Brenna

Shea's team annihilates ours in the semi-finals. The score is 7-1, with Hunter scoring the only goal. It pleases me Connor didn't get a shutout. What doesn't please me is his cocky attitude as we're shaking hand at the end of the game.

His smug grin makes me want to punch him in the face.

"Good game," I spit.

If Coach heard my tone, he'd smack me upside the head. I'm supposed to be polite when shaking hands and congratulating the opposing team on a win.

With his upper lip curved, he sends me a malicious grin. Connor also tugs me close to him. His breath is hot on my cheek. "Serves you right," he mutters. Despite the low volume, his voice is thunderous in my ear. "Women never win. That's the way it is."

An icy shiver runs down my spine. My hands turn clammy. Connor's comment hits too close to home—and he knows it. He knows how traumatizing a comment directed at women can be. He's throwing the past, present, and future in my face. A disgusting constellation of all the issues women have faced. I know what he means.

Connor isn't just referring to the game. He's referring to the injustices women face. Serious injustices. Bile rises in my throat. His comment is alarming. I'm not usually afraid of Connor. He's a narcissist who loves to stroke his ego. Right now? Yeah, I'm scared. Whatever he's implying isn't good.

He knows he's right, too. His grin says it all.

Connor shoves me away so hard I stumble. The blades of my skates scrape against the ice. I almost drop my stick and gloves. Behind me, Nick rests a hand on my shoulder to steady me.

"You good, Brenna?" he asks.

I shrug Nick's hand off, skating forward. Ella already knows about the bet. The circle is too big. Telling Nick wouldn't be smart. The fewer people who know, the safer Shea and I are regarding undermining Connor. "I'm fine, Nick."

We're at the front of the line, so we're the first ones finished with handshakes. I make a beeline for the bench, wanting to get off of the ice. Whatever Connor was implying, I need to discuss it with Shea, KJ, and Jayden. Or one of them at least. Connor's up to something else. I'm not sure what, but he's not a fool. Nick skates after me, blocking access to the bench. I glance over his shoulder. At the end of the tunnel, I can see light in the locker rooms. The women's locker room is on the left. Behind that door, I'm safe. I can lock myself away from questions and prying eyes.

"What the hell did Connor say?" Nick asks.

"Nothing!" I snap, turning around and giving Nick a shove. "Just lay the fuck off, will you?"

Nick steps back, looking appalled. Behind him, I see Hunter frowning at us.

My temper wracks up a notch. I spin on my skate, exiting the ice before I can create more damage. I hate Connor. Losing the game. Shea for dragging me into this bet.

I hate myself.

I didn't play hard enough. The rest of my team did, but I didn't contribute. There were passes I shouldn't have fumbled. Shots on goal that shouldn't have hit the post.

Before anyone can pull me aside to chat, I slip into the women's locker room, securing the door behind me. I toss my stick, helmet, and gloves to the rubbery floor. Then I sit down on the bench, dropping my face in my hands. Despite this newfound friendship with Jayden, KJ, and Shea, I still hate losing to their team. It's fuelled by the rivalry between Kelowna and West Kelowna. I'm happy for them, but winning would've been so much better.

Sighing, I pull myself out of the gutter (figuratively) and change into a fresh pair of clothes. There isn't time for me to shower, so run a brush through my hair and use some scented dry shampoo. After that, I zip my hoodie up and get to packing.

Once my hockey equipment bag is packed, I shoulder the door, push it open, and then step into the hallway. It's empty. Keeping my head down, I saunter down the hallway and exit into the concession area. It's busy. People are buying post-game food and chatting about Kelowna's win. On the far side of the spacious area, I see Penticton's team gathered in the corner. They watched the game to study which team they'd be playing.

"Brenna!"

Although I don't want to talk to anyone, I turn around, meeting the brown eyes of an ex-teammate. Before his family moved to Penticton, Colby Sinisalo played on my team. He was our best defensive player. 

"Colbs," I say, flashing my best smile. "Hey. How's it going?"

We exchange a half-hug, which is a little awkward with my hockey bag. He pats me on the shoulder as the hug breaks apart. "Meh," I reply. "I've been better."

His face turns sombre as he runs a hand through his blond hair. "Yeah, it's never fun to lose a hockey game. You guys looked good out there."

I snort. What game was he watching?

Colby's brow furrows as he cocks his head to the side. "You don't think so?"

"Maybe the other players," I shrug. "Definitely not me."

Although the corner of Colby's mouth twitches in disappointment, he tries to make light of the situation. "There's the Brenna Harrison I know. Discrediting herself even though she was stellar on the ice."

"Hilarious," I drawl.

"Ah, c'mon, Harrison. We all have bad games. The boys and I got slaughtered by Vernon the other night."

A small smile curves across my lips. Some people never change. No matter what, Colby will always try to be that uplifting friend. "Well... Good luck against Shea's team tomorrow." With the way Shea, Jayden, and KJ are playing, you're gonna need it.

He raises an eyebrow. "A first name basis? With Shea Smith?"

I roll my eyes, giving him a playful shove. "Don't poke the bear, Colbs. Or else the claws will come out."

Colbs laughs as he raises his hands in a surrender motion. "Noted. We'll see you around, Brenna. Next time you come to Penticton, call me. I'll get my brother to sneak us into Bad Tattoo again."

This time, I do smile. Last time I visited Penticton, Colby's older brother, Darien, snuck us into the brewery's eighteen-plus restaurant. It's the best pizza I've ever had. "Sounds good. See you around, Colbs."

We part ways. Colby rejoins his team. I head outside to the parking lot. Hunter and Drew carpooled with me, so I'm waiting for them. Now that we've scrapped our chance at winning first place, we're no longer needed here. At least, not until tomorrow. We'll have a game in the morning to fight for third place.

Third. Yuck.

Outside, the air is chilly. The breath I take is so deep my lungs burn from the cold. Snowflakes are falling again. They melt as soon as they hit my face and lashes. 

I run a hand through my sweaty hair as I lean against the wall, waiting for Hunter and the rest of my friends. We put up a good fight against Kelowna, but their team had heart and soul tonight. They wanted to win this. And goddamn Shea, Jayden, and KJ for being a line with chemistry. They were unbreakable tonight.

Before bed, I'll have to analyze what I did wrong on the ice. Maybe while taking a run on the treadmill. The hotel my team is staying at has a 24/7 gym that's accessible to all customers. No one will be around to nag me about my "addiction" to exercise. Hunter and Drew are sharing a room. And although Mom made it to the tourney this weekend, she'll be hanging out with Hunter's mom late into the night. The two of them adore their glasses of red wine. I mean, they left the game early. I bet they're already at some fancy restaurant sipping wine.

Closing my eyes, I sigh. Third is terrible. I know we'll win tomorrow morning's game. I just... Winning first would've been better. This is nothing compared to the Stanley Cup—something I'll never see since I'm a girl—but losing still causes my chest to ache.

Just then, something hits my the side of my foot. Whatever it is, it causes a loud thump against the cement.

Peeking through my lashes, I'm surprised to see Shea. He's wearing his usual pair of joggers with a tight-fitting hoodie.

"Are those new?" I ask, nodding to his joggers.

He runs a hand through his hair. It's still damp, but he doesn't smell like sweat. He smells like men's body wash. Something spicy with a hint of citrus. It's crisp and pleasing. "Yeah. Just bought them today."

"Huh," I say, tearing my gaze away. Goddamn him. Why is he so good at pulling off sweats and joggers?

That's probably not all he's good at pulling off.

My cheeks turn pink. Thank God it's cold out.

"Well," Shea says, bumping his shoulder against mine. "I'd apologize for winning, but I'm too much of a jerk to do that."

His comment causes me to snort. I glance at him, meeting his hazel gaze. It's playful, almost as if he's trying to cheer me up. "If you apologize for winning, I'll punch you, Smith. Your team won that game fair and square."

A cooked, sheepish grin crosses his lips, and he dips his head down.

"Seriously?" I ask.

He peeks at me through his lashes. "What?"

I roll my eyes, turning to face him. My one shoulder is pressing against the wall. The other is enduring the ruthless snowflakes falling. "After all these years, now is the night you decide to act humble?"

Shea tosses his head back, laughing.

I can't help but join in.

"You're right," he sighs, shaking his head. "Brenna, I think I've fallen from my high horse."

Playfully, I punch him in the shoulder. "Not yet. You're almost there, though."

We chuckle again, lapsing into silence for a few minutes. We both stare at the snowy parking lot. I don't come to Kamloops often in the winter. In fact, I don't leave West Kelowna often. The roads are icy and the weather gloomy, but seeing the snow fall through the streams of light coming from the street-lamps is magical.

Magical feeling aside, there's still some gloom living in my chest. Lately, everything has been adding up. I'm stressed with hockey, midterms, and other shit I don't want to think about (AKA Connor and the bet). Once the tournament is over, I'll have to schedule some more exercise classes. That'll get my mind off of everything.

Beside me, Shea clears his throat. "So, uh, KJ got a video. A video of Connor admitting to the bet."

This is something I should be excited about. But something feels off tonight. I feel gloomy. It's as if Connor's comment or losing the game has killed any positive vibes tonight.

"Really?" I ask, trying to sound excited. "Are you sure? Something tells me Connor wouldn't make it so easy."

The corner of his mouth twitches. He rubs the back of his neck. "Yeah. KJ's a boss." Shea glances at me, a serious look on his face. "Don't tell him I said that."

I make a zipper motion across my lips.

This time, Shea actually smiles.

A comment about how great it'll be to ruin Connor sits on my tongue. Before I can speak, though, I see Connor and Preston exit the arena.

I draw my bottom lip between my teeth.

Shea must notice a change in my expression because he cocks an eyebrow in question.

Straightening my posture, I turn to face Shea. I then slide my arms around Shea's neck. My gaze flicks over his shoulder. Connor and Preston are looking at us now.

"What are you doing?" Shea asks.

I tilt my face away from Connor's gaze. Something tells me he's good at reading lips. "Connor's here," I murmur. "We need to put on the show of our lives. If you're okay with that."

Shea's hazel eyes widen. His lips part. "You want me to kiss you?"

I nod.

His gaze flicks down to my lips. He's frowning. "Brenna... Someone could walk out."

Tilting my head to the side, I tangle my fingers in Shea's hair. It's damp and soft. "Then we better make it quick."

The furrow in his brows deepens. His eyes darken, making the brown undertones prominent. If I didn't have Connor's words reverberating around in my skull, I'd pay better attention to the butterflies in my stomach. It's been a while since Shea kissed me.

I'll never admit this aloud, but Shea's lips are phenomenal. Okay, that's a lie—I admitted it aloud. That night with Evren, Cat, and Ella.

But I shake that memory away, focusing on what's happening now.

He brushes a few strands of hair from my face, tucking them behind my ear. His knuckle brushes against my cheekbone, sending shivers down my spine.

My gaze flicks to his. Shea is a little taller than me, so he has to angle his face downward. It takes everything in me to not yank his mouth down to mine. There's a buzz in my blood, needing to be sated.

Shea's lips brush against mine, and I watch as his eyes flutter shut.

Then his lips are on mine.

My eyes close, and I lose myself in the softness of his lips. The taste of his mouth.

Warning bells go off in my head as I tighten my arms around his neck, pressing our bodies together. We shouldn't be doing this—even if we're acting. But I can't prevent myself from enjoying this. His mouth tastes like blue Gatorade. His lips are soft and he smells intoxicating. And goddamn, his hand is resting on my hip.

Shea's feeling something, too. I can tell by the tenseness of his posture and the intensity of his kiss. And when I shift my body, I can feel what this kiss is doing to him.

I can't blame him. Just because he's got a total hard-on doesn't mean he's thinking about sex. Our bodies are programmed to react. It's only natural.

Besides, even if he were thinking about sex, I wouldn't care.

This kiss is everything.

A relief. A sin. Seductive, passionate, beautiful. Disastrous.

There's so much wrong and so much right, but right now, I can't fathom why we waited so long to share another kiss.

His lips move against mine as melted snowflakes slide down our faces. I tangle my fingers in his hair again, tightening my grip. A soft groan escapes his mouth as I tug at his hair. His hand tightens on my hip. Our lips continue to move together.

It's over too soon.

With one last hard kiss, Shea pulls away. I don't have time to decipher his expression.

When I glance at Connor, his jaw is clenched. He's not happy, which makes me question his motives. With me appearing to be madly in love with Shea, Connor should assume I'm naïve.

Unless...

Fear washes over me.

My grip tightens on Shea's jacket. He doesn't question why. He's too busy staring in the opposite direction, his cheeks burning.

What if Connor is aware of me knowing about the bet?

Maybe that's why he made that comment earlier. The one about women never winning.

Shit.

Connor and Preston don't say a word. They turn around, almost as if to forget what they saw, and head in the opposite direction down the sidewalk.

"I need to go," Shea mutters. He stoops down to pick up his hockey bag, heading down the sidewalk before I can say anything.

As Shea walks away, the anxiety in my gut increases. Something tells me a storm is coming.

One I won't be able to escape.

*  *  *

The drive back to the hotel with Hunter and Drew feels long. By the time we've parked and reached our hotel floor, I've already polished off a sandwich from Subway. I stuff the garbage in my hockey bag, making a mental note to remember it's there so I can toss it out.

Despite Hunter's family tagging along for the tournament, he and Drew are rooming together. Their room is the first one on the left. We say goodbye, and then I'm heading down the carpeted hallway. My room is the second-to-last on the right.

Relief settles over my shoulders when I see the door ahead. After today's game and Connor's shit, I'm exhausted. For the first time, I don't want to exercise before bed. Running on the treadmill sounds crazy. Lifting weights? Yeah, no thanks.

After I have a shower, I'm heading straight to bed with a book.

Removing the card key from my pocket, I insert it into the door and wait for the light to turn green. When it does, I pocket the key card and step inside.

Because Mom took the weekend off to come watch the tournament, her shoes are in the doorway. I stumble over them, pressing my hand against the wall to regain my balance. Once I do, I set my bag down. I'm just about to flick off the light when I hear my mom.

"Randy," Mom hisses. "You gave me no warning. How am I supposed to explain this to Brenna? She could arrive at the hotel any minute now! She's fragile with discussing her biological father—you. And I can't blame her for that. Although she doesn't talk much about it, I know knowing you left us hurts her." She makes a frustrated noise. I can imagine Mom pacing the room, her arms crossed. "I've kept you updated on our daughter, despite you making an asshole of yourself. You've stepped over a line, Randy. Leave before she arrives. She won't be able to handle this. She's a headstrong girl with marvellous perseverance, but this will break her."

"Then why would you tell her about me?"

The male voice catches me off-guard. My grip tightens on my phone.

"Because Brenna deserves to know the truth. You left me because you didn't want to have a child. No lies were told."

"But she doesn't know you've been keeping in contact with me."

Randy—my biological father—sounds too sure of himself. It pisses me off, despite it being true. I didn't know Mom was still in contact with him. Mom lied to me. She said she hadn't been in contact with him since he left. I press a hand to my mouth, holding a sob back. They can't hear me. Not yet. I need to know more.

Mom is silent for several seconds before she speaks again. "Don't pin this on me. You didn't want a spot in her life. Nor did you want to pay child support. I provided you with updates because you are still her father."

Randy—my dad—snorts. "At least I'm not lying to her."

The next sound I hear sounds like skin connecting with skin.

Randy curses.

Taking a deep breath, I peek around the corner to where the two twin beds are. Mom and Randy are standing at the foot of them. Mom's back is to me, meaning I can see his face. My heart clenches. Randy is a man with dark brown hair, similar to the colour of mine. He's shorter than Mom, which means I didn't inherit my height from him. Some of our facial traits are similar. Where Mom has sharper cheekbones, mine are soft like Randy's. There's also a small bump in the bridge of his nose. Just like mine.

I choke on a sob.

One that's loud enough for Mom's posture to become rigid as she turns around. I watch as her face falls.

"Brenna..."

I'm too focused on Randy's face to care about Mom. This is the first time I've ever seen him. My heart folds in on itself. I'm not sure what to make of this. My world has been flipped upside down.

His lips part as shock becomes visible on his face.

I'm sure it mirrors mine.

Which is why I have to leave.

Spinning on my heel, I dash for the door.

"Brenna!"

Both of the voices call after me, which causes another sob to tear through my chest. I ignore their pleading voices and exit the hotel room. Without looking back, I sprint down the hallway to the stairwell. Screw the elevator. The stairwell is dim and musty, nothing but concrete and metal railings. It's chilly, too.

My vision is blurred by tears. On the first landing, I stumble over my shoe laces. My knees skid across the pad of cement, but I prevent myself from face-planting. Groaning in pain, I push to my feet and tackle the next set of stairs.

The next landing is where I bump into someone. They're standing and the vending machine, waiting for a protein bar to drop.

I mutter my apology, shoving past them. All I need is some air. Fresh air. It's the only way I can clear my head.

"Brenna?"

At the bottom step, I pause, glancing up. My face is red and streaked with tears. How can I tell? Because Hunter's face falls.

That's a sign.

I run again, making it decently far before Hunter grabs my arm, spinning me around. His face is full of concern.

"Bren..." Hunter trails off. He pulls me into his arms.

I bury my face in his shoulder while I sob. He smells of fresh laundry detergent and something peppery. "Why did he come back? After all this time?" I choke. "It's not fair."

My understanding of pain is non existent. Physical pain is easier to understand than the complex emotional pain I'm currently feeling.

"Who came back?" he asks. His voice is soft and comforting.

"My dad," I bawl. "He was talking to Mom in the hotel room!"

Hunter pulls back. He looks shocked. "What? That can't be possible. Your Mom said... She..." He trails off, running a hand through his hair. "What the fuck?"

Another sob breaks free. Knowing Hunter is just as confused as I am makes my heart ache.

Just then, my phone dings. I glance down at the screen, wondering if it's my mom. Maybe she's pleading for my forgiveness. I can't believe she's been lying to me this whole time.

It's not.

Shea's texted me.

And his message...

I throw my phone to the floor. The screen shatters and goes blank. Mom will kill me later, but I don't care. There's enough money in my bank account to buy another phone. If that makes me sound spoiled, I don't care.

Hunter pulls me closer, resting a hand on the back of my neck. He whispers soothing words while my mind goes on a wild goose chase. If I'm not thinking about my dad, then I'm thinking about Shea's text message.

KJ fucked the video up. The video wasn't on. So much for being a boss.

The tears fall harder.

My tongue is numb.

I'm slipping down an embankment, and I can't find my footing.