Shea

"Who are you wrapping presents for?"

My sister wanders into the living room. She's carrying the tape I asked her to grab from the kitchen.

I snort. There's no simple answer. I'm wrapping presents for everyone. Brenna, Jayden, KJ, Ella. Even Tucker. This Christmas party is unknown to me, KJ, and Jayden. Part of me wishes they invited us last year. When it was cheaper. Brenna and Tucker decided we'd buy presents for everyone this year. Not just draw names. It makes sense, as it's our last year of high school, but my bank account isn't happy.

"The entire town," I reply.

Chelsea hands me the tape while giving me a look. "You can't afford to buy presents for the entire town." She eyes the items lined up across the coffee table. Then she grabs the Canucks hat, inspecting it. "Did you buy presents for yourself? This is something you'd wear."

I grab the hat from her hands, setting it back down. "No. That hat is for Brenna."

So is the romper. Ella told me how badly Brenna wanted one. It wasn't cheap, but I don't care. Quality is better than quantity. I buy my friends gifts that will last.

I'm starting to depend on that potential scholarship.

Chelsea smiles. "Your girlfriend?"

"Brenna isn't my girlfriend," I mutter.

Right now, I'm wrapping the present I bought for KJ. It's a Habs lanyard he can attach his keys to. I also purchased him a pair of reading socks from Indigo. He always complains about having cold feet during the winter, but refuses to wear slippers. Maybe the reading socks will help him.

I've tucked everything into a box, which was the simple part. I'm shit at wrapping presents. There's never enough wrapping paper to cover the box or there's too much. Plus, wrinkles appear. I also end up using way too much tape.

"Are you sure?" Chelsea asks. She sits on the edge of the coffee table.

Her hair is damp from swimming lessons and she reeks of chlorine. Her blonde curls look dark brown as they hang over her shoulders.

When we make eye contact, I notice how intense Chels' stare is. She will not leave until she has an answer. Not that I can blame her. Brenna, Chelsea, and I went skating at the rink. Chelsea wouldn't leave Brenna's side. That was prior to shit hitting the fan with her dad, though. We were all in good moods.

Sighing, I set down the tape. Then I run a hand through my hair. On top of my shit wrapping skills, now I have to discuss my Brenna problem with my little sister. This feels fucked up.

"No," I reply. "I'm not sure."

That's the truth. Brenna gave me mixed emotions during the Winter Formal.

Chelsea raises her eyebrows. "So that's a maybe?"

I wrinkle my nose. "A maybe for what?"

She throws her hands up. "That you'll get married and have babies!"

Her words almost make me keel over. A flush spreads up my neck and to my cheeks as I clear my throat. "I'm only seventeen, Chels. It's too early to be thinking about that."

Chelsea giggles. "Just teasing you."

I poke my sister in the ribs. She swats my hand away. "That's not funny. I don't want kids until I have a career and can provide for them." I pause. "Help provide for them."

Correcting myself in front of Chelsea is important. I don't want to create the illusion that she doesn't have a decision.

Thank god Brenna stepped in, putting me in my place. I sure as hell needed a wake-up call.

"With Brenna?" she teases.

I roll my eyes. "One more word. I dare you."

Chelsea raises her eyebrows. "What happens then?"

I poke her in the side again. "Bedtime."

She shoots me a pouty look. "On a Friday night?"

In all honesty, I could never send Chelsea to bed before five o'clock on a Friday. Plus, Mom would think I'm trying to worm my way out of babysitting while she's rummaging through bills and other business-related paperwork.

Tonight's been a good night with Mom around. She's already prepared dinner—lasagna is cooking in the oven. I enjoy cooking, but it's nice to take a break. We've had a few conversations with no awkwardness. Mom even played a few rounds of crib with me before retiring to the office.

It strengthens my wish that my parents would divorce. One-on-one, they're great as parents. Even though Dad doesn't set good examples, he's tolerable. All I have to do is get better at ignoring his cuts.

Chels and I would be a lot happier if they divorced.

Ruffling Chels' hair, I reply, "Nah, kid. I'm not a heathen. Want to help me wrap presents?"

Chelsea picks up the pair of reading socks I bought for KJ. She wrinkles her nose. "If you're giving these to KJ, they'll reek. You should buy him more of that perfume."

I chuckle, taking the socks from her. She has a point. KJ, out of all us hockey players, has the worst smelling feet. "KJ's a baby. He always complains about how cold his feet are. After I've given him his gift, you can send him daily text messages. To remind him to wash his socks."

My sister giggles, then she grabs a box. With direction from me, she places each gift in a box. I let her choose which wrapping paper. She picks a different one for each, along with several bows and tags.

The process takes about an hour. By that point, we're on the last one. Brenna's.

"Which one do you think Brenna would like?" she asks.

I finish taping the wrapping paper on KJ's present. It looks like shit. As if a five-year-old did it. No. You know what? A five-year-old could wrap a present better than me.

When I look at Chelsea, she's tapping her bottom lip. A crease is between her eyebrows. She's trying to decide the rust-coloured wrapping paper and the evergreen-coloured wrapping paper. The rust-coloured one is decorated with white sketches. Each sketch is of hot chocolate mugs, candy canes, sprigs of pine, or stockings. The green wrapping paper is flecked with white sparkles, giving it a snowy affect.

Brenna'd like the sparkly one. She once told me she wants to like glitter but also kick ass on the ice. This is one issue with gender we've discussed. Just because she likes glitter doesn't mean she's incapable of playing hockey. And kicking my ass. I'm still bruised from our last game.

Well... we discussed it. Brenna's been avoiding me lately. And, if we have seen each other, her sentences are short and snippy. Part of me thinks she won't show up tomorrow, just to avoid me. Perhaps Tucker and I have been pushing her too much. From personal experience, it's easy for me to discuss my dysfunctional family. I can't say the same for Brenna. Her experience has differed from mine.

Sighing, I rub my forehead. "The green one, Chels."

She nods, a smile on her face.

I watch as Chelsea places Brenna's presents in the box. It's a little bigger than the others. Thanks to the romper I bought.

"Shea?"

I look at my sister. She's measuring out the wrapping paper. "Yeah?"

She continues to work on wrapping Brenna's present. "Can we go skating? At that outdoor rink?"

Glancing at my Apple Watch, I note the time. It's not even six o'clock yet. Getting out of the house would be nice. Unless I'm playing hockey, I stay pretty close to home during the winter. Which is ironic. I should be used to subzero temperatures by now. Skiing and snowshoeing should be my calling. Yet I avoid them. It's time to change that. Physically, I need to be more active during the winter and not just depend on hockey and training sessions.

"Why not?" I shrug. "I'll finish wrapping the present. Go gather all your skating gear."

Chelsea squeals and gives me a hug. With no words, she bounds out of the living room and up the stairs to change.

Directing my gaze back to the present before me, I sigh, adding the last piece of tape. Then I pick the present up. It doesn't look too bad. All credit goes to my sister. But my attention is only half-focused on the present. Most of my attention continues to revert to Brenna and the Winter Formal. Perhaps I need to apologize to her. My feelings are valid, but maybe I overwhelmed her.

Setting the present down, I climb to my feet.

I'll decide whether I'm attending the party after skating.

* * *

The air is frigid. Every time the breeze coming from the lake picks up, a violent shiver radiates down my spine. My toque, scarf, and jacket aren't enough to keep me warm. My ass is freezing, too. I'm ready to head home and hop in the hot tub.

There's just one problem.

Chelsea is having the time of her life. Some of her friends from school are here. She's rocky on her skates, but she's able to keep up with them. Her skating lessons from have been helping.

I'm on the sidelines, sipping my hot chocolate. After Chelsea's done skating, I'll buy her one. Right now, I need something to get me through this cold weather. Frowning, I stare into my hot chocolate. Why am I such a wimp? I play my favourite sport on ice. It just makes little sense to me.

"Shea!"

I glance up from my hot chocolate. Chelsea is skating toward me. She waves her gloved hand. My sister looks adorable in her baby-pink touque and gloves, with a matching jacket and scarf. She's obsessed with the colour pink. Not that I can blame her. Pink is a brilliant colour.

"Come skating again! You can show me how to skate backwards!"

I inspect the ice, searching for her friends. "Did your friends leave?" I ask.

"Uh-huh," she nods. "That's why I want you to come skating."

My skates are already on, so I step onto the ice. One hand is holding Chelsea's. The other is holding my hot chocolate.

"When do I get one?" Chelsea asks.

We skate in line with the group. The outdoor rink in Stuart Park is busy tonight. Christmas lights glowing blue and white are above us, crisscrossing. Snowflakes are falling. The smell of campfire smoke tints the crisp air.

"Never," I tease.

Chelsea punches me in the side. It's a playful punch. "You're mean, Shea."

"I'm teasing you, kid. I'll buy you a hot chocolate after."

"Is that a promise?"

I hold out my pinky finger. Chelsea loops hers around mine.

"A promise," I nod.

We skate around the perimeter of the ice a few times before claiming one of the less busy spots on the north side, closer to where they set up life-sized chess during the summer. I set my hot chocolate down on the empty bench, then turn to my little sister.

"Ready?"

I skate backwards while she nods. Showing is the best way to start. It'll give her an idea of how she needs to distribute her weight and what her posture should look like. I may be teasing her a little, too. It's what siblings do. Displaying my skills when Chelsea wants to learn them irritates her. To me, it's a little funny. I'm sure I'll have my foot in my mouth at some point. Once she learns something, she excels at it.

As I'm skating backwards, I bump into someone.

Muttering an apology, I turn around and grab the person's bicep to steady them. They do the same for me.

My gaze connects with a pair of blue-violet eyes. Her lips part in surprise. She's dressed in leggings, a thick dark purple sweater, a toque and scarf. She's styled her dark-brown hair in loose curls, cascading past her shoulders. Strands of her hair catch snowflakes as they fall.

"Shea?" Brenna asks.

"Brenna?"

"Hey."

"Hey."

Silence settles between us.

"Christ," Hunter groans. He skates up. "Could you two be more awkward?"

Hunter wasn't there during my confessions at the Winter Formal. Every exchange with Brenna is awkward. Even when I was telling her about KJ's success with taking a video of Connor. She wouldn't look me in the eye for over two seconds. Although Brenna displayed some emotions, she cut them off soon after. Since then, nothing's been normal.

Thank god my cheeks are already pink from the cold.

Could we be more awkward? Probably.

Brenna frowns. "We're not being awkward."

Hunter snorts. "Yes you are."

"We are," I agree.

Brenna flashes me a look. I shrug. If she's allowed to call me out on my shit, I'm doing the same to her. She's the one making this awkward. Brenna refuses to talk to me. We haven't had a legit conversation since the Winter Formal. It pisses me off. If she feels nothing, then what the fuck was that kiss beneath the stairs?

"Brenna!"

The three of us glance at Chelsea. She skates over and stops next to me. Her smile is bashful. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Brenna being Chels' idol is fine. But there's no need to be bashful. Brenna isn't some celebrity. Neither is Wayne Gretzky. If I met that man, I wouldn't turn into a blubbering mess.

"Hey, Chelsea," Brenna smiles. She kneels, giving my sister's shoulder a squeeze. "How are you?"

"Good," Chelsea nods. "Shea's teaching me how to skate backwards."

Hunter snorts. He rests a hand on Chelsea's shoulder and guides her away from us. "Listen, kid. Your brother has weak ankles. I skate circles around him. If you want skating lessons, you need to learn from the best."

Chelsea frowns. "Brenna?"

I cover my snort with a cough. My sister isn't far from the truth. She's better than Hunter and me in the skating department. I have a better slapshot. Hunter can read plays like a picture book. No one compares to Brenna's speed, though.

Tucker throws a glance over his shoulder. It's aimed at Brenna. He winks. "Brenna just thinks she's better. Trust me, kid." Turning away, Tucker leans down and whispers something to Chels.

Brenna narrows her eyes.

A smirk finds its way onto my lips.

Whatever Hunter's saying has provoked my sister. She turns around and sticks her tongue out at us. Something tells me it is our conversation earlier. She must think I'm going to ask Brenna out.

We stare after them as the skate off.

"So..." I drawl. I wipe away melted snowflakes from my face. "You've been avoiding me. Did you follow Chels and I here? Finally ready to talk?"

"Hunter dragged me here," Brenna snorts. She crosses her arms and lets out a huff of air. The white cloud dissipates into the freezing air. "He didn't want me going to the gym. We went out to Kelly O's for dinner." Brenna glances down at her flat stomach. "Now I need to double my workout schedule tomorrow. Those pachos need to be worked off."

Her comment raises a red flag. It's best to not indulge too much. For health reasons. Not to do with body image. I don't think sharing pachos with your best friend counts as indulging too much. Everything is fine in moderation.

"You don't need to workout because you enjoyed food," I frown.

Brenna rolls her eyes. Her gaze is focused on the lake. The fence lining the walkway is decorated with garland and warm white lights. Waves crash against the wall, drowning out the Christmas tunes playing. "Shut up, Smith."

She skates to the edge, prepared to step off and sit on the bench.

A small flame of anger ignites in my chest. I grab her wrist, locking her in place. After all the research I've done, my actions are questionable. I've grabbed her wrist without permission. However, this is out of concern. Her comment worries me.

She spins around. Her eyes are fiery.

Fear lodges itself in my chest, but I continue to speak.

"I will not shut up. What does that comment mean? If you're worried about your body image, Bren... If you're not eating..."

She glares at me. "I don't have an eating disorder."

"I didn't say that. Still, the approach you're taking isn't healthy."

"I don't need your sympathy or advice, Shea." She tries to struggle free of my grip. "Let go of me."

"No." My tone surprises me. It's warm and firm.

"Smith," Brenna warns.

"You need to talk about what's bothering you, Harrison. Not all of us enjoy talking about our problems, but we need to learn how to."

Brenna presses her lips together and looks away. She gazes off into the distance, surveying the lights on the other side of the lake, as well as the boats bobbing with the waves.

A soft, chilly breeze picks up. I suppress a shiver. Winter is hellish. Why did I agree to go skating outdoors? Never again will I go skating outdoors—even if I grew up playing hockey on the frozen pond near Rose Valley Elementary. Fuck this shit. I hate being cold. It makes me grumpy.

"I don't have an eating disorder, Shea. After I eat junk food, I don't feel good. I feel guilty. Like I need to work it off to account for straying from a healthy diet."

I raise my eyebrows. Okay, we're getting somewhere. She didn't slap me or tell me to fuck off. I'll deem that progress.

"You shouldn't view food that way, Bren. Sometimes we feel guilty after eating junk food. That's okay. So long as you don't look too much into it. Junk food is fine in moderation. Besides..." My eyes graze over her body. She's fitter than I am. Plus, she's smart and hot and a little spitfire.

Which is why I should avoid what I'm about to say.

But I don't.

"I'd still tap those."

Brenna turns to me, her mouth gaping open. She punches me in the arm while she fights off a fit of giggles. "Shea!"

My cheeks burn, despite saying the words on purpose this time. "What? I'm joking. Making fun of myself. Remember in class? I never meant to say those words aloud, by the way."

"Sure," she drawls.

A grin spreads across my face, matching the one on hers. More progress. If I can make her smile, perhaps she'll talk. I nudge her. "I'm being serious."

She doesn't believe me. "What?" she snorts. "You think I'm hot?"

"Yeah," I shrug. "But you don't need my validation to realize that."

Her gaze flicks back to mine. "Someone's been doing their research."

I shrug again. "I took your advice. Thanks, by the way. For calling me out on my shit. I was a dick. I'm sorry for how I treated you."

Brenna's posture relaxes a little. I hope she can hear the genuine appreciation in my tone. This version of myself is better. I like him. There are flaws I still need to work through, but I believe I'll get there.

"Well, you're doing great."

I tear my gaze away from hers. Fog has settled low, bringing in more snow. "No way. There's still more to learn."

There I go again, not being able to take a compliment.

Brenna snorts. "What happened to progress being good?"

A pang of sadness reverberates through my heart. Progress. I thought I was making progress with her the night of the Winter Formal. Brenna... I was positive she felt something for me. Maybe I was wrong. Reading too much into our banter and conversations.

Being sad doesn't give me the right to hound her, though. That's something I learned. Unless Brenna hadn't of called me out, I would've continued to hint that I like her. Making her uncomfortable is the last thing I want to do. I've said my part. Expressed my feelings, which I'm allowed to do. Whether Brenna gives me a chance or has feelings for me will depend on what she wants.

"Progress is good," I murmur.

Brenna presses her lips together and nods. Then she looks away.

Silence settles between us again. We're both standing at the edge of the ice beneath a lamppost. Through the glow of the lamppost, you can see snowflakes falling. They catch in Brenna's hair, melting seconds later. Her cheeks are pink from the cold.

"I fight with my body," Brenna admits.

Her voice breaks the silence like a rock smashing through ice. Why it hits me so hard, I'm unsure. It just does. Maybe it's because she trusts me enough to tell me what's bothering her.

Her gaze flicks to mine. "I would never prevent myself from eating. I don't have an eating disorder. What I'm guilty of is worrying my body is never good enough. They fill the Internet with images of skinny, beautiful women. Women with bodies I want."

I clear my throat. "What's wrong with it? From your perspective."

She glances down. "My breasts are too big. So are my thighs and my hips. I don't like the stretch marks on my inner thighs or their size. They showed up through puberty, when I got tall."

I've seen Brenna in shorts. Her thighs are big, but they're muscular. They're the reason she can skate circles around me.

"And you know what that makes me?" she chokes. "A hypocrite. I'm a feminist. One who believes in equality between men and women. I'm not a man-hater, Shea. And I refuse to belittle other women around me. We're supposed to build each other up. But I'm a hypocrite. I'm not supposed to be a victim of society's expectations. But I am. Sometimes, I hate looking at myself in the mirror. I get jealous of the way other women look or how much easier their lives are. Sometimes, I still fall victim to misogyny."

"I think you're beautiful," I blurt.

She stares at me, her lips parted. Her eyes are brimming with tears. All I want to do is kiss her again. Tell her she shouldn't worry about her appearance. At the beginning, fine, I'll admit I was focused on her looks. But after getting to know her and doing research on how to treat women, I feel bad for prioritizing her looks as opposed to her personality. She's intelligent and stubborn. Has a heart of gold—even if she appears cold around the edges.

"And... And you need to cut yourself some slack. I've been doing research. Misogyny is cemented into the roots of society. We make mistakes. There are faults we need to be held accountable for. But trying, making progress is better than nothing. You told me that, Brenna. So far, I don't see the lie."

The blades of her skates scrape against the ice as she turns to me. "Shea..."

The way she says my name almost kills me. Her voice is a soft whisper. It causes me to shiver.

"If you want to talk, Bren, I'm here. About misogyny or hockey or your dad. Don't push away people that lo—care about you."

Fucking hell. I almost said love.

Fucking hell.

Brenna continues to stare at me. Wonder is visible in her gaze. As if she's contemplating what to say next.

She doesn't have time to speak.

"Brenna! Shea!"

Sighing, I turn to my sister and Tucker. Tucker flashes me an apologetic smile. I shrug. We tried. I knew Hunter was distracting Chels so I could talk to Brenna. I'll have to thank him later.

"Chelsea," Brenna smiles. She holds her hand out. "Let's go for a skate."

Chelsea doesn't say no to her idol. Before I know it, Tucker and I are standing under the lamppost.

"Any luck?" Tucker sighs.

I remove my toque and run a hand through my hair. "A little. But it wasn't enough."

Meeting her dad has rattled Brenna. That's the topic she needs to discuss. Not that I'm discrediting the importance of other topics. They're just... I don't know. Next time, I'll try to find common ground between us. Maybe I'll emphasize the toxic relationship my dad and I have. Plus, Brenna is also exercising too much. Seeing her burn out won't be pretty.

Tucker slouches. "What are we going to do? She can't keep going at this pace. It'll cause burnout. We need to discuss Randy, too."

As much as I hate to admit it, Hunter's right. Worrying about Brenna isn't another factor I need on my plate. The scale is already tipping. But I can't ignore the issues occurring. Brenna isn't sleeping through the night. She's exercising too much. Her schedule is messed up. She's also suppressing her emotions.

I clap Hunter on the shoulder. "We'll figure it out. We always do."