Page 21 of Second Goal

She shakes her head. “No.”

I place my palm on her cheek and search her eyes. “Then what happened?”

“The social worker showed up at the door that night and told me to pack my bags.” There’s so much misery in her voice.

“I’m sorry.”

“I understood then.”

“Understood what?”

Those blue eyes fix on me. “You asked for a moment that defines me. That’s it.”

I frown. “How?”

“I’ll always be that kid with a match, ready to burn everything good around me.”

“You were six, Kiley. Six-year-olds do stupid things.” But I realize that the memory isn’t just about the damage she caused. “Not everyone is going to give up on you if you make mistakes.”

“Maybe in your world.”

“You think we’re that different?”

“You said yourself that your family was perfect.”

I grunt. “Yeah.” I tighten my arms around her and lean back on the mattress, her head on my shoulder. “We were perfect. Perfect at hiding our flaws. Until we weren’t.” I brush my hand over her hair and sigh.

“What about you?” she asks.

“Something that defines me?”

She nods.

“I was twelve when I first realized that my perfect world was a charade. We were the family you saw in those terrible Sunday morning cereal commercials. Sure, my parents fought occasionally, and my sister Beth was as obnoxious as any ten-year-old—”

“You have a sister?” She shifts so she’s looking in my eyes.

“She died.”

“How?”

“Cancer. At least that’s what I think. We never talked about it. Even after she was gone. The worst part about it wasI didn’t know she was sick.” I pinch my eyes closed and inhale through my nostrils, then let out the breath. “I mean, how the hell can your little sister be dying, and you don’t know?” A migraine starts in my temple, like it always does when I think about the nightmare that became my life. “Fucked up part was my dad didn’t know either. I’m not even sure Beth knew. If she did, she never told me. Or maybe I just didn’t want to see it.”

My dad and I were traveling a lot for my hockey. Most weekends, we were away for games and tournaments. During the week, there were more games and practices and camps. Maybe it’s my fault I didn’t notice.

Because thinking back, there were signs.

“She...” I swallow hard and take a breath before continuing. “Beth was in a coma when my mom called my dad and told him the diagnosis. We were in New York that weekend. By the time we got home, she...” My voice cracks. “I never got a chance to really say goodbye.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It was worse for my dad. The man was never the same after.”

“I can’t even imagine.”

“You know, he’d always been my hero. He was the strongest person I knew. But afterward...” A memory of him weeping in the hospital, crouched down on the cold linoleum floor, it still guts me to this day. “He still took me to all my games and practices. And he was there when I signed with the Annihilators. But he became a shell of the man he’d been.”

“Did he stay with your mom?”

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