Chapter 3
Mom: Saturday night dinner at the house with Richard. Don’t miss this one.
I don’t respond to my mother’s message. Anyone messaging me pregame either doesn’t know me or doesn’t care, which means I don’t either.
The only messages I check before a game are the ones sent to me through my app.
Well, technically, it’s the team’s app.
But I created it, with help from Fletcher Thomas in IT last year, when I hit my breaking point with the woman who raised me. When I realized that underneath all that bitterness, there wasn’t a version of her that ever saw me as anything more than a burden.
Then the Rangers entered the equation.
Media outlets ran with the whole father-son story like it was a feel-good documentary.
And sure, she ran with it too—for the money it’ll bring.
All the better her retirement looks now.
But behind closed doors—alcohol induced or not—my mother didn’t see it that way.
According to her, the only reason the Rangers want me is because Dad’s jersey still hangs in their arena.
Not because I earned it. Not because I’m good enough.
And it fucked with me.
So deeply, it affected my game just when we were about to go into the NCAA National Championship.
I didn’t feel worthy.
It was almost like I was skating out there just to prove her right. And hell, anyone else who thought my last name was my golden ticket.
I needed a reminder.
I needed validation.
Proof that I was good, that I deserved the captain title.
But mostly, I needed to not let my team down.
The next day, Hunter and I cornered Fletcher, a ridiculously smart engineering student, on campus and together we created Send Me Love.
It’s an anonymous texting app for fans to send love to and cheer for the Northwind Knights before each game.
The three of us brainstormed how it would work.
It was Hunter’s idea to make a separate fan page for each player. A point well made when mine got the most interaction.
The most messages.
The most love.
Maybe that’s why I crave it—it’s the only validation I get. The only proof I’m not just a last name to them.
And it worked.
It helped carry us to a national championship last year. And I’m counting on the app to get us there again this year—my last year at Northwind U.
I know the app won’t follow me to the pros—whether I end up a Ranger or not—but for now, the fan messages are enough to make me believe I belong there.
Since its launch, I haven’t let a game go by without the reminder of who I’m doing this for. The fans, myself, and my dad.
Not her. Never for her.
I’m not ashamed to be the only one on my team relying on fan love. Everyone’s got a superstition. A pregame ritual.
This one’s mine.
I take a breath and lift my phone that’s been buzzing nonstop for the past thirty minutes. I press the app on my home screen.
Individually, these messages don’t do much for me. But together…popping up, one after the other, they’re everything.
Pretty425: We love you, Kane.
JTpuckfan: The one and only will bring this home!
Letmeloveu8: You’re the king, K!!
Sara21: You got this, Cap.
LikMeUp: Can I lick your stick for good luck?
I chuckle and roll my eyes. Oh yeah, did I mention some fans completely miss the point?
Candi4ever: Puck me, I’m single.
Ethan-fan4life: Kill it, #19. Show ‘em why you’re the shit.
Jackson Kinley, our right winger, peeks over my shoulder, the nosy bastard. “Which one you takin’ home tonight?”
“Fuck you, no one.” I shove him off.
I don’t know why he’s peeking, since the whole team has access to the app. They can all see the texts on each one of our fan threads. But it’s mine they spy on the most. Some of these douches even respond, telling the fans to cheer for their numbers instead, just to mess with me.
I never respond.
Not because I don’t appreciate every unique message, I do. I appreciate what they give me more than they’ll ever know. What it’s done for my game.
But I’d have to like or comment on every one of them to show it. So instead, I respond at the end of the night with one single reply to the entire thread.
And I don’t deviate.
I don’t chance changing the routine.
“Nah, you know K doesn’t mess with the app like that.” Greyson Knox, best goalie in our conference and my roommate, says.
“Tell ‘em why, G,” I smirk.
“Somethin’ about integrity? Anonymity? One of the ity’s.”
“Maybe last year. This year, it’s ‘cause I can’t afford any distractions. Neither of us can. We’ve lost more games than we’ve won since the season started. Which means our heads need to stay in the game. Not who we’re fucking at night.”
“You do you, Cap.” Jackson takes his stick off the wall and grins wide at the rest of us. “I’m doin’ both.”
Greyson tosses a glove at him.
Hunter shrugs in my direction like that’s not a bad plan. Of course he’d think that. Guy’s slept with half the girls on campus. But he never lets it get to his head or mess with his game.
I push off the bench, shaking my head, and finish gearing up. The typical team banter is off today. We’re not exactly on a losing streak, but we may as well be. I don’t know why it affects me so much when I know we’re all out there doing our best.
Maybe because I’m the problem?
I start scrolling through the messages again. And fuck, as much as I soak up every one of them…my heart’s not growing as full as it usually does.
And that scares me.
“Why’s it so quiet in here?” Coach Nolan marches in and scans the locker room. “What’s going on, you all praying or something? Starting to look like you lost the game that hasn’t even started yet. Warm up. Now.”
The guys start to move and I mentally power up.
“Kane, get your dick out of your app and onto the ice,” he barks.
Some of the guys chuckle.
To Coach and most of my other teammates, Send Me Love is a way to hype up the crowd. A gimmick of sorts to fill the arena.
To me, it’s a lifeline.
A void filler.
So long as it doesn’t start losing it’s weight.
Still grateful for my fans, I type out my usual response.
Kane19: Thank you for the love. Enjoy the game.
Just before I shove my phone away for the night, a message pops up. And I already know I’ll regret clicking on it.
Mom: Don’t ignore your mother. You wouldn’t be too busy for me if your father and I didn’t hand you this life on a silver platter.
My jaw clenches hard enough to hurt. The phone drops to the floor as my hands ball into fists.
“Whoa, easy, man.” Hunter strides over and scoops up my phone. “Coach was just being Coach.”
His gaze flicks to me, suspicion narrowing his eyes, before they drop to the screen.
He tosses it into my bag. “Fuck her. This is your life. You earned it. You chose it. It’s yours. I don’t know what fantasy world she’s living in, but in the real world, no one gets handed anything.”
“They do, Hunter.” I swallow. “It’s when they don’t prove they’ve earned it that it all comes crashing down.”
He stares at me. “Don’t go down this road. We need you out there, now more than ever.”
I nod and start for the door. “Let’s get out there.”
“Let me lead tonight,” he calls after me.
I don’t turn around. I know he means well, but that stings like hell. “I’ve got this.”
I huddle my team in the tunnel during the pregame intro music.
My voice is competitive. “Doesn’t matter who we’re playing tonight.
You go out there and play like they’re the enemy.
Don’t look them in the face. You’ll only see defeat.
Keep your eyes on the puck and head in the game.
” I look around and know I’m not talking to anyone but myself when I make my final statement. “Or don’t bother going out there.”
We had them.
We almost had them.
I blame my mother for tonight’s loss.
For her summoning me like I’m some pet she wants to show off to her friends.
For her using my weakness to get to me.
The only reason I still tolerate her is that after Dad died, she’s all I have left. And I’m all she has.
Despite what I tell myself, I’ll never abandon her the way she did me. Ignore her invitations and give her a hard time, sure. But I can’t cut her out of my life completely.
I will one day.
It’s what I tell myself every morning I wake up feeling worthless.
Thankfully, I’m not financially dependent on her. Dad made sure my money was left to me after he passed. Not her. Although she got a hefty portion of his assets too.
Not that it matters. I’ve booked enough NIL commercials that I don’t need another penny before I hit the pros.
I spaced out during Coach’s lecture after the game. My focus is already on Friday’s game.
I have to get my head out of my ass.
Friday’s game has to be different.
It’s against Northwind’s biggest rival.
The Highland U Titans.