Page 63 of Full Tilt
Tonight is going to be messy, and I’m all the way here for it. Fuck knows I need to let my hair down.
Again, my stomach knots. Ordinarily, a night like this would end with me falling for another guy’s charm and empty promises before jumping into bed with him.
It hasn’t been all that long—less than a week, in fact—since Tommy told me to be on my “motherfucking way” after I freaked out on him.
All I need is one hot night with a guy to fuck the memory of the Blades bad boy out of my system.
“Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around? It seems a bit fucking odd for me to call her so she can congratulate me,” I finally reply to Holt as I dump myself down on the bench and put him on speaker so I can quickly get ready. I’ll do my makeup in the taxi into town.
“Why don’t you come back to Mom’s with me for the holidays? It might be a good chance to get closer to her again.”
My second knee-length boot hits the floor with a thud.
“Holt,” I say in an exasperated tone, “I love you more than life, but you cannot be serious when you suggest a couple of nights’ stay back home in Nebraska, singing carols and eating turkey, will solve a lifetime of parental issues.”
He hums softly, and I can tell he’s grasping at straws on my behalf.
“I just don’t want you to feel hurt or like you don’t belong, Jen. You are always welcome back home, and you know that.”
Shoving my Storm hoodie into my bag harder than I need to, I fight back tears as I recall the last time Mom and I spoke. It was maybe three months ago, and it ended in a fight between us, where she hung up the call. I’d told her that living in Brooklynwas heavy-going financially, and she suggested that it was time for me to grow up and get a proper job that would pay better.
That cut deep.
Holt has never earned a ton of money. As fly-half for his team, he typically earns better than most of his teammates. Still, it’s hardly an NHL salary. Yet I never once heard her question Holt about his choice in career, and that was what I called her out on when we spoke. She didn’t want to hear it and told me I should either get a different job or quit complaining altogether.
Mom doesn’t believe in women playing sports. I could tell from the passive-aggressive comments she mumbled over it “not being very feminine.” And once, when I was in high school and one of my friends took a cleat to the eyebrow that needed stitches, she insinuated to my friend’s actual face that her boyfriend would probably dump her for being way too manly.
I never told Holt any of that since I couldn’t see how it would improve my relationship with Mom. We simply aren’t on the same wavelength, and she’s stuck with outdated views steeped in misogyny. If I thought she’d listen, I’d educate her and help her see how fundamental sports was to women and younger girls.
Picking up my bag, I throw it over my shoulder and then grab my cell from the bench, bringing it to my ear.
I’d love to be really honest with my brother and tell him that despite his efforts and concerns, I was lonely, and I couldn’t feel any more cast out of my family if I tried.
But that would be me wallowing in a pity party that wouldn’t change anything between me or my parents. All it would do is put my brother under pressure when he already carries so much on his shoulders. I refuse to let negativity taint my relationship with him. And I refuse to hold on to bitterness that I didn’t get the relationship with my mom that I’d desperately wanted as a younger girl.
“You’re right.” Holt speaks softly. “Mom should be the one to call you, and when I end this conversation, I’m going to tell her to pick up the damn phone and contact her only daughter.” His voice is filled with emotion—a blend of frustration, sorrow, and awe. “I’m so fucking proud of you, Jen. You slayed out there today, and when I come over to see you at Christmas, we’re heading out for beers and chicken wings.”
I release a single burst of laughter as I swing the locker room door open and head for the player’s lounge.
“I’m down for the beer and wings, but please don’t contact Mom. Your phone call is enough for me.”
I pause at the door to the lounge and watch Kendra at the bar, handing drinks out to the team. Her rosy cheeks are more prominent as she takes a sip of her soda and clinks her glass with Coach. She and Jack haven’t announced the pregnancy yet, but I hear they plan to soon.
“Are you celebrating tonight?” Holt asks while I stare through the window set in the top half of the door.
“Is it going to get dark tonight? Naturally,” I answer.
Something like a rumble echoes from my brother’s throat. “Okay, well, have fun and all that, but?—”
“Don’t go home with strange men?” I finish for him. “You’re so transparent, Holt.”
He chuckles at that, knowing I’m right. “Speaking of guys, has Tommy Schneider been staying away?”
I practically pass out on the spot, grabbing hold of the door handle to keep me steady. I guess part of me hoped that Holt had forgotten all about his run-in with Tommy back in January. He’s barely mentioned him since.
I swallow thickly and pull the door open, music and voices instantly hitting me. It’s deliberate on my part since all I want is to end this conversation right now.
“I’ve seen him around when I’ve gone to watch Blades games, but, yeah, I think he got the message when you threatened to end his hockey career if he ever bothered me again.”
