"Another win! How are we feeling, baby?" Tate shouts in my ear as we walk back into the locker room after a solid 3-1 victory against the Panthers. We've been riding high on a ten-game winning streak, and the momentum feels unstoppable. I'm not usually one to get overly excited about anything, but there's a fine line between keeping my cool and being a killjoy, so I make sure to let some of that energy spill out. No need to be the grandpa who kills the vibe.
As the celebratory noise of the locker room envelops us, I can't help but smile. Tate, always the instigator, gives me a shove into the room, and I jump onto his back, laughing as he catches me without missing a beat. He puts me down after a few seconds, and the rest of the team is already in full swing chants, shouts, and the chaotic banging on lockers fill the space. I start peeling off my pads and skates, the smile lingering on my face, soaking in the moment. These guys are more than just teammates; they're brothers, and it's moments like these that remind me why I love this sport.
"You're coming out tonight, kid. No excuses!" Cap says, his tone leaving no room for argument. When Cap's in, you know it's serious. He's the seasoned vet who usually heads straight home to his family after games, so when he's making an appearance, it's something special. I raise my hands in mock defense, gloves already discarded, and chuckle.
"I'll be there, promise!" I reply, catching the wink he throws my way before he heads back to his locker. It's rare for Cap to loosen up like this, and I'm not about to miss out.
With the game behind us and the night ahead, we take our time getting ready. I'm down to just my boxer briefs and socks, lounging on the bench as the guys continue to suit up. The banter flows freely, and the camaraderie is infectious. "I can't believe Cap agreed to a club tonight!" JT, the youngest on the team at just eighteen, practically bounces with excitement. He's only been to a club once before, and that was with me, a decision I still regret. The kid got way too drunk, way too fast.
Kelz, our left winger, chimes in with a grin, "Only because his lady will be joining us. Thank her for finding a babysitter on such short notice." JT laughs, slipping into his jeans, and mockingly adds, "Thank you, Mrs. Anderson!" I shake my head at the memory of JT's last club adventure. If he thinks about getting that trashed again, he's going to have to answer to me.
Across the room, Tate's voice rises above the chatter, "And hell froze over because Dempsey is showing his face tonight!" He's grinning like a fool, and I can't resist the urge to flip him off. He clutches his chest dramatically, playing the part of the wounded hero. I laugh and mutter under my breath, "Fucker."
"Don't be mean to him, or he'll ditch us for Allie," Kelz teases, his eyes twinkling with mischief. I roll my eyes, more out of habit than anything else. Allie hasn't crossed my mind all week, but just as I'm about to retort, my phone vibrates on the bench beside me. The screen lights up with a name that pulls me back to reality, Tiffany, my manager.
Why is she calling after a game? I grab my phone and step out into the hallway, away from the noise. Pressing it to my ear, I hear Tiffany's voice, high-pitched and a little frantic, "Miles! God, I didn't know if you'd actually pick up. Congratulations on the win tonight."
"Thank you, thank you. Everything alright?" I ask, my tone shifting to match the seriousness of her voice. Tiffany doesn't usually call after games, or even before, unless something's up.
"Yes. But, uhm, I need to know if you still want me to get a hold of the PI you requested. She's a busy lady and doesn't take on clients easily. She's getting impatient, is what I'm trying to say," Tiffany rushes through her explanation, and I can feel the tension creeping into my body.
I lean against the wall, closing my eyes to block out everything around me. A few weeks ago, I'd reached out to a private investigator to find my birth parents. It was something I hadn't even thought about in the last week or so, thanks to the chaos of the season. But now, with this call, all the emotions I'd been pushing down come rushing back.
The thought of finding my birth parents has always been a double-edged sword. On one hand, I've been curious my entire life, who are they? Where are they? Do they think about me? On the other hand, the fear of rejection, of opening a door that can't be closed, has always held me back. And then there's the question of my adoptive parents, how would they feel if they knew I was looking? Would it hurt them? Would it change things between us?
"Miles, hun? You still there?" Tiffany's voice breaks through the whirlwind of thoughts in my head, and I push off the wall, running a hand through my hair.
"Yeah, I'm here." My voice comes out rougher than I intended. Tiffany sighs, the sound full of understanding.
"Talk to your parents, Miles. I know how terrible you'd feel if you did all of this behind their backs. It's going to be a tough conversation, but it has to happen. I know how much you want this." Her words hit me hard, like a punch to the gut. She's right, I do want this. But I don't want to hurt the people who raised me, who loved me like their own.
I can feel the weight of the decision pressing down on me. I've always known this moment would come, but now that it's here, it feels like I'm standing on the edge of a cliff, about to jump into the unknown. My parents—my real parents, the ones who raised me are everything to me. But I can't ignore the pull to know where I came from, to understand the other part of my story.
"You're right, Tiff. Call off the PI. Thanks,"I manage to say, my voice thick with emotion. "On it. Have a good night, Miles," she replies, and I return the sentiment before hanging up. I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly, trying to calm the storm inside me. I can't let this ruin my night. I'm still going out. I'm still getting drunk. And I'm still on a team that's killing it on the ice.
But even as I try to push the thoughts away, I know they'll be waiting for me when the night is over. The conversation with my parents looms over me like a dark cloud, and I know I can't avoid it much longer.
---
Crossed Paths
The next morning, after a restless night, I decide it's time. I've been putting this off for too long, and the longer I wait, the more anxious I get. Tiffany was right—it's better to talk to my parents than to go behind their backs. But that doesn't make it any easier.
I texted my mom last night, telling her I'd join her and Dad for breakfast. I figured it was the best time to have this conversation—over coffee, in the familiar comfort of home. But now, standing in line at Renaissance Café, I feel like I'm about to face the hardest game of my life.
The line inside is longer than usual, and I know I'll be late. I adjust the cap on my head, pulling my hoodie up and slipping on my sunglasses. It's not that I don't like being recognized, but today I just don't have the energy for it. I need to focus on what I'm going to say, and I need coffee before I can even begin to think clearly.
The smell of fresh pastries and brewing coffee fills the air as I step inside. Renaissance Café is a high-end spot that I wouldn't have known about if it wasn't for Tate's girlfriend, Kaitlyn. She's the type who insists on ten-dollar coffees, but I can't deny that the place has grown on me. The coffee here is worth every penny.
I pull out my phone, trying to distract myself as the line inches forward. Social media has been the last thing on my mind lately, but I force myself to scroll through some posts, liking a few pictures from my teammates.
Then, I hear her voice. That voice.
"Kayce, I can't miss my nine am because you need a ride to practice! I wouldn't even get there on time."
Goddamn. Not her.
"Dad has two other cars, use them. Goodbye."
I know I joked about running into her more than once, but I didn't think it would keep happening. Nola. The girl I can't seem to avoid, no matter where I go. The girl who got under my skin at the rink and has been a thorn in my side ever since.
I tried being nice. I really did. But she's impossible to crack. Every interaction feels like a battle, and no matter what I say or do, she always has a sharp retort ready. After our last exchange, I decided to just let it go, to avoid her if I could.
But…