Page 12 of Holiday Power Play

Vance reaches for the volume knob and turns it down. "Nope. We're not doing this. It's Christmas, people. We need to be nice or at least pretend to be or we can just forget about the whole trip."

"I'm not doing anything," Trevor says, cocking his head my way.

I glare at him, doing my best to keep my clenched fists out of his view.

I know his type. Athletic. Charming. They win everyone with their dimples and abs. It doesn't matter if they're just walking dicks in the shape of men.

When I don't say anything else, Vance puts the music back up. I dig my phone out of my backpack. Mom's already shot over her "safe travels" text to Vance and I in a group chat.

I pull up her contact and type out a message just to her.

Me

Did you know about the Sincaid situation?

Mom's text comes in right away.

Mom

He's hot, right? *winky face*

Oh my god. My mother knew. She knew and didn't tell me. Despite everything I've tried to communicate to her about the Trevor Sincaid's of the world and my complete and total disdain for them.

It's easy to just accept his type when your entire career isn't built on fighting him and the inequalities in the sports world.

I take a deep breath as I try to calmly type out my next words.

Me

Mom. No. We can't just let him crash our Christmas. This is insane. Why didn't anybody tell me?

Mom

Lana, your brother called and said he had a friend in need. We aren't just going to leave him out on the streets.

Me

In need?! The guy makes bank, mom. Even as a new player. He wasn't going to be "out on the streets."

Please.I'm supposed to feel sorry for the lonely hockey star whose bare body graces the pages of a well known calendar and whose entitlement got my car impounded? I feel no sympathy.

Mom

You know what I mean, Lana. Since when have we ever been a family that turns people away?

If we were, you and Vance wouldn't be here.

I roll my eyes.

Vance and I are adopted. It's very clear that we are just by looking at a family photo. My dad is built like a viking and has long-hippy like hair that he wears in a man-bun. He wears flannels year-round and has a laugh that can rattle windows.

My mom has a delicate look to her with porcelain, doll-like skin and bright blue eyes and golden hair. And though she looks petite, especially when she's standing next to my brother and father—the woman is a force.

Vance has dark skin, brown curly hair and bright green eyes.

And me? I have mocha eyes, caramel skin and freckles. Lots of freckles. I never knew my real parents. Vance knew his, but refused to ever talk about them. We were just six and five when the MacDonald's took us in.

But where Vance and I grew up, we were always given assessing looks by complete strangers as we walked hand in hand with our parents. We didn't fit the description of what they would expect a typical Canadian family to look like.

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