Page 32 of Rival Season
A moment later, Hazel smiles. “Okay. Cassie sent you about a hundred party popper emojis and a message saying she’s done with class at one, and asks if you want to meet her for lunch and then go thrift shopping.” She hums in approval. “Sounds like my kind of girl, honestly. I’d love to meet her.”
“You already have. Remember, when you stormed upstairs and accused her of being the girl I was ‘just sleeping with’ that week.”
“Oh no, I forgot about that.” Hazel groans and smacks a palm to her forehead. “Maybe before we leave campus this evening, you could reintroduce us so I can apologize for being so rude to her.”
“No apology needed, our music was super loud that day. She felt bad for disturbing you.”
“Ugh, she probably thinks your new girlfriend is so uptight.”
I shake my head. “She wouldn’t judge you from one five-minute interaction. She’s not like that. She’s cool. She’s five years younger than me, but we were always tight growing up.”
“You guys grew up in Canada, right?”
“Bubbles, have you been Googling me?”
“I think you mentioned it once. Or maybe Ally did.” She flushes. “And I was asking because I think it’s great your sister ended up nearby for college, when you’re from another country! Did you guys plan that?”
I almost laugh.
If byplan, Hazel means Cassie deferring for fall semester so we could work on getting documentation together to bring her to the States as a minor from Canada, but we could only start doing that after I started my NHL contract and could prove I had means to provide for her financially, then yes, we planned it.
“I guess you could say that,” I say slowly. “But she’s always been wicked smart and loved the idea of escaping our cold winters back home, so I’m sure she would have taken the chance to go to Berkeley even if I’d ended up playing for a Canadian NHL team.”
“I don’t know about that, especially if you guys are still close now.”
“We are.” I tap my fingers on the steering wheel. “I’d do anything for her.”
Hazel’s expression melts into a smile. “That’s so sweet. Siblings who love each other,andone’s in the NHL and one’s at Berkeley, your parents must be so prou?—”
She suddenly stops talking, her eyes going wide, and I cringe as I realize she’s probably recalling Chadwick’sAsk Matthews about his dad and then you won’t want to spend time with himtext and now she thinks she’s stuck her foot in it or something.
Did I mention Ihatethat guy?
“Cass and I are half siblings,” I explain, ripping the Band-aid off the awkwardness. From experience, I’ve learned that’s the easiest way to do this. Just state the facts and move on. “My dad…well, let’s just say he’s not the best person. And Cassie’s dad was never around because he worked up north on the oil rigs, hours away. Our mom was…” I pause, thinking of the right word foraddicted and unable to be a parent. “Sick for a lot of our childhood. So the two of us grew up spending a lot of time in the foster system.”
I’m thankful that the foster system back in Canada worked hard to keep us, as half-siblings, together as much as they could. That I was able to watch out for Cassie. That the two of us could be somewhat of a family.
As I turn off the highway, I sneak a look at Hazel. Her usually expressive face is composed, neutral. The Switzerland of facial expressions.
Her silence, and my inability to read what she’s thinking, makes a nervous lump form in my throat. I don't tend to have this conversation with girls I’m seeing. Not because I’m ashamed of my past, but because I learned the hard way that girls look at me differently after hearing this information. Like they feel sorry for me or some shit.
And if there’s anything I can’t stand, it’s people’spity.
“Before you say it, don’t be sorry,” I add quickly, hoping to squash whatever she might be thinking right now. “I’m fine. Cassie and I had each other. Plus, I learned how to play hockey at one of our placements when I was really young. If it wasn’t for being placed with that family at that time, I probably never would’ve picked up a stick.”
Hockey has given me so much: discipline, routine, a healthy outlet for my anger, and an understanding of teamwork. And perhaps best of all, I had coaches—especially Mike, aka CoachSmith—who believed in me and saw the best in me when everyone else saw me as a piece of trash.
It was only after what went down with my dad at our high school championship game that I realized with startling clarity that I waslucky. Unlike so many other kids in my situation, I had two potential paths in life ahead of me. A way out. If I didn’t grow the hell up and fully capitalize on the tools and opportunities hockey had given me, if I didn’t work my ass off to prove to my coaches—and to myself—that their belief in me was warranted, I’d end up just like my father and prove everyone else right about me.
That realization lit a burning fire in me, a fire that fueled me to make something of myself. Break the cycle in my family. While I still regret so much—particularly the situation I put Cassie in because of my behavior that awful night—I’m ultimately grateful for everything that’s happened in my life, because it’s brought me to where I am today.
“I wasn’t going to say sorry,” Hazel says, her words cutting through my thoughts and surprising me in a good way. “I know you’re fine. Look at you, you’re a professional athlete living in a loft penthouse.”
“Exactly,” I say with a chuckle, relaxing a little at her sarcastic tone.
She tilts her head to look at me. “Have I ever told you I’m writing my dissertation on foster youth who age out of the system?”
“What?” I blink in surprise.
