Just tired.
He narrows his eyes at me. “Get a nap in before game time.”
“Okay.”
I don’t.
By the time my family shows up, I’m falling asleep on my feet.
I obediently step into Dad’s arms in the atrium of the arena and willingly hug Mom, but when it comes to my sisters, I straight-up launch myself at them. I squeeze Madison tight enough to crack her spine, and Nicolette says, “Oh, me next! That was the longest flight of my life, and I’ve flown to New Zealand.” I do as she asks, and she hugs me back roughly enough to do the same. When I get to Mikayla, I put my forehead on her shoulder and take a moment to breathe.
I love my sisters. If I’m being honest, they’re the only reason I’m still around. I stopped calling my parents once I realized they were never coming back for me. Dad only calls to talk about hockey, Mom only on birthdays and holidays, putting Dad on the phone, too. But I’m always in contact with my sisters, even when I’m just lurking in the group chat.
I should respond more. It’s mostly memes and pointless arguments and tiny tidbits about their days, but they should know I’m paying attention and I care.
Mikayla pulls away only to be immediately replaced by Nova.
Wait.
“What the hell?” I say breathlessly, burying my face in the crook of her neck and pulling her tight to me.
“Surprise,” she says. There’s a laugh in her voice and a heavy feeling behind my eyes. I hear when Bailey shows up with Sid and Karim, Jade with them since Delilah’s already getting ready for her game. This moment would be absolutely perfect with her here. Everyone I care about here in person instead of thousands of miles away, on the phone or my computer screen.
Nova and I hug each other for a few long moments before she backs away and holds me at arm’s length, her smile wide and so different from the ones in her modeling photos. She’s showing her Royals support in dark purple lipstick and glittery black-and-purple eye shadow. Her waist-length blond hair is braided over one shoulder. She’s four inches taller and four weeks older than me, which used to bother me back when we were a thing, before I grew up and realized it didn’t matter.
“Not gonna lie,” she says. “I’m pretty excited for this.”
“When’s the last time you saw me play?” I ask.
“In person?” She takes a moment to think, fingers tapping on my shoulders. “At least two years ago, right? I came to Michigan your first season out there.”
My sisters have had enough of our moment, crowding in around us to give me a look over.
“New team, new tie, huh?” Mikayla says, flipping the bottom of my purple tie up so it almost hits me in the face.
“Are you doing okay?” Madison asks.
“Yeah, dude, you’ve been ignoring the chat more than usual,” Nicolette says. “And you look calm as hell. It seems deceitful.”
I don’t feel calm as hell. I kinda feel like I’m gonna cry.
Bailey and the others work their way in, giving out hugs and it’s good to see yous as the conversation continues. Jade and Sidney both gush over Nova, and there’s a flush in her cheeks from the attention, but her smile’s still genuine.
“If it helps,” Mikayla says, “we’re hitting up a liquor store before dinner. I’ll buy you the fanciest scotch I can find.”
“Scotch?” Nicolette gasps. “That’ll be wasted on him!”
“If he drinks it, it’s not a waste.”
“After-party’s at the men’s hockey house,” Bailey says. “You’re all invited.”
“Laxers aren’t,” I tell her.
“Joke’s on you, asshole, Zero already said we could come.”
“Breaking his own rules.”
“He called it a family event,” Karim adds.
Dorian’s voice is the last thing I expect to hear in this moment, but the shouting is enough to make me look over my shoulder. My team is descending on my family like a swarm, looking all official in suits and ties and wristwatches and hair gel. They make me feel like a little kid playing dress-up every game.
“Too many famous people in one place!” Dorian yells. “Can’t handle it!”
Half my team goes to fawn over my parents—Dad might be an absolute legend, but Mom is still Lucia Russo, Olympic medalist and damn near legendary herself—and the other half surrounds my sisters and Nova.
There’s too many people talking at once, and it’s only getting louder as fans start to filter in, some of our classmates shouting and chanting at us on their way by, others stopping to openly gape at my family. Just when I think all attention is off me, I catch Cauler looking this way.
I am never going to get used to seeing him in a suit. It catches me off guard every time. All the blacks and grays, with a tie I’d like to pull on. Get him back for all the times he’s led me around by my clothes. He gives me that same shy smile that makes me want to die every time.
“Don’t tell me Coach was right, Terzo,” he says. His voice sounds off. Like he’s holding something back. I don’t blame him, considering the company. “You sick?”
“I’m fine,” I say.
“Which is why you’re so pale.”
“I’m extremely white, Cauler, this isn’t new.”
“The greenish undertones are.”
I have to stop myself from jabbing him in the arm, because it would come across a lot less bro and a lot more boyfriend. The crowd starts moving toward the rink as the buzzer sounds at the end of warm-ups, swallowing us and putting bodies between us.
Mom and Dad find me in the mass of people, Mom hooking her arm through mine and Dad putting a hand on my shoulder. “Close with Caulfield?” he asks.
My heart skips, but I keep calm on the outside. “Not really. He just likes to chirp me.”
“Sounds like a distraction.”
I scoff. “Not even close.”
“He’s allowed to have friends, Junior,” Mom says. I can almost hear the eye roll in her voice, and I have never felt closer to her. She rubs my back before they step up to the row behind my team.
Not gonna lie, I’m a little disappointed that I have Barbie and Dorian between me and Cauler. But it’s for the best. No way I’d survive forty-plus minutes knocking elbows on the arm rest with him, inhaling cinnamon and coconut. The lights dim before I even get to sit, my team surging to their feet as the women’s team lines the bench. The announcer names off the starters as they race out onto the ice to stand at the blue line.
“Hell yeah, Delilah!” Nicolette shouts. I give my own whooping cheer, and Delilah smiles in our direction.
Watching her play hockey and playing myself are two entirely different experiences. Watching has me at the edge of my seat, jumping up and yelling every five seconds, holding my face in my hands after every impossible save by the Royals’ goalie, groaning in frustration as Delilah’s tip is blocked by a diving defender. I’m on my feet a second before the puck crosses the goal line for us and slumping in my seat when it’s the opposite.
Delilah gets an assist in the first period, and during intermission Dorian leans forward and says, “Yo, Terzo, bet you twenty bucks Delilah destroys you in points tonight.”
“Why would I take a losing bet?” I call back.
Delilah’s behind the net early in the second, eyes up, waiting for someone to get open. She passes it off to the left and slides around to the right. The defense takes their eyes off her, and I have my fists clenched in front of me, halfway out of my seat. The net’s wide-open for her, the pass right to her stick, the play perfectly executed and the goal easy. I jump as high as I can, fists thrown in the air, throat going raw from how loud I scream.