I blushed a little at her compliment. “Only because I’ve had you and my dad for role models.”
Not that he was around all that much. My mom was purposely neglectful, and he was schedule-challenged. But the household staff was for all that, as far as my mom was concerned. Raising me from a distance couldn’t possibly be wrong if so many of her peers were doing it too. It was the Black Mountain way of life; a sacrifice us kids made for all the material things our parents gave us instead of their time.
“I guess you not taking after your mother is one good thing about her being so busy.” She gestured toward the new artwork my mom just had hung in the formal sitting room as we walked past. I’d long since grown used to the environment around me changing because every month, she liked to refresh a room. “But we really do need to find you more friends closer to your age.”
“Yeah, that’s not going to happen until I get to college.” A lot of the girls at my school were busy competing for queen bee. I didn’t want to have anything to do with them—and they couldn’t care less about someone who wasn’t perfect. A quiet bookworm like me who wasn’t a size zero and didn’t care about the latest fashions didn’t fit in with that crowd. Being stuck with my mother tended to mess up my friendships with the less popular girls. As soon as their moms figured out who I was—or more accurately, whose daughter I was—hanging out became more difficult. Their moms were worried about being forced to spend time with mine—either because they were higher up on the social ladder and didn’t want to deal with her attempts to suck up to them or my mom considered them beneath her and they didn’t want to deal with her less than subtle insults.
I had spent a lot of time wishing that those moms knew that would never happen. My mother hadn’t done girl stuff with me or even picked me up from anything in longer than I could remember. But I’d given up trying to explain the situation with her to anyone back in my freshman year after I realized it wasn’t worth the effort. Nobody ever really listened. Luckily, my two best friends from kindergarten had stuck with me.
“Thank goodness you only have one more year to go,” Marta sighed, marching across the kitchen to place two cookies on a plate and hand it to me.
I was so excited about leaving for college that I’d already started working on my applications even though the first one wasn’t due for another four months. Most of the schools I was looking at were least half a country away from home, and my hope was to move onto campus early. I couldn’t wait to get out from under my mother’s thumb, but I sure would miss some of the advantages of home—like Marta’s kitchen skills.
I bit into one of the cookies she gave me and stared at her expectantly, waiting to find out what she’d learned.
“His name is Corby.”
With how she was acting, I expected more than just his name. “What? That’s it?”
She threw her hands up and laughed. “It’s more than you’ve learned about the boy without my help, and you’ve been watching him for two months.”
“You make an excellent point.” Munching on my cookie, I grinned and shrugged.
Dropping an extra cookie on my plate, she wagged her finger at me. “Your senior year is the perfect time to take risks. Talking to a boy you like is a great place to start.”
She was probably right, but I couldn’t imagine a situation where I’d stick my neck out like that. Especially not with the rest of the students at Black Mountain Academy looking on.
2
Corby
“Are you looking forward to your first day at BMA?” William asked, striding into the dining room dressed in one of the three-piece suits he wore practically around-the-clock. It wasn’t even seven in the morning, but he was ready to head to his office. Not that I was surprised since the guy tended to spend twelve-plus hours there on weekdays, and somehow still had work to do on the weekends. After living with him and his wife for the past two months, I still wasn’t sure if he spent so much time away from his home because making millions of dollars required that or if he just wanted a break from the aging supermodel who tried to cling to him like a barnacle. Or maybe some of those hours in the office were a cover for the mistress I suspected he kept on the side. I had a feeling Eleanor was holding on tight because she feared her time as Mrs. Whitney was coming to an end.
“Nah, but I’m not dreading it, so I’m calling this morning a win.” Starting my senior year at a new school—let alone a fancy private academy full of kids who had nothing in common with me—would have been a fuck of a lot more intimidating if I hadn’t gotten to know the guys on the team already. The Cougars had a club team that played over the summer until regular season practices picked up a few weeks ago, and William had signed me up for it the day after I’d moved to Black Mountain. The hockey world around here was pretty small, so I’d played against—and even on the same team in a few cases—pretty much all of my new teammates at some point over the years. I wouldn’t say I was close friends with any of them yet, but at least they hadn’t been dicks. Hazing the new kid was pretty standard in hockey locker rooms, but they didn't try to pull anything with me.
Their welcome probably had to do with the fact that Coach Clark was thrilled to have me on the team. He was a former pro player, and the guys knew he brought a fuck of a lot more than his excellent coaching skills to the table. Playing for the Cougars meant getting looked at by a lot of scouts because of his connections, which was one of the reasons I’d jumped at the chance to move in with the Whitneys. If this season was as good as my last, I had a decent chance at getting drafted before I started college. If I could make it another four years without any serious injuries, this foster placement could be the key to my chance to play professional hockey. I was willing to put up with just about anything for that opportunity—not that being waited on hand and foot in a mansion was a fucking hardship.
William sat down on the chair at the head of the table. “Coach Clark tells me that you're playing even better than last year.”
“Yeah, it's amazing what a difference top-of-the-line equipment can make.” I shoveled another bite of my omelet into my mouth, thinking that the organic, well-balanced diet I’ve been eating lately must have helped too. I was in better shape than I’d ever been in my life. My wrist and slap shots had definitely benefited from the ten pounds of muscle I’d packed on.
“I wouldn’t know,” he chuckled. “In my day, we had wooden sticks. None of that fancy composite stuff you boys use today.”
I’d played my fair share of games with a cheap wooden stick, too. Once I’d outgrown my teammates a couple of years ago, none of them could give me their old ones anymore. When Coach Clark had gotten a look at my equipment the first time I showed up for club team practice, he’d shoved a new stick at me and growled something about needing to replace everything. The next morning when I was getting ready to head to the rink, I found a new bag with top-of-the-line skates, pads, gloves, and a helmet. I had no clue where it had come from or how all that stuff was in the right sizes for me to use, but I hadn’t asked any questions because I didn’t want to rock the boat. And sure as fuck not over something that was a bonus for me.