Chapter 15
Emalyn
Ronan is on fire tonight. Most would think he’s doing well under the pressure of the playoffs…
but I can tell something is off. There’s no carefree grin, no belting out lyrics in a way that normally pisses off the opposing team.
Those who really know him know that’s just his way of tuning the noise and pressure to help him focus on the puck.
And a little bit just his personality too.
Tonight though, he just mouths the words. He’s unbelievably quick to block but there’s no joy in his movements. He swats away the puck like it’s personally offended him.
I’ve always loved every side of Ronan— he’s my best friend. This side though, the storm that’s always been just under the surface, draws me in and scares me in equal measure.
He’s never opened up about his past. Never talked about his biological parents or family. Only Alli. Anything before the age of fourteen, he doesn’t speak of.
I lean forward on the players bench, camera in hand as I snap a few zoomed in photos of him tending the net.
These aren’t for the team's website or socials. These are for him. Maybe for me too.
It seems like the only physical proof that Ronan is more than this happy go lucky man, even if it’s hidden under layers after years of masking his emotions.
I click through a few that I just took.
In one shot, the puck is just an inch away from his gloved hand. With brows pinched and mouth set in a determined line he makes a devastatingly beautiful subject.
I stare at the photo where pain and passion war.
This is the Ronan I love. The one he hides behind easy declarations and silly antics. I know in reality, he’s as scared to lose our friendship as I am.
So we dance around each other, touching and flirting but never quite letting him know how much it really means to me.
Because Ronan is the only person I could never lose.
“You getting my good side, Em?” Ryan flashes his cheeky grin. He looks like he could be Ronan's little brother, with the sandy blonde hair and mischievous glint in his eye.
“Always.” I flip through shots of him, keeping the camera low so he doesn’t get in trouble for not paying attention.
“Ooh that’s a good one.” He points to one where he’s wiping his chin with his sweater, abs on display. “Can I get that for my socials?”
Tate’s panting as he sits on the bench, getting his short break in.
“Oh, that’s a good one. Hey, have any of me?” Tate bounces his eyebrows, “Could send them to Alli. I know it’s usually the bride that does that, huh?”
“Usually.” I chuckle, “But I think I could help you out.”
“Best sister-in-law ever.” He reaches around Ryan to pat my shoulder.
“Not sure that’s how that works.”
“Could be. You and Ronan are Alli’s family. The only that counts anyways.” He shrugs before moving down the bench, getting ready to jump back over.
I stare at his back as he glides across the ice and enters the game again. As he checks someone into the boards, I replay his words.
I continue getting shots of the game and the players. I make sure to get photos of the head coach, Randall and the assistant coach, Jessica.
After the second period break, I snap photos of the guys coming out of the locker room.
Ryan gives his charming camera ready smile.
He’s hardly needed any media training. Though I’m sure he’s had plenty of it due to his own family’s standing.
Jordan Ripley doesn’t change his stoic expression as he exits.
That’s the new norm for the once playful captain, though.
Ronan exits and for once he doesn’t glance up to me.
He’s not singing or goofing off. He just stares into his goalie mask in his gloved hands for a moment.
He presses his fingers to his mouth then to the inside of his mask. I frown as I capture the photo.
Ronan slides the mask onto his head and skates out to the net. The crowd repeatedly cheering “Grady!.” as he does.
I know I should be out there showing support, but Ronan’s PR girlfriend is there. She’s seated close to the net, right in his line of sight. He gives her a simple wave with a gloved hand and she beams at him in return.
Not having the stomach to watch her fawn over him in the stands, I take my camera and head back to my office.
Plopping into my pink spinny desk chair unceremoniously, I click Poppy free of her carrier. I stashed a few puppy pads, a bed and a little bowl set for her in my office.
Her collar jingles as she wanders around the room sniffing the floral patterned rug. She really is the cutest little thing.
I snap a picture of her on my phone, just as a text comes through.
Madre:
?Vienes la semana que viene? Si el dinero es un problema, puedo pagarte el vuelo.
Me:
Money isn’t the issue.
My head drops to the cool wood after hitting send. Poppy lays her head over my foot, letting out a low whine.
“Me too, sweet puppy.” I mumble. Her dappled fur is soft beneath my fingers as I pet her head.
My phone vibrates, but I don’t have it in me to check my mothers messages.
She can say what she wants, but she has never forgiven me for what happened.
Or Ronan. It vibrates a second and third time before I realize it’s a call.
The screen flashes with her name across the top. Taking a deep breath, I slide the little phone icon across the screen to answer.
“Mija, If it isn’t money, then what is keeping you away? No entiendo.” My mother’s voice is unrecognizable with desperation. I blink at my polaroid covered office wall in disbelief. What does she mean she doesn’t understand? She’s the one who said I wasn’t her daughter anymore.
“Are you being serious right now? You disowned me.” My voice rises into a shout as the rage begins to build up in my chest. “?Cómo puedes decir que no soy tu hija y aun así llamar para preguntar si voy a ir a una fiesta como si nunca hubiera sucedido?” How can you say I’m not your daughter and still call to ask if I’m going to a party, as if it never happened?
“Never happened? I know what happened. You killed your father! You and your friend killed him with heartbreak.” She shouts back, her voice breaks on a sob.
My cheeks are hot as the well of tears pour over.
“Well, there it is. You haven’t forgiven me.” My words are weak and quiet. I’m not sure she even heard them. My inhale is shaky as I try to steel my spine. “So no, I’m not coming.”
I hang up the phone, letting it clatter loudly to the desk. I stare at it, even as it becomes blurring through the tears gathering in my eyes.
My father told me what a disappointment I was at the Olympics.
To anyone else, it may seem like he was being outrageous but he trained with me for hours a day for years.
He knew my routine and how I landed each jump.
How high and how fast every spin was. He wasn’t upset that I simply got bronze.
I upset him because I intentionally lost points.
At that level, it doesn’t take much. When I landed my final jump and met his eyes, I could tell he knew.
It was intentional— my own minuscule rebellion.
So I suppose my mother is right. I was the reason he’s dead. She’ll never forgive me.
I didn’t just lose my father that night.
I lost my entire family.
The knock that sounds on my door has me quickly swiping tears away.
“Hey…” Ryan appears in the doorway in his gameday suit, voice dropping off as he takes in my current state. “Are you okay?”
“Mhm, yep. Just this dang animal shelter commercial. Gets me every time.” I offer with a forced chuckle. Although he doesn’t look like he buys it, he doesn’t push.
“Ronan is throwing his party at my place. He thinks I don’t know so I thought maybe we could spin it on him and make it his own birthday party.” Ryan shrugs, “You in?”
“He doesn’t usually celebrate his birthday but it’s a nice thought.” I offer a smile.
“Why not?” Ryan’s head jerks back, “He celebrates everyone else! He threw a party for my cat's second birthday last month.”
“He throws everyone's pet a party.” I giggle
“Exactly. So come on. I had a five tier cake with sparklers delivered.”
“Okay, but if he gets upset I had nothing to do with it.” I hold my hands up in surrender before scooping Poppy up and placing her in her kennel carrier.
“Yeah, Yeah.” He rolls his eyes as I walk past. In the hallway I turn back over my shoulder.
“Oh, Did we win?” I ask.
“You didn’t see? Oh man. Ronan’s going to be insufferable.” Ryan grins before answering. “Shut Out.”
My eyes widen just as guilt settles. I missed it.
“What was the final score?”
“3-0. Scored one myself, and of course, Ripley was a machine tonight. He just gets better the grumpier he gets.”
I tune out the rest of Ryan’s chatter on the way to the parking lot, my mind wandering to my best friend.