Page 22 of Shot Through the Heart

“We both know that’s enough time to score.”

It takes more effort than normal not to lash out at her harsh critique. My mother has always been a fierce supporter of my hockey career. Not always to this extreme, though. Back in high school, I’d be lucky if she and my father showed up for one game during the season. They made sure I always had working gear and equipment and always made time for “debrief breakfast” the morning after a game.

This intense attention and criticism only started after the accident.

She made sure I had a full staff of physical therapists to work with to regain full strength and agility on the ice. At the time, I was both heartbroken and physically set back. If it were up to teenage me, I would have told the university in Boston to take back their hockey scholarship offer and given up on the sport altogether.

One call from Kelly Moreno and they held my spot until the following season.

That’s when she went all in on making sure I succeeded. For the first time in my life, she was showing up at practices and coming to scrimmages held by a local hockey league. By the time I was ready to head off to Boston, she went from rarely being by my side, to the one person I could depend on cheering for me. Even all the way in Georgia, if she couldn’t watch my game live, she’d find some way to get her hands on a recording the second the game was over by using her power of persuasion. AKA—her wallet.

That woman has never met a problem that money couldn’t fix for her.

It’s something that hasn’t changed even when I made it to the professional leagues. Fans who hate blackout games should really get in touch with her to figure out how she manages to watch every single game regardless of who’s streaming or not.

“At least we won,” I grumble, dropping to sit on the edge of my bed.

“I suppose.” She hums in acknowledgment. “Anyway, we can talk about your performance tonight another time. There’s something far more pressing we need to address at the moment.”

“And what would that be?” I let out a heavy breath, scrubbing my free hand down my face as I wait for her to start in on whatever world-shattering drama she has going on now.

“Don’t play coy with me, Greyson William Moreno.”

My spine straightens at the use of my full name, knowing she only pulls that out in extremely serious situations.

“Mom, what’s going on?” Frantically, I try to figure out what she could be referring to. We’ve only had five games so far, and we’ve won every single one. More than that, I’ve been at the top of my performance.

Her tone is dripping in annoyance when she answers. “I saw the pictures.”

I stare at the dull multicolored carpet at my feet, trying and failing to decipher the meaning of her statement.

“You saw pictures…” I muse out loud, hoping it’ll trigger something, but it doesn’t. There are probably less than one hundred pictures on my phone, and I’d be surprised if more than ten were actually taken byme. I couldn’t say the last time I even wanted to take a picture.

That’s a lie…

My throat tightens as I recall the ungodly amount of times I would pull out my phone to snap a picture of Stella. Back then, I was constantly having to upgrade my phone storage because I refused to delete a single one.

Ah, and there’s the revelation of why I hate seeing the camera icon on my phone now.

Shaking off yet another jaded memory, I focus back on figuring out my mom’s current issue. “Mom, I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

“The pictures with Stella,” she snaps.

“Shit,” I whisper.

“Watch your language, young man.” My mom hisses and I resist rolling my eyes on the off chance she uses her ‘mom-tuition’ to know I was silently sassing her.

“Mom,” I start, but she immediately cuts me off. The borderline hysterics are audible as she rambles.

“I mean, what wassheeven doing there, Greyson? Why was she atyourgame? Does she think she can just waltz back into your life, and you’d just forget the fact that she left you when you were broken?”

I wince at the last bit and cut her off before she can continue.

“It’s not like that.” I pause, silently cursing myself for not taking the time to think about what I would tell my mother. It was idiotic of me to assume she wouldn’t see me with Stella at some point.

Hell, the whole reason Stella is even around is so people notice me with her. Yet here I am, surprised that my mom saw.

“Then tell me what it is like. Because from where I’m sitting, it looks as if you’re getting cozy with the same woman who broke your heart. I mean, do I need to remind you how she just up and disappeared?”

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