Page 56 of Rebel Bride
“I’m thinking about leaving. I only agreed to the trade in to play with Dad in his final year.”
“It’s been great for the team, having you both on it.”
He shrugged. “Good optics, I suppose.”
“And now he might stay for another year. How do you feel about that?”
“I want him to be happy. But I also want to play without the comparisons.”
“You’re a right winger, he’s a D-man. Not too many comparisons, but I can see why it might be tricky for you. He does suck up a lot of attention.”
He laughed. “He does! He always has. I’m not looking to hog that much of the spotlight. Playing under the radar is fine by me. But I played better in Denver.”
His team before he came to Chicago. It was true—his stat sheet had slid since his arrival. He hadn’t played that well in the Finals either.
“Why do you think that is?”
He considered it for a moment. “I think I’ve let the media get to me. I go out there, worried I won’t play well, that I’ll disappoint Dad. Then I don’t play well, and it becomes some self-fulfilling prophecy, at which point I feel like shit because I’m blaming him, when I’m the problem.”
“He did push for you to play on the team in his final year. Maybe that wasn’t part of your planned career trajectory, and you felt you’d lost some control over your life.”
He looked relieved that I understood. If anyone knew about the perils of letting someone else take the reins, it was me.
“Have you talked to your dad about this?”
“No. He wouldn’t like it. And I hate the idea of blaming him for my bad play. It sounds petty.”
I could see how that might not be received well. “I think he’d rather you were honest.”
He smiled. “Maybe.”
Not for the first time in his presence, a lovely calm settled over me. So strange when before I’d felt nothing but tension whenever I was near him. I looked out over the garden, then snuck a glance back at him, only to find him watching me.
“What?”
He took a deep breath. “I’m just thinking how weird things have turned out. The two of us here, breaking bread, biking the trails, sharing confidences, listening to ‘valet’ pronounced with a T on some snooty period piece. Basically, getting along like normal people.”
“Snap. I was thinking that, too. I guess I’m not sure why it was any other way.”
“Does it matter as long as we’re friends now?”
“I suppose not.” But I still wanted to know what his deal was and why I had offended him so much for so long. I was also torn about the “friends” label, especially when those calves of his made me squirm. Of all things.
“It’s such a nice night,” he said. “Would you like to go for a drive?”
“I’d love it.”
We drove around the lake with the windows down and the wind in our hair. John Cougar Mellencamp’s “Jack and Diane” came on the radio, the perfect soundtrack as we traveled the back roads. It was a summer feeling, and reminded me of those days in Mississippi, tooling around in Jez Corden’s TransAm. At fourteen, I was too young to be hanging out with boys like Jez, but I was a wild thing who needed freedom to roam. A couple of months later, Momma met Clark, and he saw a chance to make a buck and tame my wildness at the same time.
You ain’t gonna be messin’ with those trailer trash boys, Shelby Mae. We want you intact for your husband.
I had thought it the biggest joke. Barely fifteen and my marriage arranged by the man who had spent less than six months with my mother. She was too drunk or high to figure out his game. He could have done anything to me, and she wouldn’t have noticed. Thankfully he wasn’t interested in me that way. Small mercies that my utility was as an asset to be sold.
So I ran away. But Clark found me in Biloxi and brought me back. That was when I realized I needed a plan. A way for him to never find me.
“Oh, that looks pretty.” I pointed to an opening off the road.
Hatch stopped and backed up. “That’s where the kids park. Overlooks the lake.”
