Page 23 of For Crosby

“I appreciate that. But I don’t think some arrogant hockey player is gonna be the one to make me happy.”

“Why? Some arrogant football player makes our daughter happy,” Mr. Thatcher said.

Everyone, except Caden, laughed.

Finlay’s laughter slowly subsided as she looked to me, suddenly giving the impression something was wrong. “I wasn’t going to say anything…”

“What?” I asked, almost nervous for her response.

“I gave Crosby a ride home the other day.”

My head shot back. “What? Why?”

“Apparently, he’s into public nudity.”

My face fell as a sinking feeling turned my stomach. “What happened?”

“He was in a jockstrap. And nothing else,” she explained.

I cringed. “Oh, no.”

“Why were you alone with a guy in his jockstrap?” Caden asked jealously.

I placed my fork down on my plate and tried like hell not to feel sorry for Crosby.

Crosby

Most people spent Thanksgiving eating turkey and all the fixings with their families. Those with relatives far away might’ve spent it with friends. I spent mine at a federal penitentiary in Texas. Scratch that. The waiting room of a federal penitentiary in Texas after an eight-hour bus ride. Luckily, my parents’ lawyer paid or else I wouldn’t have been able to afford it.

I’d never had a job. Never had a reason to. My parents bought me everything I needed. They wanted me to focus on hockey, anxious for a son who played professional hockey as much as I wanted to play in the pros.

Now, everything had changed.

I’d spent the majority of the bus ride searching for a campus job—since I had no car. Most available jobs were during the day and in administrative offices. But given my class schedule during the day and my hockey schedule filling most of my nights and weekends, my availability was limited. One listing that caught my eye was for a position lasting solely for Christmas break working security in the psychology building. Since I had no home to go to and would be one of very few students remaining on campus over break, I submitted an online application and hoped for the best.

“Parks,” a guard called from behind a thick glass window.

I jumped to my feet and approached the window.

“You have thirty minutes. Keep your hands on the table at all times. No touching.”

I nodded.

He ticked his head to the right. “Go stand at that door and a guard will escort you in.”

I nodded again and moved to the door.

Within minutes, it opened and a guard stood there. His eyes moved over my khaki pants and plain white T-shirt. I wore no shoes; they were stored in a locker with my phone and the little money I had. “Follow the rules and you won’t have any problems.”

I nodded and followed him to an empty table in the center of the room. Some prisoners already sat at other tables with their guests.

The guard pointed to a chair attached to the table. “Sit there.”

I slipped onto the seat and folded my hands on the table, my heart suddenly thrashing around in my chest. It had only been a few weeks since I’d been there last—saying goodbye before leaving for Alabama, but every time I visited, it was a stark reminder of how my life had changed in such a definitive way.

“Like the sticks.”

My eyes jumped back to the guard who still hovered beside me. “What?”

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