Page 5 of Playing to Win

“He’s your father. Frank Devereaux.”

Slam.

I dropped the phone, but it was hooked up to the truck’s Bluetooth system.

“You should know in case there’s a situation where you might meet him.” That was Dad, anger threading his voice.

“Does—” Again, I sounded like a kid. “Does he know who I am?”

“No. I never talked to him after he sent me that money.”

Thoughts scattered through my brain. I knew who my sperm donor was now. Why had Mom never told me? I had a sister—a half-sister. My biological father didn’t walk away because he couldn’t handle kids, but because he was an asshole. A married, cheating asshole.

“Braydon?” My dad—my adoptive dad—was worried. Maybe he’d been talking while I zoned out.

“Dad.” Could I still call him that?Idiot, of course I could.

“Are you okay?”

“Sure. I mean, I will be. I just have to process this a bit, you know?”

“Sweetie—”

I couldn’t do this anymore. I needed to talk to someone who wasn’t involved, work out what it meant. My teammates? Damn, they were probably sleeping on the bus to be ready for practice in the morning. Who else?

“I gotta go, get back to my place. I’ll talk to you later.” I reached out to disconnect on the truck’s media screen. I heard my mom just before I lost connection, but I ignored it. She’d had twenty-five years to deal with this. I’d just found out.

There were only a few vehicles left in the lot, and I should go, but first I picked up my phone and pulled up a browser. I needed to know about my—this man who’d gotten my mom pregnant.

There were a lot of hits. Frank was a sports agent. He was probably in Minnesota to scout some clients when he met my mom, since that’s where I’d been born. There were a lot of hockey players from that state, and he represented some of them. He’d been married for years before I was conceived. So, definitely a cheater. Good to know.

He was still working as an agent. And I wondered, if I’d been one of those good prospects, the ones who were scouted and drafted, if he might have reached out and asked to represent me. What a shitshow that would have been.

There was a link to his daughter, so I clicked on that. Faith was three years older than me. I could see the resemblance. We both had blond hair. Blue eyes. She was five foot eleven. I had three inches on her. We played the same sport and position. Her chin and nose were different, so we didn’t look unmistakably like siblings, but when you knew, you could see it.

She’d been born and raised in Toronto. Played on co-ed teams for years, competing against guys, and then was a star for the girls’ teams she played on. She’d gone to a top hockey school in Vermont, been drafted, and won an Olympic gold medal. She was married to Seb Hunter, the former Blaze defenseman, who now worked for the team. She had a daughter.

Cooper mentioned some of this in the locker room, when I hadn’t known we had a connection. But still…it was seeing my life as it could have been. If the man who provided half my DNA had given a damn. No begging to play, my parents taking on extra jobs to pay for my goalie gear and any camps we could afford. Summers that I spent working on skills on my own, my half-sister had spent at elite hockey camps, learning from the best.

I hadn’t been on the NHL draft radar. I was lucky to get a partial hockey scholarship for a North Dakota school where I’d juggled hockey and classes and a part-time job. The team hadn’t been great, but I’d managed to catch the eye of a scout at a tournament, and finally got a chance to try out for the Blaze organization. I was damned lucky to get signed with the farm team.

Hockey was in my DNA, thanks to Frank, but I’d had to figure out everything for myself because he was a cheating piece of shit. If I’d had those opportunities, those doors opened like Faith had, would I now be playing in the NHL? Was I as good as I could get, or had I not had the training early enough that would have made me better?

I was angry, holding on to a secret that might blow up the Devereaux’s happy home. No way was I joining a party at my sister’s house. How was I supposed to act? What if Frank was there? Maybe with his wife? Did I want to be polite to the man who could have changed my life if he’d only been a decent person?

Fuck.Was I like him?

I needed alcohol. Screw the careful rules I’d been following for the last ten years. I’d stop at any bar that looked good on my way home, and two beers were not going to be my limit tonight.

What a fucking day.

Chapter3

I’m a hockey player, not a WAG

Jayna

What agreatfucking day.

---