I wake up on December twenty-seventh because my phone starts blowing up with phone calls and text alerts and message pings at seven in the morning. Guess the Barons didn’t waste one second announcing I was waived. I send Mac a quick text.
Then I turn my phone off. If Clark has news, he can call my family’s home line because we still have one of those and he’s one of the few people who know the number.
I get out of bed and throw on sweats and socks and make my way through the quiet house. I can only assume, since the sun is barely up, that everyone is still asleep. But when I head downstairs and make my way to the kitchen I figure out how wrong I was. Callie and Aunt Jessie are at the coffee machine, making one latte after the other, like veteran Starbucks baristas. My dad is sitting at the island holding a coffee and staring intently at his phone. Theo, Grady, and Tate are spread out on the sofas in the family room, glued to the sports channel on the seventy-five-inch television. Tenley, Shelby, Mae, and Liv are sitting on the vibrant throw rug, gathered around a laptop they've propped up on an ottoman.
“TSN says that there’s been interest by Vegas and Los Angeles,” Liv announces.
“I can call my coach and ask,” Tate replies.
“He won’t tell you anything,” Uncle Luc reminds him from where he’s sitting at the kitchen table with Uncle J and Aunt Rose. “Legally, they can’t.”
“They didn’t even tell me when they were negotiating to get Jordan traded to play with me and Luc,” my dad pipes in, eyes still glued to his phone. He takes a sip of his black coffee. “Twitter says he’s going to the farm team for sure.”
“Twitter is full of fat old men who can’t qualify for a beer league. Their opinions mean less than nothing,” Aunt Rose announces, which almost makes me smile because she is never salty. She’s always honey, never vinegar. “I will never cheer for the Barons again. If they retire your jersey, Luc, I’m not going to the ceremony.”
“T’enquiette, Fleur,” Uncle Luc says and gives her a smile. “We need to present a calm front for Con.”
“A little too late for that.” Every person, in both rooms, swivels their heads to see me standing in the doorway from the hall.
"Morning honey!" Callie walks over and hugs me. I don't hug her back. She hugs me harder and then she kisses my cheek. "Hug me back or I'll never let go. You know how this works."
I sigh and wrap my arms around her to give her a quick squeeze. It does actually help a little but I still untangle myself from her as soon as I can. Aunt Jessie is right behind her but I sidestep her as she extends her arms. "I don't want a bunch of sympathy hugs Aunt J. No offense."
She gives me a sad smile. “Fine. I’ll save it and turn it into a congratulatory hug for when you get picked up by a team way better than those asshole Barons.”
“The team owners are still solid people,” Uncle Jordan argues. “It’s the coaching staff that needs to be gutted. And that GM. I knew when they hired Chance Echolls to be their general manager it would all be downhill and it has been."
“Not all Echolls are assholes,” Tate says and his green eyes are sheepish. “Mallory is awesome.”
“Yeah well they should have made her GM,” Liv replies. “But they didn’t so fuck the Barons and the Echolls and the hockey sticks they rode in on.”
“Besides,” Mayhem adds. “You only like Mallory because you were banging her best friend for two summers.”
“Mallory is best friends with Diana?” Callie asks. “Are you going to be bed buddies with her again this summer? I’m not sure I like her.”
“Can we not talk about my son’s sex life?” Uncle Jordan asks.
"Sex lives are a healthy part of life, Big Bird," Callie retorts. She's been calling Uncle Jordan that since they were teens apparently. He always gets a sour look on his face when she uses it. "They're all in their twenties. I'm more worried when they don't have a sex life… Livvy.”
“Mom! God!” Liv blurts out and every exposed inch of her skin turns bright red.
Uncle Jordan turns to Uncle Luc. “Can you look up what Sports Net is saying about Conner so Callie will stop talking sex?”
“They say a source has both the Vancouver Comets and the Portland Riptide interested,” Luc says as he stares at his phone.
This is exactly what I did not want. My entire family sitting here, waiting for something to happen to my career. Because what if nothing happens? What if Twitter is right and I'm on a farm team in twenty-four hours when the waivers end?
“Take a seat, Con,” Theo advises, sitting up and stretching out his long limbs, which were all over one of the couches, to give me space.
“Can I get you a latte, kiddo?” Callie asks. “I have that Speculous syrup you love.”
“I’m gonna head to the gym,” I tell her as I shake my head. “Maybe later.”
My dad shoots me a concerned glance, finally pulling his eyes off his phone. "Shouldn't you stay here, in case Clark calls with news."
“He can tell you,” I reply. “You know where I’ll be.”
Grady stands up. He’s in sweats too, but his are labeled with the Seattle Winterhawks logo. I have already shoved all my Barons clothing into a garbage bag which is tucked into the corner of my closet. “I’ll go with. I need to train.”
"No, you don't," I reply flatly. "You're injured. Don't placate me."
“I can still lift some weights. And I just don’t want to sit around here listening to everyone natter on,” Grady admits. “They’re giving me a headache.”
“Thanks,” Tate says.
“Ouch!” Callie adds.
“Douche,” Theo mutters.
"Who needs a black sheep of the family when you have a redheaded one," Tenley snarks. Her gaze turns to me. "Might as well let him come with you. Mac is at work so if you're lying and want a booty call to get your mind off of this, you're out of luck."
“I know she’s at work,” I reply and now all my aunts are staring at me with intensely curious stares. “Because we’re friends.”
“With benefits?” Callie asks, her eyes hopeful. I swear she’s the only ‘mom’ on the planet that supports bed buddies.
“Going to the gym,” I repeat. “If Clark calls, come find me. In the meantime, continue to annoy your virgin daughter and leave my sex life, or lack of one, alone.”
“Conner! Fuck you!” Liv yells at me while I leave but it’s hard to hear her over the laughter of everyone else in the family. At least my generation. The uncles definitely do not want to discuss Liv’s virginity.
I love my sister and don't judge her for her celibacy, but I needed a diversion to get the hell out of this house without another word about my career. Grady follows and I don't object when he grabs his coat and shoes and gets in my car.
We drive in comfortable silence to the barn gym. It’s absolutely miserable outside today. The sky is a stark depressing gray and the snow, which had been white and fluffy, is now hard with ice and tinged a grubby gray on the sides of the road. It’s as bleak outside as it is in my soul at the moment.
The gym is a comfortable temperature even though it’s cold outside because Jordan and Jessie installed heated flooring. I shrug out of my coat and walk right over to the treadmill. Grady makes his way to the padded mats in the corner and does some stretching. I probably should have too but I’m too agitated.
“Music?” he asks.
“Whatever you want.”
He nods and gives me a lopsided smile. “You might regret that.”
A second later, after punching a few buttons on his phone and connecting to the Bluetooth sound system, the speakers in every corner of the room start blasting pop music. Taylor Swift, Lola Jaymes, Lexi Jade, Olivia Rodrigo, Lady Gaga. Grady is a basic teenage girl when it comes to his musical palette and has been our whole lives. Theo and Tate teased him mercilessly when we were kids and he listened to the Jonas Brothers and Shawn Mendes non-stop. I actually don’t mind his music though.
After twenty minutes of running hard, I slow the machine and use my shirt to wipe the sweat from my face. Grady has moved from stretching to the bench press, his face almost as red as his hair as he pushes a mind-blowing amount of weight. His bicep muscles bulge with the effort.
I get off the treadmill and walk over to the hanging leg lift to do ab work. Grady puts down the weights and starts singing along with some song about being scorned by a lover as he gets off the leg press and walks over to the fridge in the corner of the room. He grabs two Gatorades and walks over to me and places one by me. As he walks back to the mats he cracks his drink, chugs half of it, and picks up the free weights. I do forty crunches before I notice he's just standing there like a statue, a ten-pound barbell in one hand and his phone in the other.
“Trying to find a new sugary pop dance tune to inflict on me?” I ask, a small smile tugging at my mouth. Grady is good company and the endorphins from the workout are starting to hit my brain, thankfully.
“No… I… Nope.” He drops his phone on the mat and reaches for the second weight.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He starts doing reps, but I stop doing mine. I stare at him as he does slow steady bicep curls facing the mirror.
I drop to the ground and walk over to his phone because I didn't bring mine. He realizes what I'm doing too late, and I have his phone in my hand and have the password punched in before he can put down the weights and stop me. Lucky for me his password has been 9292 since he got a phone. ninety-two has been his jersey number since he was five.
“Hey!” Grady barks as he scrambles to put down the weights without dropping them and I stride over to the other side of the room.
I immediately check his search history. My name is the first thing that pops up so I hit it and… the headline on the first article is like a gut-punch.
Conner Garrison. This apple fell far from the hockey tree.
It’s from a popular sports blog and I scan it before Grady can reach me. Conner Garrison’s dad already had a Cup by his age. So did his uncle. Coach Landry says he wasn’t a positive influence in the locker room. ‘A Captain has to lead, not coast on the fact that his dad was a leader.’
“That fucking asshole,” I hiss.
“He’ll be fined by the league,” Grady says as he reaches for his phone, but I block him by turning my back. I want to keep torturing myself. “You can’t bad mouth a player you’re trying to sell.”
My eyes slip to the next paragraph and I read out loud. “GM Chance Echolls says that Garrison might not live up to the hype around his family name but he’s a solid third or fourth-liner that still has something to offer a team, just not the Barons.”
Third or fourth line? That’s… harsh. I’ve never been on a second line let alone a third or fourth one.
“Every player on a team counts, Conner. You know that,” Grady says, his tone matter-of-fact. “And before you argue remember you’re talking to the back-up goalie.”
My eyes meet his and I feel like garbage. “I don’t care what fucking line I’m on. Honestly. It’s just… Grady, no one is paying my salary for a fourth liner.”
Now his expression softens. “Lucky for you, this is just a coach and general manager hurling blame grenades to try and keep the world from realizing they’re the problem.”
“Is it working?” I ask feebly.
“Not for everyone,” Grady says. “There are teams out there who will spot the bullshit. Anyone who knows Uncle Devin and Uncle Jordan and Uncle Luc will call them directly for the scoop on you, and trust their opinion.”
I sit on the bench press and run a hand through my damp hair. “I don’t want them to bail me out of this. That’s just a different form of failure.”
"Dude, in the end, as long as you're still in the league, you shouldn't care," Grady says, his hands on his hips as he stares down at me. "I mean hell, we're privileged as fuck. Even me, and my dad never even made the league. But in the end, even if our family name, or family members, open the door for us, we've always proven we deserved to step through it. You have always proved it Con, and you will again.”
I sigh. “I hate every fucking second of this day.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
His phone buzzes in my hand with some kind of alert so I glance at the screen. There's an icon of a yellow face… no, a mask. It kind of looks like a crudely drawn hockey mask, maybe? I turn the screen to him. "What, is this like a goalie chat group or something?"
His face drains of color and he rips the phone out of my hand. “It’s nothing.”
"Seriously, are you talking about this with other goalies in the league?" I ask, wondering if this is a new level of humiliation. I mean, are Tate and Theo texting with their teammates about their poor, loser cousin? Oh god. I can't face them again today. Maybe ever.
“No, you idiot,” Grady snaps as he shoves his phone into the pocket of his sweats. “It’s not a chat group. It’s not hockey-related. I actually have my own life outside of this sport, and this family. You should try it sometime.”
“I have a date with Mac Larue for New Year’s,” I tell him.
His brown eyes widen. “So Tenley isn’t talking out of her ass? You and Mac are a thing?”
“We’re a… mutual distraction,” I say because the explanation feels right. Well, close to right anyway. “She’s trying to get over her shitty breakup and I need something to focus on other than this. So I’m pretending to be her boyfriend for this party her ex and his girlfriend invited her to.”
“Huh.” Grady shrugs. “Well, not as interesting as I’d hoped, but it’s cool. Mac’s great. I like her and I’m sure Beckett is annoyed with the idea of his ex with a Garrison.”
“Yeah.” I nod. “All of that is true.”
He grins. “So let’s get back to working on your abs. Wouldn’t want Beckett to look like he’s in better shape than you.”