Chapter 39 Choose Your Own Adventure Beau
Choose Your Own Adventure
Beau
The elevator ride feels longer than it should. It’s too quiet. I’m trapped with my thoughts and not quite enough air in here, and it’s hard to breathe past the tangled bundle of nerves crowding my chest.
My reflection in the mirrored walls already distances me from this place and the life I’m about to leave behind.
I’m in joggers and my Lakeview hockey hoodie with the sleeves pushed up to my elbows.
I’m not trying to piss him off further, but I came straight from practice, so I didn’t have time to change into something less casual.
My hair’s still damp from the shower I took to clean up and try to shake the nerves out of my spine. It didn’t work.
The elevator dings, and I step out into the marble-floored atrium of my dad’s office suite.
The neutral gray and rich wood tones give off expensive fuck-you vibes.
Even the smooth receptionist is wearing a crisp, fitted gray dress, but she only gives me a cursory glance before buzzing me through.
At least I don’t have to wait. I don’t think I could handle that.
He’s waiting in the corner office, flanked by floor-to-ceiling windows and two ridiculous abstract paintings that probably cost more than my tuition. Loose change to him and his company.
He doesn’t even stand when I walk in. Only gives me a cursory glance over his screen before returning to his work.
“Beau,” he says. Not cold, not warm. Just ruthlessly efficient, and neutral. Speaking to his son the same way he’d speak to a new client.
I settle into a chair despite the lack of invitation and wait. He lets the silence hang in the air, wielding it like a weapon. I’m being measured. Scanned for weakness. Like he’s trying to find the thread to pull. He’s good at that.
Finally, he says, “Your little video made an impression.”
My throat tightens.
“That’s not the way we portray this family and this company. I’m disappointed in you.”
It takes everything in me not to clench my fists.
“It wasn’t for you,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.
He arches a brow. “No? Then what was it for? Is this some sort of rebellion? This is the sort of thing I’d expect from your sister. Not from you.”
Anger rips through me. How dare he talk about Cece like that? Her ability to embrace life and her passions is admirable. But he talks as if it’s detestable.
Why did I do it? For Luna, yes, but also for me. I finally feel like my life is my own, and I can breathe. But I don’t say any of that. He doesn’t care. I just sit up straighter and meet his gaze.
“I’m not coming to work for the firm.”
His expression doesn’t change. “Don’t be hasty. I know tensions have been high, but this is your future we’re talking about.”
“I know.” My voice shakes. Just a little. “That’s why I’m doing this.”
He pauses, planning his words in advance for maximum impact. “What about Cece?” he says, like it’s a knife he’s pulling from a drawer. “You think she keeps her place at Lakeview if you walk away?”
My jaw locks. He thinks he’s still got me cornered.
“I’m not walking away from her,” I say. “I’m walking toward me. Her tuition is covered for the rest of the year. If she needs to find a new house to live in, I’m sure she can. If I need to find a new house to live in, I will.”
He stares.
“Cece’s fine. She’s thriving. You know why? Because she gets to do what she loves. She gets to choose. And now, I’m choosing that for myself.”
He scoffs. “You’re choosing a maybe career in a sport for goons. That’s not the life you were born into. You have a legacy to uphold.”
“I didn’t ask for that legacy. I didn’t ask to be born into this family. Hockey is what I love. Hockey and Luna. And I’m good at it. I can make a name for myself and build my own legacy with my talent and hard work. That’s what I want. Not some inherited job I did nothing to earn.”
That one hits. His face finally cracks, and there’s a flicker of something beneath the surface. But I don’t wait for whatever comes next. Instead, I stand up. “I’m declaring for the draft. I’ve already told Coach.”
He opens his mouth, and I walk out before he can use it. I’m not interested in what he has to say. The blackmail. The manipulation. I’m over it.
The second I step back into the elevator, I exhale so hard my knees go weak. The doors close. The mirror shows me the same image. Same hoodie, same damp hair. But now? Now he looks like someone I recognize. A guy I want to be.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s Cece.
Cece: DID U TELL HIM????? ARE YOU OK DO YOU NEED ICE CREAM OR A LAWYER??
I grin for the first time all morning and send back a quick reply before she zips out ten more.
Me: Did it. I’m good.
Another text hits before I can lock the screen.
Cece: IM SO PROUD OF YOU now go cry into a cat and get ready to SCREAM for your gf at the game. bring signs.
I lean back against the elevator wall, and let the events of the past week seep in. This is really happening.
Cece insisted we get there early.
Which means we’ve been in the front row right near the glass for over half an hour. We’re both wrapped in three layers of team merch and armed with an arsenal of snacks she smuggled in like we were prepping for a full-day festival.
Dev’s next to her, wearing a jersey. And I finally understand the smile he gets when he turns to my sister. I get it. The absolute adoration that lights up his usual stoic features when he looks at her.
The anticipation builds to a crescendo, tipping over the edge into an explosion when Luna skates out onto the ice. Cheers echo so loud they rattle the glass. The rest of the team emerges behind her in synchronized formation, tapping their sticks on the ice as the announcer runs through their names.
And there she is with her helmet under one arm, braid tucked into her jersey, jaw set like she’s going to war. My stomach flips. She doesn’t look nervous. She looks ready.
“Your girl’s dialed in,” Dev says, nudging me.
Cece’s already filming, eyes glittering with pride. “She’s gonna tear it up.”
I nod but can’t find the words to agree. Because the lump in my throat is too big. I’ve never wanted anything for someone else this badly.
Not even for myself.
The game is beautiful. What hockey is meant to be. The puck movements are fast and precise. Luna’s line dominates the second period, and she scores the tying goal in the third with a one-timer that has the crowd roaring.
When they win, when the buzzer sounds and the entire arena surges to its feet, I don’t even realize I’m yelling until Cece elbows me. “You’re gonna blow out your vocal cords, Bo Bo.”
I don’t care. I’m already pounding on the glass, doing my best to be the loudest in the arena. It’s freeing. This lack of concern for my image. I don’t care what people think of me or the Whitakers. All I care about is letting my girl know how proud of her I am.
The team piles on the ice, gloves and sticks scattered across the surface. Their arms are around each other, and the support and love these women have for each other is palpable.
And then Luna skates toward the stands, cradling the trophy in her arms while Maisie and Beth skate beside her.
She finds me instantly. We lock eyes. And then she lifts the trophy overhead and points it right at me.
My vision blurs. I don’t know if it’s tears or pride or both, but I don’t try to blink them away.
I’m impatiently waiting outside the locker room when Maisie pokes her head out.
I don’t even care that I probably shouldn’t be back here yet. One of the assistant coaches gives me a thumbs-up as I slip past the crowd of hangers-on waiting to cheer on their favorite team.
Maisie rushes out, spots me and rushes back through the door. And then, she’s there. Luna pushes through the door, lighting up with a gorgeous smile when she sees me.
She’s got on a loose purple Lightning tee, hair damp and curling at the edges, her jersey slung over one shoulder and a bottle of water in hand. She looks like a warrior. A goddess. A champion. Which she is.
“I’m still wet from my shower,” she says as I pull her into my arms.
“I have zero complaints,” I whisper into her neck.
She wraps both arms around my back and buries her face in my chest. “We did it.”
“You were incredible. Fully dominated them,” I say, pulling back to look at her. “That goal? The way you read that rebound…”
She cuts me off with a kiss, laughing into it. “You’re such a hockey nerd.”
“Says the girl whose favorite pastime is tracking stats.”
She grins wider. And then, her expression shifts. She’s still bubbling over with excitement, still glowing, but there’s something else. There’s a nervous energy flickering just under the surface.
“I need to tell you something,” she says, stepping back, hooking her finger into the waistband of her joggers and rocking on her heels.
“Okay,” I say, on alert. “Is it good?”
She bites her lip. Then nods.
“I got an offer,” she says. “From the team that hosted me for the camp last summer. They’re expanding their analytics department, and they want me to come on board. Full time.”
My jaw drops. “You what?”
She nods again, faster this time, then nibbles on her lower lip. “New York. I know it’s a lot. A big move, but I’ve always dreamed of living there. And I’d officially be in the game. On the stats side.”
I blink. Then blink again.
“You’re… you’re gonna be a professional analyst?”
She presses her hands to her face, laughing. “I think so. It’s an entry-level position. The pay is decent, but it’s my in.”
I wrap my arms around her and lift her straight off the floor. She shrieks and clutches my shoulders, laughing so hard her body shakes in my arms.
“You did it,” I say into her temple. “Holy hell, Luna. You actually did it.”