Chapter One
Justin
“Justin, getting knocked out of the playoffs in the first round is obviously not what you were hoping for.” Standing in front of my locker, I am already irritated by the reporter’s question. I mean, it wasn’t like we were going to win the Stanley Cup, but when the underdogs beat us in round one, I don’t want to discuss it. “Are you planning on taking the summer off, or will you be training?” Looking at his suit, I think he’s overdressed, but what do I know? I’m wearing basketball shorts and a team T-shirt with the matching baseball hat.
I put my hands on my hips and look down at the floor, something that my big brother Matthew taught me a long time ago. Having been in the NHL for over twenty years, he knows what he’s talking about. Always think about the question before saying what you really want to answer. My first instinct is to tell him to fuck off and get out of my face. I want to tell him to strap on a pair of skates and tell me how easy it is for him to get to my stats, but I don’t.
Instead, I look up and say, “Yeah, for sure. Going out in the first round isn’t what anyone wants, but I have to give it to Vegas. They came out to win, and the better team won.” I look at him, and he nods his head, waiting for the answer to the second part of his question. “I’m taking a month off, and then I’m coming back to start the first ever Justin Stone Summer Hockey Camp.” I smile, proud of what I’ve put together. “I’m excited to start this first ever summer camp. I think there are a lot of talented kids who don’t have the means to get extra time on the ice. We have five kids coming in from every level, from mite to midget. It’s going to be mostly one-on-one hockey, and I am super excited about it.”
“That sounds great,” he says, ignoring it, and then asks another annoying question. “With many of your team members becoming free agents, how sure are you about the success of the team next year?” I look at him.
“I have no idea, and to be honest, that isn’t my job. My job is to go out on the ice and give it my all. Who I do it with is just a bonus,” I say, and then I turn to grab my Gatorade, hoping he takes the hint and fucks off.
“Thank you for answering the questions, Justin,” he says with a smile, and I nod. “See you next season.”
I look around, seeing a couple more reporters in the room. Apart from the last game of the year, this has to be the most depressing. Everyone came in today to “clean out their lockers.” Glancing at my watch, I realize my meeting with the GM is in ten minutes, so I grab my phone and head toward his office. My phone beeps in my pocket, and when I take it out, I see that Matthew just texted me. Matthew is my older brother, retired NHL god, and now the GM for the New York Stingers. And if that didn’t make it hard enough to follow in his footsteps, my father is Cooper Stone. The Cooper Stone who holds all the records across the board. The same records I try to beat every single year but always come short of.
Matthew: What time do you land, and are you staying with Mom and Dad?
I don’t text him back. In fact, I hate fucking texting. I always, always call, so it’s no surprise when he answers the phone laughing. “I think you are the only twenty-four-year-old kid who hates to text.” I hear honking in the background, and I know he must be in the city.
“I just don’t see the purpose of it when I can pick up the phone and call you,” I say, walking down the blue carpeted hallway. “I get there tomorrow morning. I changed my flight to give me extra time to pack up my condo and shit.”
“You mean you changed the flight so you can bang one more time before coming home.” He laughs, and I shake my head.
“No,” I say, trying to sound convincing but failing. Am I exclusive? No, I’ve never been. I have yet to find the person I want to be exclusive with. When I look around and see that all four of my siblings are happily married with kids, I wonder if I’m ever going to find my person. “Besides, if I got the flight out, I wouldn’t land in New York until midnight.”
“Where are you staying?” he asks. “I spoke with Dad ten minutes ago, and he said Mom is fixing your room.”
I groan out loud. “Why does she keep doing that?”
“Because you’re her baby,” he says.
“I have chest hair and a beard. I think I’m past the baby stage,” I say, and he laughs. “I’ll call her now. I was hoping to spend some time in the city. Viktor said I can crash at his condo and so did Max.” I mention my two brothers-in-law. “I have a couple of people I want to hit up while in the city.”
“I bet you do,” he says, chuckling. “Just remember to come home without a mark on you.”
“I can’t be held accountable about that,” I say. I think back to the time I went home and had scratch marks all down my back when I took off my shirt. “Fuck, I think she even drew blood,” I say out loud.
“Okay, well, call Mom and tell her what your plans are, or she’s going to start planning a welcome home barbecue like she always does.”
“I’m staying for two weeks,” I say, and he gets quiet. “I set up a two-week training session with Ivan at his ranch.” Ivan is a Russian hockey coach who kicks my ass every single summer. He makes me come back bigger and better.
“I heard that he makes the guys barf the first day of training.” I nod my head.
“He’s the most intense off-season coach out there. I have that hockey camp for the month, and then I want to see if I can go back to him for another couple of weeks before preseason starts.”
“Come out guns blazing, I see,” he says. “I have to run but give Mom a call.”
“I will,” I say and disconnect just in time because the GM, Hartley, comes out of his office.
“Justin, right on time,” he says and stretches his hand to mine, and I shake it. I walk into the pre-camp meeting and sit on one of the empty chairs as we go over what I thought of the season and things I want to change. When I get up and walk out of the room, I grab my bag at the same time as the metal door shuts behind me.
I’m closing my trunk when I hear my name being called, and I look over to see Ryder, the defenseman. “Have a great summer. Hit me up when you get back.”
“Will do,” I say. When I get into the car and put on my glasses, I have no idea how this summer will change the rest of my life.
Chapter Two
One Month Later
Caroline
“Dylan!” I yell from the bathroom while I attempt to apply mascara, but it’s so old that it’s dried out. “Ten-minute warning,” I say, turning the knob on the rusty sink to slowly add some water to the mascara. I swirl the brush in the tube, and it helps a little bit but not much. After one coat, I give up, closing it and opening the cracked mirror medicine cabinet. The bathroom is from the seventies, for sure, with moss green tiles everywhere. What used to be white grout is discolored to a dark yellow now. The tub is the same moss green color with lines of rust down it.
Walking out of the tiny bathroom, I turn off the lights, then step right into the living room that holds the small kitchen table with two chairs. Dylan sits on his knees while he eats his cereal, holding my phone in his hand as he watches YouTube videos about hockey. All he does every single time he has my phone or is on the computer is watch hockey plays or highlights. I think it’s why he got so good. That and the fact he loves the ice.