Chapter 2: Chapter 2

“Exactly how did I let you talk me into this?” my bestie asks as we navigate the crowded corridor.

“Because you love me.” I flash an overly sweet smile in her direction.

With a scowl, she flattens her lips before grumbling, “Well, you got me there.”

Holland and I became fast friends back in elementary school. She’s my sister from another mister. The yin to my yang. Whenever I’ve needed her, she’s been there. I’d like to think that I’ve done the same, but at this point, she’s definitely put in more time.

She’s a true friend in every sense of the word.

And there’s nothing I wouldn’t do in return for her.

Holland gives off major don’t-fuck-with-me vibes. But beneath her hard, crunchy exterior lies a soft, nougat filling. Although, if you said that to her, she’d probably take a chunk out of your backside with her teeth.

But she can’t fool me. We’ve been friends long enough that every so often, she’ll drop the mask and allow her vulnerability to take center stage. I love that she’s comfortable enough to give me those rare and precious glimpses of the real Holland.

“Added bonus, you enjoy watching River play.”

A devilish smile lifts the corners of her lips. “Actually, what I enjoy is watching your brother knock grown men on their asses. There’s something immensely satisfying about it. Especially when he does it to one player in particular.” She glances at me. “Which is the real reason I agreed to this outing.”

I knock my thinner shoulder into hers. When she meets my eyes, I waggle my brows. “It wouldn’t be the worst start to a relationship.”

She snorts. “I’m sorry, have you totally lost your mind? I have zero interest in hockey players and even less in your brother.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Her tone turns steely. “One hundred percent.”

My brain tumbles back to our childhood. “You might not realize this, but I’ve always secretly hoped you two would fall in love and get married. Then we’d truly be sisters.”

“What are you talking about? That’s never been a secret. You used to leave sticky notes on my books with our names surrounded by little hearts.”

For years, I tried nudging them in each other’s direction with no luck. Neither seem interested in the other. River treats Holland like the sister he never wanted or asked for.

“Plus, your brother is a total bonehead.”

I loop my arm through hers and draw her curvy body closer before adding in a cajoling voice, “Just think, if you play your cards right, he could be your bonehead.”

“Hard pass. I’m focused on finishing up college and getting the hell out of here. In that order.” There’s a pause before she mutters, “And Marcus left a lasting impression. One that has been singed into my soul.”

It’s not often that my friend dredges up her ex.

“That was years ago,” I say carefully.

I hate that he hurt her so much. Holland has always been a master at keeping her emotions tightly contained. I can hardly blame her with the way she grew up. I’m just glad our house was something of a refuge for her.

She jerks her shoulders and brushes off the comment. “Once burned, twice shy and all that bullshit.”

“I’m just saying that you should be open to the idea of love if it presents itself. That’s all.”

“Maybe after college, once I’m a boss-ass bitch,” she concedes.

That reluctantly given admittance feels like a major victory.

When my phone vibrates in my pocket, I slip my hand inside and fish it out before glancing at the screen.

“Let me guess—it’s Becks.”

Even though I try not to let it affect me, everything inside me deflates. “Yup.”

“She wants to make sure you’ve taken all the necessary precautions this evening.”

“Right again.”

“You realize that woman would put you in a bubble if it were socially acceptable?”

“Don’t give her any ideas,” I grumble.

A smile trembles on her lips. “Oh, I’m pretty sure she’s already investigated it. Must not have been feasible.”

I hate to admit just how spot-on Holland is in her assessment of the situation.

“How hilarious would it be if you showed up in a biohazard suit?”

I glare. “She’d be thrilled.”

“Yeah, probably. The woman is a total nutjob.” She glances at me. “Sorry, but it’s true.”

“I’m aware,” I say with a reluctant sigh.

We follow the swiftly moving crowd until finding our seat section. Even though I’m a student at Western, the only time I attend their games is when my brother’s team is playing the Wildcats. My twin has been involved in the sport since kindergarten, so I grew up watching it. More times than not, Holland was dragged along to keep me company.

As soon as we enter the arena, I glance around, searching for my parents. Mom pops to her feet and waves erratically. The people surrounding her swivel in her direction and stare. Somehow, they managed to secure amazing seats right up against the plexiglass.

“Oh good, there’s Becks,” Holland mutters. “I’ve missed her. What’s it been? Seventy-two hours since she stopped by our place to do a deep clean?”

I shake my head at the nickname. “You know she hates when you call her that, right?’

She flashes a grin. “Why do you think I do it?”

Even though I shake my head, I can’t help but be amused by my bestie. She does and says things that I would never dream of.

It would be difficult not to admire her spunk.

I return the wave, hoping Mom will settle down.

“Think she got here early and sanitized our entire section?”

“Probably.”

It would be amusing if it weren’t true.

My mother has always been nervous by nature. My diagnosis in high school only amplified those tendencies.

Once we make our way to the seats, Dad rises to his feet and pulls me in for a warm embrace. He’s way more chill than Mom. After a handful of seconds, she elbows him out of the way to do the same. Her grip borders on bone crushing. When the embrace stretches a few seconds too long, I pat her back. Only then does she draw away enough to study my face, as if looking for telltale signs of fatigue or illness.

“How are you feeling, sweetie? I hope you’ve been taking those new immunity boosters I bought. When I didn’t hear from you yesterday, I was concerned.”

I bite back the sigh that sits perched on the tip of my tongue, and paste a smile in place. “I feel great. I told you when you stopped by the other day that I’d be busy with classes and the tutoring center.”

Her brows pinch at the mention of my job on campus. “You’re just asking to pick up an illness working there. All those germs… I really hope you’re taking the necessary precautions. Washing your hands, using sanitizer, wearing a mask, and social distancing when possible. And when you return home from school, make sure you’re changing right away and throwing your dirty clothes into the laundry.”

“Mom…”

“I’m serious!” Her voice rises as fear flickers in her eyes.

“We talked to Dr. Edwards about it at my last appointment, remember? He agreed that it was fine. I’m not putting myself at risk.”

She presses her lips together before muttering, “I still don’t like it.”

“She’s fine, Becks. Willow hasn’t even caught so much as a cold this semester.”

Mom turns glaring eyes on my roommate, and her voice flattens. “Oh, I didn’t notice you there, Holland.”

My roommate grins. “It’s nice to see you too.”

After all these years, my mother has finally learned to tolerate Holland because I love her so fiercely and refuse to listen to one bad word she has to say about her or her family. What Mom can’t deny is that she’s been a steadfast friend through everything.

As far as Mom’s concerned, it’s Holland’s only saving grace.

“I’m being careful. Promise,” I say, cutting into their conversation before it can spiral out of control and ruin the evening.

It’s happened before.

We’re here to support River, not talk about me.

It won’t be long before she launches into a spiel about me going into elementary education and how many germs children carry. She’ll probably end up stroking out when I begin my student teaching placement next year.

Or she’ll show up every day armed with a can of disinfectant, sanitizing wipes, and masks.

I wouldn’t put it past the woman.

Just as I’m about to drop down onto the seat, she says, “Wait! Let me wipe down the chair again.”

“Mom,” I groan. “That’s not necessary.”

She meets my beseeching gaze with a determined look of her own. “It’ll only take a second.”

Embarrassment claws at my cheeks as she pulls out a travel-size pouch of wipes and scrubs the plastic and metal. A few people seated in the row above us stare as she grabs a small bottle of spray and then disinfects it.

The alcohol scent, masked by something that can only be described as artificially floral, stings my nostrils.

Once she tucks away her cleaning supplies, she waves toward the seat. “Now it’s ready.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem, sweetie. Do you want to wear a mask?” She glances around with a frown. “There are so many people packed in here.”

“If the germs don’t kill her,” Holland mutters beneath her breath, “your smothering will.”

By the way Mom narrows her eyes, she heard the comment loud and clear.

Before either one can take another swipe, the lights in the arena are dimmed as the music volume is raised, cutting off the possibility of further conversation.

When the players from the East Town Rattlers are announced, we whistle and cheer as River’s name reverberates throughout the arena. Then it’s time for the home team players to be introduced. I glance around as the fans cheer and applaud until the noise becomes deafening. The Jumbotron gives their fans a close-up shot as each player takes to the ice with a wave.

Since transferring to the university in the fall, I haven’t paid much attention to the athletes on campus. Although, it would be impossible not to be aware of them. Hockey and football are by far the most popular sports at Western. Each team generates a ton of revenue for the school, and they have more groupies than they know what to do with.

It’s been the same for my brother in both high school and college.

It only takes one glance to notice a few girls in the visiting team’s section holding up signs with my brother’s name and number scrawled across the white posterboard.

That’s reason number one as to why I would never get involved with an athlete.

River is the other.

My twin would have a conniption if I looked twice at one of his teammates. He’s always been quick to run off any of the guys who show even a hint of interest.

His behavior is almost as overbearing as my mother’s.

Last year, I reached my breaking point and brought up the idea of switching universities. Holland encouraged it and offered to be my roommate. Even though both my mother and brother objected to the move, I transferred last summer and started at Western in the fall.

So far, it’s been one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.

I only wish I’d done it sooner.

There’s freedom in the people I meet not knowing who I am or my backstory.

I’m knocked from the tangle of my thoughts when the puck gets dropped at center ice and the players explode into action. I unzip my jacket, revealing my brother’s jersey.

His dream is to play professional hockey.

When River was a junior in high school, he reached out to Brody McKinnon, who owns a sports management agency, in hopes of representation. The former NHL player turned him down, saying that they weren’t taking on any new clients.

My brother was crushed.

Especially since his son is Maverick McKinnon. They played on opposite teams in high school, and it’s the same in college. Over the years, it’s turned into something of a rivalry.

A none-too-friendly one.

I blink back to the action on the ice when one of River’s teammates makes a quick pass to him. As soon as the puck lands on the end of his stick, my brother takes off, maneuvering around players as they attempt to swarm.

Energy buzzes through the arena as Western’s fans shout for River to be shut down. A look of intensity settles on my brother’s face as he darts across the ice. I leap to my feet and cheer when he skates closer to the goal. He’s one of the top scorers on his team. Just as he veers toward us to avoid a defenseman, another player slams him into the boards. My eyes widen as my hands fly to my mouth. The sound of the collision reverberates throughout the vast space as I stare at the defenseman who just took out my brother.

Our gazes lock for a heartbeat.

And then another.

Time stands still as icy air gets clogged in my throat. The cheering crowd fades as I stare into eyes that can only be described as the color of rich mocha.

When his gaze drops to my jersey, the loss of eye contact is instantaneous. His lips twist into a scowl. That’s all it takes for my heart to explode into action, racing beneath my breast as my brother scrambles to his feet and plows a gloved hand into Maverick McKinnon’s wide chest.

My knees weaken now that the intensity of his stare is no longer drilling into me.

Players from both teams descend, trying to pull Maverick and River away from one another. I don’t have to hear the words that fall from my brother’s lips to know that he’s pissed off. Frustration wafts off him in thick, suffocating waves.

Mom shakes her head and scowls. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again—that McKinnon boy is an animal.”

“Damn,” Holland mutters. “I was hoping more of a fight would break out. Maybe a little bloodshed to break up the monotony.”

Mom shoots her another glare as my gaze slices to my twin’s rival. His teammates have their arms wrapped around him as the ref blows his whistle, ending the possibility of a brawl breaking out.

When Maverick’s hard-edged stare slices to me for a second time, my fingers rise to play with the silver W pendant that hangs loosely around my neck. River wears a matching one with his initial. He bought them for us after my diagnosis, and there’s never been a day that I haven’t worn the delicate piece of jewelry. It’s become a good-luck charm.

As the game gets back underway, anticipation crackles in the air like an impending storm. Instead of keeping my attention focused on my brother the way I should, I find myself staring at the handsome defenseman.