Page 48 of The Enemy Face Off

"I'm okay to talk about it, but I have to give you a heads-up, it was pretty intense. Are you okay with that?"

She straightens, aiming those gorgeous hazel eyes at me. "I can handle it."

"Okay. Good." I bob my head a few times, working up the strength I need to get the words out. "I was an orphan. My mother was an alcoholic and my father was a drug dealer. He died when I was four, which sent my mom spiraling even more. Child services got involved, and I was taken out of her care when I was seven."

"Oh, Milo." Her eyes go glassy. "I'm so sorry."

The painful memories I've buried deep inside bubble to the surface, proving that while time may heal all wounds, they never disappear completely.

My chest tightens, but I force myself to keep going. "I bounced around from foster home to foster home. At the time, it felt horrible. I felt so unloved. But now, having heard some real horror stories, I see that maybe I didn't have it so bad."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I was never abused. Never experienced any violence. That sort of thing."

"That's a basic requirement for raising children, Milo."

"I know. And don't get me wrong, I was one angry, hurt, and confused little kid who thought he'd gotten a rotten deal and that the world sucked because why did everyone else get to have a family and I didn't?"

I push through the pressure in my chest. "Luckily, I found hockey, and it saved me. Gave me a purpose. A healthy outlet for me to channel my emotions into. Much better than dealing drugs or getting into trouble with the law, which happens all the time to kids in a similar situation. I had talent, and thanks to a great PE teacher, Mr. Lawson, I made it into the juniors. Hockey was my ticket, my shot at a better life, so I was determined to work my butt off and take it all the way."

"And you have."

I shrug, feeling a little lighter. "I guess."

"Don't be modest." Her breath hitches, and I shift my gaze to her. She grins. "It scares me."

I grin back. "Sorry. Give me a minute, and I'll be back to my egotistical self."

"Good." She nods firmly. "And I know you've made it all the way. Your defense rebound and SPG stats are incredible."

Defense reboundsis definitely not a hockey term, andSPG?

"What's SPG?" I ask.

"You know, stop-puck-goal. I've been speaking to Evie, and while she may have used the proper official terms with lots ofnumbers that made no sense to me, my takeaway was that you're very good at stopping that puck thingy…"

"It's just called a puck, no need to add thingy."

She smiles. "Right. You're very good at stopping that puck from going into the goal…thingy."

I smile right back. "Yeah, I guess I am."

We fall silent, and I can see her processing the stuff I told her about my family because as the smile fades from her face, it's replaced by a pained look of empathy.

She reaches across the table and curls her soft, delicate fingers around mine. This is the only second time she's touched me—the first being at the fence when she placed her hand on mine after I shared the news about my sudden fatherhood—and it fills me with warmth.

"I'm so sorry you went through that, Milo. I really am."

11

Beth

It's not often that I find myself unsure what to say.

Or feel so powerless in the face of someone sharing something real and honest and painful with me.

And I'm shocked that of all people, it's Milo who's opening up to me like this, and that it's the story of his childhood that's affecting me so deeply.

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