Chapter One
Brinley
Red and blue lights flash in my rearview mirror.
“Nooo.” I exhale a heavy sigh, my stomach dropping in the process.
The lights are harsh against the gray Tennessee morning sky.
I ease my rusted car onto the shoulder, my hands tightening around the steering wheel as the tires crunch along the side of the road.
The engine ticks when I shut it off, the sound loud in the quiet stretch of road on the outskirts of Rixton.
Great.
This is not at all how I hoped arriving in town would go.
I lower my window as the officer approaches. He tips his head slightly when he reaches my door, eyes scanning the inside of my car. My back seat is packed with the random garbage bags I stuffed full of blankets and clothes for the move.
“Morning,” he says. “You know why I pulled you over today?”
“No, sir,” I murmur even though I probably do. I’m going to guess I wasn’t paying attention to the speed limit, and I laid a little too heavy on the gas trying to get the drive over with.
“License and registration.”
I hand them over to him, trying not to fidget in my seat as he studies my ID longer than what feels necessary. His eyes flick over to my face, then back again.
Something in his gaze shifts.
“You’re not from around here,” he says. It’s not a question.
“No.”
He nods once, glancing again toward my back seat, like he can see everything stuffed inside it.
“What brings you to Rixton?”
The question sounds casual, but his tone is not.
“I transferred to Rixton. I’m a student.”
There’s another pause.
“Where are you staying?”
If it were anyone else, I’d be apprehensive, but it’s a cop. He should be safe, right? I can’t ignore the warning bells going off in my head, though.
I keep my voice even when I say, “Just outside of town.”
He takes my license and disappears to his cruiser for a minute. When he comes back, he hums under his breath before handing it to me.
“I’m gonna let you off with a warning. Slow it down through here.”
“Thank you.” I nod, relief loosening my chest.
He takes a step back, then stops and looks at me again.
“Welcome to Rixton,” he adds. “We tend to notice new faces around here.”
When he turns and walks away, unease curls in my stomach. What is that supposed to mean?
I reach for the keys and turn the ignition, quickly pulling back onto the road.
About a mile later, I pass a crooked welcome sign on the edge of the highway. I pull into the parking lot for the motel near campus and kill my engine.
I’ve arrived with everything I own packed in my car and exactly 182 dollars left in my checking account, after booking this extended stay online. I’ve set aside enough to cover the first month’s rent and a security deposit, but that’s it.
I gave myself a week to figure out what I’m going to do for a job and a place to live. If I need to, I can donate plasma to make some money, at least to tide me over until I get my first check.
I step out of the car, the air smelling like wet pavement and impending rain. I lean back against the door and stare up at the gray sky, my thoughts drifting exactly where I’ve been trying not to let them go for weeks now.
To the man whose name detonated my entire life.
My mom thinks I’m taking a semester off. I told her I wanted to reset and regroup after a rough summer. That’s the version of the story I told her over a mug of cheap coffee at our kitchen table, my hands wrapped tight around the ceramic like it was somehow anchoring me there.
The truth was a whole lot messier.
The truth is, I was supposed to transfer schools without telling her. I quietly packed up my car, applied in secret, and started the paperwork that would change everything.
Growing up, I was told by my mom that my father had disappeared. She fed me a story that he left town before she ever got the chance to tell him. She claimed she spent years trying to track him down with no luck.
I believed her. Of course I did. She was my mom.
What I didn’t know, and what she never told me, was that the man I grew up thinking abandoned me wasn’t just gone.
He’d been out there living his life, building a legacy around shaping kids who weren’t me into something great.
I found out by accident. That part still makes my stomach twist.
It started with paperwork. The same boring forms I barely skimmed while applying for transfer credits to another school. Name verification, birth records, parent information. Until one line didn’t match the others, and it flagged like a red warning I couldn’t understand.
I thought maybe it was a glitch.
It wasn’t.
As it would turn out, my legal last name wasn’t the one I’d been using my entire life.
I stared at the screen for a long time, rereading the letters like they might rearrange themselves if I blinked hard enough.
When I confronted my mom, her face crumpled in a way I’d never seen before. Like she’d been bracing for this very moment for eighteen years and still wasn’t ready.
That’s when she told me the rest.
My father hadn’t disappeared. He chose not to be involved in my life.
And the man he became?
An elite hockey coach. One of the best.
The kind of coach who built NHL stars from the ground up. He mentored kids barely older than me, teaching them about discipline, resilience, and belief. The kind of man parents trusted with their sons’ futures.
The kind of man who didn’t want me.
I was supposed to finish my transfer somewhere else.
Instead, I pulled my application, applied to Rixton, and told my mom I was taking the semester off.
I swallowed hard, my fingers gripping my car keys in my hand until the metal cut into my skin.
“How could he do that?” I asked her, my voice barely holding it together. “How could he devote his life to other kids and not want his own?”
She didn’t have an answer. I didn’t either.
So that’s how I ended up in Rixton, Tennessee.
I hadn’t come here chasing closure or forgiveness. I wasn’t expecting some dramatic confrontation you’d see straight out of a movie. I wasn’t naive enough to think this would end with a hug and tears, and everything would magically make sense.
I just needed to see him.
To meet the man who could walk away from one life and pour everything into others like I never existed.
I grabbed my duffel bag from the trunk and headed inside. The motel was small and dingy, with outdated carpet. The air conditioner hummed faintly as it struggled to keep up.
It wasn’t much, but it would do for now.
I dropped my bag by the door and let myself breathe for the first time since arriving in town.
This was real.
I didn’t know how long I could make what little money I had last, but I knew one thing for sure. I wasn’t leaving until I had answers.
I crossed the room to the small window overlooking the street and watched the rain start to fall outside. Somewhere in this town, my father lived his life without a single care or thought in his mind about me.
Somewhere nearby, he coached players who looked up to him.
I didn’t know when or how I’d approach him.
But I would.
Because I didn’t uproot my entire life again to keep running. I’d done enough of that with my mom growing up.
For the first time, I was standing alone in a town that didn’t know me yet, and I let the truth settle deep in my bones.
I wasn’t here to beg. I was here to face the man who taught everyone else how to fight, and I’d see if he could finally look the daughter he left behind in the eyes.
***
The first week I was in town was turning into one dead end after another. Most of the apartments in town were already taken by other college students who were better prepared for their move.
I yawn as I check out of the motel, my shoulder stiff from the firm mattress. The front desk attendant slides my debit card across the counter toward me, and I return the gesture with a polite smile I don’t feel.
I could afford to stay here a few more nights if I needed to, but I don’t want to push my luck. Extended stay or not, this place looks and feels like it might start charging me in tetanus shots before long.
Before I leave, I duck into the small kitchenette set up with a free breakfast station and grab a cup of coffee. Calling it coffee feels a bit generous. It’s watery and a tad stale, but it’s hot, and that counts for something.
I take one grimacing sip and step outside, hauling my suitcase behind me. I load my stuff into the trunk of my run-down Toyota. It rained overnight, so the air is cooler this morning, and it helps more than the coffee to wake me up.
Sleep didn’t come easily last night. My brain refused to shut off, spinning out of control with worst-case scenarios and what-ifs until the sun started creeping in through the thin curtains.
My plans for the day included checking out a studio apartment I saw available near campus. I was a little hesitant, considering the listing said it was above the local pub, but it’s within my price range and available immediately. I’m not in a position to be picky.
But first, I have somewhere else to be.
I follow the signs through campus to the ice arena.
It was a quick internet search to figure out which one they used for practice.
Some of their practices were open to the public, so I was able to easily figure out their schedule.
I park farther than needed, my heart thudding a little harder with every step as I walk toward the entrance.
The lobby is quiet, echoing faintly, and no one stops me as I slip inside. I keep my head down, hands shoved into my jacket pockets, as I head toward the rink.
Cold air wraps around me as soon as I step inside. I climb the concrete stairs slowly, my hand brushing the railing until I reach the top row of the stands. Championship banners hang from the rafters, each one a reminder of what my father has built with this team and this school.
And there he is.
My father.