I should be excited to see her. Probably not. At least I should pretend not to, but it’s the best part of my day.

Sutton Davis is heading my way for once, not purposely avoiding me or pivoting to take the long way to wherever her destination is.

That’s when I see her hazel eyes narrow on me. The late morning sun striking them just right, making the green overtake the browns and blues. They remind me of the perfect summer day out on the lake.

People wear their hearts on their sleeves. Sutton wears hers in her eyes.

They’ve always given her away, ever since we were six.

Where they used to look at me with admiration—us against the world—now, they look at me with disgust. Distrust. Abhorrence.

And it doesn’t make me want her any less.

She speeds up. So I speed up, just to annoy her. Just to be close to her.

“Hey, Dave.” A cheeky grin covers the corners of my mouth as the nickname rolls off my tongue. The name started as a joke. Coaches always called her Davis, and I wanted to be different. I give her a once over. “Tan’s holding out.”

She stares up at me. Chin tilted, but not by much at five nine. Sutton may be tall compared to most girls, but I still have four inches on her.

“Can’t say the same about yours.”

“Is that your way of telling me you missed me the last bit of vacation?” Our families traveled together for Christmas, like they do every year, but I had to leave early for hockey.

She starts to throw me a bone. “You’re right, I did—”

I can feel my brown eyes go wide, and if I could see myself, the irises probably sparkle with hope. When was the last time she admitted anything remotely like this to me? When was the last time she wanted my presence?

It eats at me.

It’s another weight on my shoulders. Another notch on the pressure gauge. Another reminder that I’m not the person people want me to be.

“—n’t,” she finishes.

My shoulders sag, settling at the bottom of that lake her eyes are still the color of.

I bite my tongue. Shove the version of Sutton and me that I wish we could be back into the box I keep in the corner of my mind. Right next to the overflowing box I keep everyone’s comments and comparisons about me.

The door doesn’t close. The hinges are cracking. It makes mornings like today harder to manage.

“One day you’ll realize, and admit, you love me.”

“I’d rather eat nails.”

“Whatever you say, Dave.” I reach out and adjust her purple earmuff. “Going for Ariel today?”

Her jaw twitches, eye dropping to the Kelly-green Lycra hugging and showing off her muscular legs.

“And you are? Flotsam or Jetsam?” Why does her asking me which annoying eel I am make me want to smile?

“They are identical and inherently neither is cooler than the other, but if I had to pick—”

“I don’t actually care.”

Jetsam. That’s who I’d pick.

Sutton attempts to step around me, but I move with her. Sliding to the left, then right. “Move Carmichael.”

“You didn’t tell me you were cleared to run.”

“Must have forgotten that we tell each other things. My bad.” She pauses. Steps around me, using my momentary slip in focus, and starts running again. “Oh, wait,” she calls out behind her. Then waves goodbye with her middle finger.

Sutton’s pace isn’t fast, and she still favors her left leg, but seeing her running again is a tendril of happiness I cling to. I pull on it like it’s a rope dropped into the hole I’ve dug myself into, and start to climb out.

My eyes are attached to her like a magnet as she grows smaller in the distance. A mess of auburn curls and childhood dreams in a sea of snow.