The Season: Rush (Austin Arrows #1) Page 3

  I chuckle. I can’t help it. “You think so?”

  I think back to when Bianca was eight. She wanted her ears pierced. I didn’t have a problem with it, so I took her and got them done. At nine, she insisted on a pair of boots with a slight heel. I didn’t have a problem with those, either, so I bought them for her for Christmas. When she was ten, she insisted she wanted to wear a bikini. I was a little more hesitant about that, but I finally caved. The kid can be really persuasive. We found a cute one that wasn’t ridiculously revealing. Then when she was eleven, she wanted her cartilage pierced. Since I have mine done, I decided that was okay for her, too.

  When she turned twelve, her choice of clothing changed drastically. Gone was the young-girl clothes and on to the pieces that were a little more adult. Tighter jeans, tank tops, training bra, that sort of thing. I went with it, trusting my daughter to make the right choices for her. She convinced me to get her hair cut. The long, dark locks disappeared and a short, cute bob took their place.

  All of those times, she talked to me, told me what she wanted, asked permission even. So, I guess I’m having a difficult time with the pink hair more so because it came out of the blue and there was no conversation beforehand.

  Bianca doesn’t say anything for the rest of the drive. I can tell as soon as I pull into the driveway that she’s preparing to bolt. Before she can leave me in her dust, I stop her with a hand on her arm.

  “Hey,” I say, turning to face her. “I don’t mind the pink hair, but I really wish you would’ve asked me first. I think I’ve been pretty lenient, don’t you?”

  She shrugs.

  “Do I really tell you no that often?”

  She shrugs again.

  I hate this part. The part where her lips seem to be glued together and I get to do all the talking.

  “Talk to me, Bianca. I’ve been pretty lenient, haven’t I?”

  Bianca’s gaze slides to her lap. “Yeah. I guess so.”

  “Next time, I expect you to talk to me first. Okay?”

  Bianca nods.

  “About anything,” I add. “You can talk to me about anything, kid. I’m your mom and I love you. I’m here for you to talk to.”

  There’s a sheen of tears in Bianca’s eyes when she looks back at me. I know she feels guilty, which she should. I didn’t mean for her to, but my heart mends a little because it’s obvious she didn’t want to defy me.

  Not too much, anyway.

  I give her arm a gentle squeeze. “I love you, kiddo.”

  “I love you, too, Mommy.”

  And once again, all is right with the world.

  At least for today, anyway.

  3

  Kingston

  “Bro, I seriously need a beer,” Spencer grumbles in my ear when I answer the phone.

  It’s after seven and I’m sitting at home on my ass, planning to relax for the weekend, knowing Monday’s going to be hell.

  “I could go for a beer,” I tell him. “Want to meet me at the Penalty Box, or would you rather stop by here?” It doesn’t really matter to me, although I wasn’t planning to go out again tonight if I didn’t have to.

  “I’ll swing by there. Don’t want any prying ears for the shit I need to talk to you about.”

  That piques my interest. “Got it. See you in a few.”

  Twenty minutes after I hang up with Spencer, he’s walking into my house and he doesn’t even bother to knock. He probably drops by at least once a week, which means he’s as comfortable here as I am. I’m used to it, so I simply grab two beers and meet him in the living room.

  As I pass one over, I grin. “Tell me. Are they scratching the whole team and pulling up from the farm?” It’s my attempt at a joke, but it doesn’t seem to work on Spencer, and that’s when I realize he’s seriously worked up.

  I knew he was dreading the meeting with Phoenix, but surely it wasn’t that bad. The guy looks like someone ran over his dog. Twice.

  When he plants his ass on my couch, I drop to the chair across from him, crossing my ankle over my knee while I study him closely. He’s physically present, but I’m not so sure he’s accounted for. “Talk to me, man. How was the meeting with Phoenix?”

  Spencer looks up and meets my gaze. He’s frowning, which isn’t a good sign. “She fucking works for the Austin Arrows.”

  I frown, my beer bottle pressed to my lips, completely lost. I want to say, “Phoenix is a guy, bro,” but I don’t think that’s what Spencer’s referring to. At least I hope not. If so, we’ve got an entirely different issue here.

  He clearly sees my dilemma, because he elaborates, “Amber North works for the fucking Arrows.”

  And by elaborate, I mean he keeps rattling on about shit I know nothing about.

  “Do I know Amber North?” Based on the way he says her name, I probably should.

  “My ex.”

  I take a swallow of beer, then chuckle. “You’ll have to be a little more specific. There’re quite a few of those.”

  Not that I’ve kept track, but Spencer hasn’t been in a serious relationship in all the time I’ve known him. A couple of months at most, which in my head isn’t serious. I wouldn’t go so far as to call him a man-whore, but he does have a penchant for the bunnies.

  Spencer sighs, then leans back, clearly not amused. “I went into Coach’s office this morning, and Phoenix was there waiting for me,” he explains. “I walked in, took a seat where Coach directed me, and the next fucking thing I know, Mark Coleman walks in.”

  I’m still trying to understand where the ex-girlfriend plays into this, but I’m not about to interrupt. Spencer looks like he’s choking on every damn word. I don’t want to hinder his progress.

  “I hardly even noticed the guy.”

  “That’s kind of hard to do considering he’s what? Six five?”

  “Somethin’ like that. But seriously, I hardly see him because my attention was drawn to the redhead standing at his side. She looked like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming freight train.” Spencer frowns as though he’s reliving that moment. “I seriously doubt she was surprised to see me, but she acted like it. When Mark introduced her, I couldn’t even acknowledge her, man. I was too stunned to move.”

  “Did she suck in bed? Or was she psycho?” I’m trying to understand why this particular chick has him so worked up. “Did she roast your nuts or what?” I’m drawing a serious blank when it comes to this girl.

  “Because she’s Amber North.”

  Again, I don’t know what the hell that’s supposed to mean, but Spencer doesn’t seem to care that I’m out of the loop.

  “Mark then rattles off an introduction, but I know she doesn’t need one. She already fucking knows me. Pretty damn well, considering I dated her for a grand total of four fucking years.”

  I sit up, grinning. “Oh, shit, bro. She’s the chick who Dear John’d you via voice mail?” This is fucking priceless.

  I’ve known Spencer for a long damn time. There’s a long string of women who’ve ventured through the revolving door of the man’s bed, but there was only one chick who he’d been with for any length of time. She happened to be in his life around the time that I met him back in college. She burned him pretty damn bad. Apparently, her name is Amber North.

  Spencer glares at me. He’s clearly not as amused as I am.

  “I have no fucking idea what they hoped to accomplish during that meeting, but at that point, I checked the fuck out. It pissed me off that she blindsided me.”

  “You think she should’ve given you a heads-up? When’s the last time you talked to her?” To my knowledge, Kaufman’s never talked to her since he listened to her sad tale on his voice mail years and years ago.

  “That’s beside the point,” he says with a snort. “And yes, I think she could’ve warned me. Instead, I sat there like a dumb ass. I damn sure couldn’t focus on whatever the hell they were talking about. The only thing I could think about was the fact that I was sitting next to the woman who dum
ped my ass seventeen years ago without giving me a fucking reason.”

  I down more of my beer while I watch my buddy. He’s kind of pathetic right now, and I can’t help but be entertained by it. I know he would feel the same way if I were the one sitting here whining like a little girl. Clearly, seeing this chick again has fucked with his head.

  “Does she look good?”

  Spencer’s eyes lock on mine. “What?”

  I smirk. “This ghost from your past. Did she age well?”

  “Fuck off, man.”

  “What?” I hold my hands up in mock surrender. “I can’t help it. This is like one of those Lifetime movies my mother used to watch.”

  “This ain’t fiction.”

  “No, but it’s fucking funny.”

  Spencer glares at me.

  Okay, fine. It’s funny to me.

  “The next thing I know, I’m agreeing with Coach and I have no clue what the hell he even said.”

  “Then what?”

  Spencer shakes his head, taking a long draw on his beer. Setting his arm on the armrest, he stares at his beer bottle dangling from his hand while he talks. “I only caught a little of what he said. Something about having a discussion with the team on Monday. He mentioned sharing his plan and then talking to the players one at a time.”

  Fuck.

  Out of all the shit Spencer just laid on me, that’s the only damn thing I can focus on. I know exactly what Coach plans to do. He intends to read us the riot act, then he’ll likely be personally busting my balls.

  “Did he say who?”

  Spencer shakes his head. “Not specifically, just that there are a few he wants to talk to. Said they’re his main focus this season, and he wasn’t referring to their abilities on the ice.”

  Yep, I’m totally fucking screwed. It isn’t a coincidence that ESPN did a segment on bad boys in sports—their title, not mine—just last night. My fucking name and picture were plastered all over the damn thing thanks to the bullshit that went down last year. My guess is Coach saw it and he wants to get a jump on it now before it’s the only thing people talk about this season. Almost makes sense to me.

  But one thing I don’t understand… “So, why’d they want you there?”

  His smile is devilish. “Oh, that’s the best fucking part.” The sarcasm is practically dripping from his lips. “I’m supposedly an integral part of all this.” Spencer uses air quotes as he mocks Phoenix. “He wants me involved in all of it, and he was kind enough to tell me he’d share his reasons for that later.”

  “You’re the captain. What’d you expect?”

  “I didn’t sign up to be a damn mediator for this shit.”

  That’s Spencer’s favorite line. Considering the guy cherishes the role as captain when it comes to rallying the troops and pulling the team together as one, it’s mostly bullshit. He’s a phenomenal team captain. Not a single player doubts that he stands behind them one hundred percent. Never mind the fact Spencer likes to pretend he’s a hard-ass.

  Busting my buddy’s balls would be so easy right now. Rather than jump on the opportunity, I nod as though I understand. I don’t. I seriously want to interrogate Spencer in an effort to find out more about what they’re going to talk about, but I know that wasn’t the reason he stopped by. Had this Amber chick not been there, I doubt Spencer would’ve told me a damn thing.

  I figure it’s time to get the subject back to Spencer. “Did you talk to her? This Amber girl?”

  Spencer shakes his head, then lifts his bottle to his mouth. “No, but I think she wanted to.” He takes a long drink. “I bolted as soon as Phoenix said he was done. She tried to stop me, but I blew her off. I didn’t know what the hell to say to her.”

  “You going to give her a chance to explain?” Personally, I don’t think he should so much as look her way, but what the hell do I know? I am damn sure not in a position to give relationship advice. To anyone.

  “Actually, I think I’m gonna do what I’ve been doing all this time.”

  “Which is?”

  His smile is mischievous once again. “I’m gonna pretend she doesn’t exist.”

  “Sounds good in theory, bro.”

  But we all know how that shit usually ends.

  Probably a lot like this conversation.

  Quickly and without resolution.

  Bianca

  One, two, three…

  Four, five, six…

  While I wait for Gabby to text me back, I lie on my bed and stare at the ceiling. It’s still covered with those little glow-in-the-dark stars my mom put up when I was seven. Right after Grandma and Grandpa died. She did it so I wouldn’t be sad anymore. It didn’t work, but I never told her that. They don’t glow much anymore, but they’re still cool to look at sometimes. I always find myself counting the big ones. One time I got to sixty-one before Gabby finally texted me back.

  Seven, eight, nine, ten…

  I should be asleep, not only because I’m tired but also because Mom likes for me to go to bed by eleven on the weekends, nine thirty on school nights. Sometimes I do, but most of the time Gabby and I text until I can’t keep my eyes open. Tonight, we’ve been going back and forth for at least an hour now.

  My mom’s at work, but I know she’ll be coming home to check on me at some point. She’s already come by twice and will probably be by at least two more times. She does it randomly, and never in any sort of pattern that I can easily figure out. I think that’s the point. She trusts me, but only to a certain degree.

  I guess most parents are that way. Although, my mom is probably cooler than most. I know Gabby’s mom wouldn’t let her stay at home by herself at night. Not even if she worked only a couple of minutes away. But my mom is definitely cool like that.

  My phone vibrates.

  Gabby: So she wasn’t mad about your hair?

  Bianca: Not about the color, no. She was more upset that I didn’t ask her first.

  That was the part that shocked me.

  I knew last night when I decided to put the pink streak in my hair that my mom was going to be upset. I didn’t realize she was going to be more upset that I didn’t ask, though.

  I was surprised she didn’t say something this morning, and I think that made it worse than if she would’ve yelled at me. I thought about it all day while I was at school. Even during English when I was sitting next to Joseph Barker—the cutest boy in the whole school. Sometimes I think he likes me, but other times I think he wants to be friends because he knows that Optimus, the captain of the Austin Arrows, is my uncle. I’m pretty popular because of that.

  The pink hair was a big hit, too. A couple of girls said I wouldn’t do it, but I showed them. It wasn’t that hard once I figured it out. The worst part was having to bleach the strand of hair before I could color it. It smelled awful and it felt like it took forever. The biggest problem was getting the color off the sink so my mom wouldn’t know. I kind of expected her to be angry that I did it at all, but she didn’t seem too mad this morning. Still, I worked myself up all day only to have her bring it up so calmly in the car. I wonder if parents plan it that way.

  Gabby: What about the other thing? Did you tell her yet?

  Bianca: No. I’m not sure I will, either.

  Gabby: Don’t you think she’ll be mad when she finds out?

  Bianca: Probably, but I don’t plan for her to find out.

  Gabby’s referring to the new Facebook profile I created. My mom let me have a Facebook account last year, but she monitors it. She’s nice enough not to comment, but she friends me on all of my accounts, so I know she sees everything I do and say. Sometimes she even logs in so she can see the notifications and messages. She tells me that she doesn’t let me go out in the world without supervision and she’s not going to unleash me on the Internet without supervision. I kind of get it even though it feels like an invasion of privacy. I told her that once, and she said, “Bianca, you’re twelve. You don’t get to have privacy.”

  Since
I don’t want her to know about what I’m planning to do, I had to create a new account. I heard Joseph say he has two accounts and his parents don’t know about the second one. That’s how I got the idea, anyway.

  Gabby: Did you block everybody?

  Bianca: Everyone I can think of, yeah.

  Because I don’t want my mom to find the account, I used a fake name—Belle, which is part of my first name and my middle name—and blocked everyone that I know, including my mom, Uncle Optimus, Gabby. Even myself. That way no one can find it.

  Gabby: Have you posted yet?

  Bianca: Not yet. I’m still working on what it should say.

  A couple of months ago, I came up with a brilliant idea. I’ve seen a lot of posts where someone is looking for another person. I’ve seen a couple where someone holds up signs saying everything they want to say, without actually speaking. Like, “I’m looking for my twin brother who was given up for adoption.” Or, “I’m looking for my biological mom.” That sort of thing.

  It gave me the idea to look for my dad. Since Mom said she tried to find him but never could, I don’t think she’ll mind. Why would she? After all, he’s my dad. And since she hasn’t dated anyone in a really long time, I think maybe it’ll be good for her, too.

  Sometimes I dream about my dad finding us. In my dreams, he’s always so happy to meet me. When I told Gabby that, she said it would be even better if he would then realize he had missed my mom and we’d eventually be a family.

  It would be so cool if I could find him and surprise her.

  Gabby: Well, you have to tell me when you do. I want to see if you get any likes. Or comments.

  Bianca: You’ll be the first to know. Promise.

  Gabby: I need to go to bed before my mom comes in and gets mad. You still planning to come over tomorrow?

  Bianca: Yep.

  Gabby: Cool. See you then.

  Bianca: K. Night.

  I drop my phone onto the bed and stare at the laptop on my desk. I really should do the post, but I haven’t figured out what it should say yet. Every time I think about it, I come up with nothing. I figure one of these days it’ll make sense, and as soon as it does, I’ll post it.