Brenna

SOS. Can you pick up Chelsea from swimming lessons? Noah's stuck in a traffic jam. I can't leave the coffee shop. KJ or Jayden can't make it, either. I'm out of options, Harrison.

I'm running to my vehicle on Friday night.

Despite my shitty circumstances, I can't bail on Chelsea. Leaving her stranded at swimming lessons isn't an option.

So, when Mom stops me at the front door, shit goes down.

"Where are you going?" she asks. Worry forms a crease between her brows.

I roll my eyes. "You're concerned about me now? Doubt it."

Just like I did with Shea, I shove past her. Shoving is the only thing I'm good at.

Stopping at the front door, I glance over my shoulder. Mom stands near the closet, her shoulders slumped. "Although I shouldn't tell you where I'm going, I will. Shea needs me to pick up his sister from swimming lessons. His cousin can't make it due to traffic coming toward West Kelowna. Shea's working at his family's coffee shop. I'm dropping Chelsea off there." Feeling indifferent, I cock an eyebrow and add, "How does it feel to be told the truth? I wouldn't know."

Mom flinches, and I turn my back to her. I have nothing left to say.

Driving to H2O Adventure and Fitness Centre takes twenty minutes. Before turning onto Gordon Drive, I wonder which vehicle belongs to Shea's cousin. At this rate, traffic is backed up past UBCO because of an accident. I hope Noah's able to turn off of the highway at some point. Shea said he let Noah know I'm picking Chelsea up.

I don't bother finding a spot in the parking lot. Instead, I pull up into the roundabout in front of the fitness centre. The building is red with large windows giving outside viewers a view of the pool area. Condensation slides down the windows as kids behind them splash and slide down the water slides.

Despite the business inside, the roundabout isn't busy. I pull into the pickup zone and shift into park, killing the engine. After slipping my keys into my pocket, I grab my phone and exit the vehicle.

The pavement is damp, sprinkled with blue salt to combat the icy conditions. Snow covers the grass and shrubs, outlining the damp pathway.

Once I'm inside, I'm welcomed by humidity and the subtle smell of chlorine. The rush of blenders from Jugo Juice fills the air, diminishing the voices echoing in through the entryway. Families are waiting in line to pay for passes. A group of teenagers is waiting for smoothies.

Shea told me Chelsea would meet me next to the potted plants at the front.

Sure enough, she's there.

Chlorinated water drips from her hair, soaking the light-pink T-shirt she's wearing. Her skinny jeans are ripped and her Converse shoes are scuffed. A pink backpack hangs from her shoulder. She's chewing on her thumbnail, looking nervous as her eyes scan the area for Shea.

I approach her with a smile. "Hey, Chelsea."

Her face lights up. "Brenna!"

She rushes over, throwing her arms around my torso and hugging me. Until she realizes her brother is nowhere to be seen. Pulling away, Chelsea frowns up at me.

"Where's Shea?"

"Working," I reply. "I'm taking you to the café. Shea would've picked you up but he's working. Noah got stuck in a traffic jam."

"Okay," she nods.

I smile down at her. It's strange to act like an older sibling. I'm not sure how to. Being an only child has made me unaware of the unwritten sibling rules. "Should we, uh, get going?"

Chelsea nods again and then follows me out the door.

The icy breeze is a slap across the face. I shiver, fiddling with my keys while we trudge to the vehicle. When I glance at Chelsea, I see she's shivering. Poor kid. Having wet hair in negative degree weathering isn't fun. I'll blast the heat once the engine warms up.

At the vehicle, I help Chelsea load her swimming bag in to the back seat.

Before closing the door, I ask if she wants my extra sweater.

"Yes, please." Her teeth clack together as she speaks.

Reaching over, I grab my sweater. It's red with Boucherie's logo stitched into the hem. Shivers are shaking Chelsea's body. I have to help her pull the sweater on.

"Everything okay?" I ask.

She bobs her head up and down, hugging herself.

Closing the door, I leave her to buckle in. Starting the vehicle will benefit her more than keeping the door open and asking if she's okay. Which is what I do.

Once I'm buckled in, I blast the heat. Glancing over my shoulder, I say, "Give it a minute. The air will heat."

She nods, her arms still wrapped around her body.

Hoping the vehicle will warm up soon, I shift into drive and head for the exit. The streets aren't busy tonight, and the snow is falling harder. Concern twists itself in my gut. Driving in winter conditions isn't my favourite.

But I have to get Chelsea to the café. I promised Shea I would.

For the first five minutes, we drive in silence. It's a blessing. There's too much running through my mind. And, of course, most of my issues stem from men. What else is new?

Shea, Randy, Connor.

Men are always the problem.

"Are you and Shea dating?"

My grip tightens on the steering wheel. Snow is falling harder now, reducing visibility ahead. Just to be careful, I make sure I'm in the right lane and going ten under the speed limit. I'll never forgive myself if I get into an accident with Chelsea in the vehicle.

"No," I reply.

Although we're not, it feels like a lie. I also feel like a jerk. Kneeing Shea in the balls wasn't nice. My hit was gentle, but the shock was enough to send him reeling. Denying my emotions also isn't fair. To myself or to Shea. That kiss was something I wanted, despite my muddled mind. My actions were impulsive. I don't regret them. We should've spent the rest of school hours in that stupid stairwell. Every part of me wanted his hands all over me. I wanted his mouth on mine and weight pinning me to the wall.

But these emotions?

They terrify me.

Shea and I have bent the rules one too many times. Risking my spot on the team is stupid. But I can't deny how I feel. Watching Shea put in the effort to become a better person is a breath of fresh air. Prior to all this, I thought his ego would overpower the opportunity to change. It hasn't. He keeps trying. I've seen it in his actions and words. Hell, I even saw him researching intersectionality and feminism during lunch a couple of weeks ago. Dude's taking notes, and I'm here for it. He wants to be a better person.

How can I fault him for that?

"Are you sure?" Chelsea presses.

Now that she's unthawed, she's rather chatty. Perhaps I should've kept the heat off.

"Because Shea always talks about you," she continues. "All time time. He also bought you a Christmas present. But I won't tell you what it is." In the rearview mirror, I catch Chelsea picking at her cuticles. "Daddy doesn't like it. He yells at Shea a lot. Says women are distracting and that Shea should focus on hockey."

I grit my teeth. Their dad is an asshole.

Chelsea sighs. "I know he's wrong. Shea says he is. He once told Daddy to fuck off."

I snort. At least Shea is teaching his sister proper etiquette with assholes. I'll have to give him props when we arrive at the café. Correcting her language is pointless. Assholes don't deserve respect, even from little kids. Let her curse him. Shea's been a good influence on his sister.

As I think about Shea, emotions claw their way to the surface. My lips tingle. My chest turns warm. From those missed calls and texts to him stalking me at school. Ripping my hood off. Ignoring the signs isn't fair, yet I continue to. It's obvious he cares.

God, his kiss was fantastic.

A drug that'll never lose its high.

Clearing my throat, I change the subject. My emotions can wait until later.

"You seem... happy your dad doesn't like me."

"I am," Chelsea shrugs.

What is with Smith kids and their shrugging?

"Why?"

"'Cause he's a jerk. Anything that upsets him makes me happy. He hasn't been nice."

I raise my eyebrows, loosening a low whistle. Her scowl is lethal. It reminds me of Shea. The look he gets after the opposing team scores a goal. Chelsea bashing a hockey stick over the boards wouldn't surprise me.

Part of me feels as though I should be concerned for Chelsea. No kid should have a vendetta against their parents. But I can't process any words. I relate too much to her. I know what it's like to have shitty parents. Mom destroyed whatever trust we shared prior to Randy being revealed. Randy thinks he can step into my life and play the role of father.

Fuck to the no.

"Sometimes parents suck," I say. "My advice to you is to live your life. Treat others the way you want to be treated. Same old shit."

"Do you want to date Shea?" she presses.

Goddamn. This girl is pushy.

Using my indicator and doing a shoulder check, I turn onto Highway 97. We're only five minutes away from the café. I can see the Landmark buildings in the distance. The glow of the Tree of Hope and other Christmas décor. 

"I'm not allowed to date him. It goes against the rules."

"What rules?"

I roll my eyes.

"Hockey rules. I play on the boys' team. That means I'm not allowed to date any of them. We can be friends, but until the season is over, dating isn't allowed."

My gaze flicks to the rearview mirror. Chelsea's nose is wrinkled. "That sounds unfair. Why do sports decide who you date?"

That thought has run through my mind many times. Even before I started wondering what it would be like to date Shea. To call him my boyfriend. Men are dictating my pathway. They're underestimating me. Which is typical white male behaviour.

I have the power to separate hockey from romance. Hypothetically, if I were to date Shea, nothing would prevent me from slamming him into the boards or taking shots and leading my team to a win. Hockey is a sport. My heart is dedicated to the team. Sure, I'd be sympathetic to his loss. Never would romance cloud my contribution to the game.

The league's actions are unfair. They're manipulative and controlling. My coach voted against this "law," but the others voted for it. They didn't want me sleeping with the boys to secure wins for my team. That's what Vernon's coach said. Aloud. In front of several parents.

No one, aside from my coach and Shea's coach, stood up for me.

They believed in my passion for the game. Having them back me up gave me hope. They're two men I respect. If either of them ever become NHL coaches, I'll be rooting for them.

Sometimes sacrifices need to be made, though. Giving up romance for hockey isn't a terrible exchange. Hockey is my soul. It's the air I breathe. A drug I'm addicted to. There's just something about the blades of my skates scraping against the ice. The cool air stinging my rosy cheeks. Blocking a slapshot or scoring a goal. It fuels my adrenaline.

"It's not that simple," I explain. "Yes, what they're doing is unfair. Sometimes, you must make sacrifices, Chelsea. I don't mind not being allowed to date, so long as I gain equal playing time on the ice. Which I have."

And that's the truth. I play on the top line. I'm second in the league for points. What else do I need?

"But what happens if you love someone?"

Thankfully, we pull into an empty parking space. I busy myself with shifting into park and killing the engine. Snow is already dusting the windshield. Through the speckled glass, I can see the café. Red and green Christmas lights decorate the counter. A small Christmas tree is in the far corner, topped with a glittery silver star.

Shea is leaning over the counter. A customer is trying to decide on which late-night pastry treat to buy. He rubs his tired eyes with the heels of his hands. Poor guy. My hours at Buckerfields have dwindled because of hockey. They'll pick up again in the new year. But even when it was busy, I never worked over eight hours. Shea's been here all day. For over twelve hours. He missed school.

Tucking my keys in my pocket, I tell Chelsea to head inside while I grab her swim bag. She doesn't argue with me. Nor does she take off my sweater. I don't mind. The snow is coming down hard and the air is cold. She needs all the warmth she can get.

After Chelsea has bounded inside, I grab her bag. It smells of chlorine and musk. A combination I don't mind. It beats the stench of my hockey bag, which has semi-permeated my vehicle.

With the bag slung over my shoulder, I head inside.

I'm welcomed by a wave of warmth and the lingering scent of coffee. When I see the display of pre-wrapped sandwiches and pastries, my stomach does a funny flip. Although Mom was home and made dinner, I skipped out. My grudge runs so deep I keep refusing to eat her food.

Tearing my gaze away from the food, I look up just in time to see Shea scoop Chelsea up into his arms. Seeing him give his sister a hug melts my heart.

It also pisses me off.

Goddamn him. Why does he have to be nice? Why does my stupid heart betray me? Although I missed being friends with him, it was easier to hate him. There were no complicated feelings. No rule bending. No longing to punch me in the gut.

He presses a kiss on his sister's forehead. Then he sets her down on the counter, next to the coffee machine. "You can tell me all about swimming lessons in a minute. I just need to help this customer."

I loiter near the Christmas tree, waiting for Shea to finish with the customer. The process takes several seconds, and then they're exiting the café with a muffin and a cup of soup in hand. A small bell jingles as the door opens and closes.

Then we're left in silence, save for the Christmas tunes lingering in the background. The tension amps up.

When I look away from the door and over at Shea, our gazes connect. Unsaid words bounce between us. There are so many questions on my tongue. So many emotions taking shots at my armour. I want to break down and cry into his shoulder. Feel his hand against the small of my back. His lips on mine.

My thoughts make me nervous.

Ignoring my nerves, I join Shea at the counter, setting Chelsea's bag down. "Here's her bag."

The corner of his mouth pinches to the side. He grabs the bag and tucks it beneath the counter. There must be a space beneath the counter. I don't ask.

"Thanks for picking her up on such short notice," he says. "I owe you one."

I shrug. "You don't owe me anything."

Shea says nothing else. His eyes search my face. I turn my gaze away. It's obvious I haven't been sleeping well. At night, I toss and turn, thinking about what life would've been like with Randy in the picture. If men didn't have control of my dating life. If people could treat women with equality. About Shea and why I want to kiss him again. Sleeping has been nonexistent since the tournament.

I've also been to the gym every day. When I'm not scheduled for work or hockey, that is.

But I'm not about to stop. Exercise is how I regulate my emotions. Why my temper hasn't snapped yet.

Just as I'm about to tell Shea to stop staring at me, the bell jingles again.

A university student (I'm judging by the UBCO sweater) comes barrelling in. He shakes his head free of snowflakes, his strands of dark hair flinging droplets of water everywhere. There's a backpack over his shoulder.

"Fuck," he says. "It's freezing out there. And it's snowing. Did I mention I hate winter?"

"Noah!" Chelsea squeals.

She hops down from the counter and runs over to him. My baggy sweater looks like a dress on her. It falls past her knees. How she makes it over to Noah without tripping is beyond me.

"Hey, cousin," Noah smiles. He picks Chelsea up and hugs her. "How did swimming lessons go?"

Chelsea giggles. "How did you know?"

Noah taps her on the nose. "You smell like chlorine."

After the welcoming is over, Noah glances at Shea and I. "Sorry. Traffic was horrible. There was an accident."

"It's okay," Shea shrugs. "Brenna could pick her up." He glances at me. "Brenna, this is Noah. My cousin. Noah, this is Brenna."

Noah saunters over to me, and I'm amazed by how tall he is. He towers over me. Hell, he towers over Shea.

He holds out his hand.

I take it.

Noah's grip is strong but soft. "The famous Brenna Harrison. I've heard lots about you."

His emphasis on "lots" doesn't help. My cheeks flare. Shea clears his throat. The tension in the room is too obvious.

"I've heard about you, too," I reply.

He winks. "All good things, I hope."

Shea snorts. "You wish."

We look at him. He's wiping down the counters. I can't help but marvel at his upper body through the black T-shirt he's wearing. And the tan-coloured apron looks adorable on him. What pulls off his look, though, is the backwards ball cap. The little tufts of hair sticking out.

Noah cocks an eyebrow. "Did you ask her to the Winter Formal yet?"

My heart stutters. I thought he was joking. He said he was joking. What the hell.

Shea's face pales. He forgets about the cloth.

Noah shrugs. "I'll fight fire with fire. You know that." He looks at me. "Has he asked you?"

I don't know what to say. This is implying Shea wasn't joking in the cafeteria. After kneeing Shea in the balls, I should cut him some slack. I decide to play stupid. "Winter Formals aren't my thing," I drawl. "Besides, there's a spin class I can't mis that night."

Wrong thing to say.

A crease forms between Shea's brows. He sets the cloth down, crossing his arms. "Harrison, we should go to the Winter Formal. Together."

"No," I reply.

My tone is harsh. I know why he's asking me. He doesn't want me going to the gym. Just like Hunter, he thinks I work out too much.

Shea knows he won't be able to persuade me. He glances at the display of food. Then the coffee machine. "Free coffee and a box of cookies if you go to the Winter Formal with me," Shea says. He grabs a pre-wrapped sandwich. "Hell, I'll add the sandwich, too."

My mouth twists into a sneer, but my stomach betrays me.

Chelsea covers her mouth with her hands. Muffled giggles escape her mouth. "That sounded like a moaning whale."

Noah laughs.

Shea snorts. "No arguing about the food. You decide if you pay or get it for free, though."

I put my hands on my hips. "It should be free, anyway. I picked your sister up."

Chelsea loosens a low whistle. "She has a point, Shea."

"Not helping, Chels."

His sister giggles again.

"This is comical," Noah comments.

We ignore him.

"Ten seconds on the clock, Harrison," Shea taunts. "Want the game winning goal or not?"

"Game winning goal?" I snort. "What signifies that? Being your date?"

He flashes me a cocky smirk. Flicks imaginative lint from his shoulder. "I'm a hot commodity, Harrison."

I roll my eyes, fighting the smile tugging at my cheeks. Attending the Winter Formal would be fun. It's our grad year, after all. Maybe taking a break wouldn't be so bad.

"What happens if I say yes?"

Shea knows the underlying meaning in my words. There are unsaid words between us. His face softens. "Whatever you want."

"What if I don't want to go?" I press.

Shea shrugs. "You don't have a choice."

He's teasing me, but I still have to ask why.

Before answering, he glances over his shoulder. Chelsea and Noah are gone. They ventured into the kitchen a few minutes ago.

Shea leans over the counter, shooting me a cocky smirk. "Payback's a mother fucker, eh?"

His voice is low enough. Rough. It sends shivers down my spine.

I narrow my eyes at him. "Payback? Payback for what?"

He taps his shoulder, his smirk still visible. It's the shoulder I injured earlier in the year. When we still hated each other.

My glare levels with his. Goddamn this boy.

"Fine." I grab the coffee, sandwich, and cookies from the counter. "I'll attend the Winter Formal with you." I raise one finger. My middle one. "But only because of the food. And the coffee."

Shea tosses the towel over his shoulder and crosses his arms. "Right. Because of the food. And the coffee." He pauses. "Dont forget the cookies."

My cheeks flare as I turn around. He's hinting at the kiss. I know he is.

"Still coming over tomorrow, Harrison? We've got a French project to work on."

I flip him off again, spinning on my heel.

"For the record," he calls out. "I wasn't joking in the cafeteria when I asked you."

My heart hits a wall. One that almost knocks me off of my feet.

I freeze at the door, glancing over my shoulder.

He's not looking at me.

He's staring at the dishtowel in his hands, twisting it around. His cheeks are pink.

I have to force myself to exit the building.