Page 4 of Playing to Win

Shit. I didn’t have a pass to get back into the building. I hoped they were on top of it, because my backup equipment wasn’t in good shape.

Shelving that problem for tomorrow, I climbed into my truck and started it up, blowing on my hands. The phone hooked up to the truck, and I hit the number for my parents. Ihadto call them after my first NHL start, and here in my truck with no one around I didn’t need to play it cool. They answered immediately, and suddenly the high I’d been missing was there.

“Braydon! Congratulations! You did great.”

This time my smile wasn’t forced, even if no one else could see it. “Thanks, Dad! It was great to get that win. Because it was fu-freaking terrifying when they dropped the puck the first time.”

“Sweetie, I was so nervous. I knew you’d do great, but it’s so fast, and they’re all so big.”

“I’m covered in pads, Mom. Nothing to worry about.”

Petrov got hurt in warm-ups, but I didn’t mention that. She’d already looked up every video she could find of weird goalie injuries. Didn’t matter what I said, she was going to worry. It wasn’t her choice for me to be a hockey player.

My parents watched every game they could if I was playing, so they’d had the TV on for this one. We went through the two periods I played in detail. They didn’t offer advice or criticism because they weren’t hockey fans. They watched just for me, and I loved them for it.

After the two periods were rehashed, mostly them listening to me, Dad brought up the elephant in the room. “Did they tell you why you didn’t play in the third?”

I leaned against the headrest. “They said I was doing good, but they wanted to give the other goalie some time to play. You know, set a record as the first woman.” That sounded resentful, and yeah, I maybe was a bit, but I needed to get over it. I understood why the team did it. That voice inside my head whispered that they didn’t think I was good enough and that was why they played her. Too many people had told me I wouldn’t make it, and it was hard to stop the voice even now.

There was a silence on the other end. Did I sound like it upset me? I didn’t want that. My mood was just a little wonky.

“Did you meet her, Faith Devereaux?” Mom asked.

I shrugged, though they couldn’t see it. “Not really. She was a last-minute call-up, and one of us was on the bench when the other was on the ice. But I’ve been invited over to her place for a first game celebration.”

“Will her parents be there?”

Her voice…it sounded like when she used to ask how much new goalie pads would cost, before she started adding up how many extra shifts that would take. Did she think I was upset they couldn’t make it, and if Dev’s parents were there, they’d feel worse? There wasn’t enough time to drive to Billings to catch a flight to Toronto. They’d have taken a financial hit for that, like they had for all my hockey expenses. “I don’t know—I think someone said they weren’t at the game, so…” Then I remembered the message for Cooper. “Oh, her dad got here sometime?—”

“Did he talk to you?” This time her voice was definitely weird.

I frowned.What the…“Why would her dad want to talk to me?”

The silence on the other end of the phone vibrated. There was something going on with my parents and the Devereaux family.What the hell?I’d never heard of Faith till the game.

“Do you know them? Did they do something?” What could possibly connect Faith Devereaux and her family with mine? I’d been raised in a small town in Montana, and Faith was from Toronto, according to the game announcers. Until tonight, we’d never run across each other.

I heard a faint murmur on the other end of the call. Like someone had put a hand over the receiver. Then, still muffled but distinguishable, “What if he’s there? You have to tell him.” My dad’s voice.

“Braydon?” My mom sounded like she was about to cry.

I gripped the steering wheel. Something bad was coming, something related to this family I’d never heard of before tonight.

“I hoped I wouldn’t have to tell you, and I never wanted it to be this way.” She paused.

“Mom?” I was twenty-four, but my voice wavered like a scared four-year-old. I cleared my throat. “What is it?” That sounded more adult.

“Frank Devereaux…I knew him. I didn’t know he was married. I swear, I had no idea…”

My whole body seized and I wanted to hang up. Throw the phone away. I saw what was coming, as if the words were written across my windshield.

Mom’s voice sounded farther away as she continued. “I was young and naïve, and I thought I was in love with him.”

No, no,no. I didn’t want to listen, but I couldn’t make my body move.

“I got pregnant, he gave me money for an abortion, and I never heard from him again.”

It was coming, a slap shot aimed right at my helmet, and I was too frozen to move and avoid the hit.

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