Page 41 of Empty Net

It’s the same thing his wife asked me on New Year’s Eve. Is that all these people care about? What someone does for a living?

“Now, Deacon, I told you that,” Selene says as I grip her husband’s hand in mine. “He’s a professional hockey player, remember?”

“How could I forget that?” His grasp is limp, as if he never learned how to shake hands properly. “How’s the season going?”

I release his hand, trying not to react to my least favorite question. I don’t want to talk about hockey. I just want to be here to support Lilah.

“Okay so far, sir,” I say anyway.

“You lost your last game,” one of his friends chimes in, reminding me of my awful performance where I let in three goals through the first period. We ended up coming back to tie it up but lost in overtime. We still got a point, but it always hurts to leave one on the table.

I hold back my grimace. “You’re right. We did. But we’re still third in our division.”

Yet, even as I say it, I know it’s not good enough because we’re not first. A part of me gets it because I want that number one spot, too, and nobody beats me up over that fact more than I do. But we’re in a good position right now. We’re a playoff team, and we’re enough points ahead of the other teams in our division that it’s not something we need to worry about right now. I need to keep reminding myself of that.

“Fox, I’m thirsty. What do you say we go grab a drink?” Lilah pushes her way between me and her mother.

Selene huffs. “Really, Lilah? Is it always about drinking with you?”

“Well, when it comes to?—”

“Yes.” I interrupt because I have the distinct feeling what she was about to say would cause quite a stir. “I could use a water myself. Excuse us.”

I pull Lilah away before anyone else can say anything, the girl on my arm clenching her teeth together included. She seethes the entire way to the bar, where she promptly orders two shots of vodka.

The bartender wisely only hesitates for a moment before realizing she’s being serious, then pours the shots. I’m sure nobody else here is doing shots, but I’m also sure nobody else here needs them as badly as Lilah does. She downs them back-to-back, then asks for a glass of champagne, which she drinks half of.

I don’t say a word, silently accepting the champagne the bartender offers me but not taking a sip. I’ve officially sworn off drinking during the season after last weekend. Several minutes pass before I dare to speak, and when I open my mouth to do so, Lilah finally explodes.

“Can youbelievethem?!”

Based on what she’s told me about her parents, yes, I can. But I don’t dare say that out loud. Lilah needs this moment, so I let her have it, silently standing by as she rants.

“God, my mother is just… Ugh. And then my father’s friends are so… And then he said… And he just… They are so…”

None of those were complete sentences, but they didn’t need to be. I get it all the same. She wasn’t exaggerating—her parents truly are awful. While I want nothing more than to put these people in their place, the only way we’re going to do that is byhaving a good time tonight despite how many times they try to knock us down. We can’t let them win.

She takes another drink from her champagne, this time much smaller than before, and then looks up at me. “I’m so sorry, Fox.”

Lilah is the absolute last person I need an apology from.

“What the hell do you have to be sorry about?” I ask.

She points toward where her parents are buried deep within the crowd to which neither of us belongs. It has nothing to do with how we’re dressed. No. It’s everything else about us that doesn’t fit in here. These people aren’t nice. There’s a distinct coldness to the air, a fakeness that permeates the space. But I’m not letting that scare me away.

“It’s fine,” I say, even though we both know it isn’t. “I can handle them.”

“But they were so awful about your game. Which you play very well, by the way.”

“Do you watch?”

“Huh?” she asks over the lip of her glass, which is halfway to her mouth.

“My games. Do you watch them?”

She shrugs, sipping her drink, then tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I mean, I watch Hutch play with Auden, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“But do you watch me?”

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