Brenna

On Boxing Day, I'm relaxing on the couch, wearing the romper Shea bought for me. It's been a week since our Christmas party, and I haven't taken the thing off. Okay, I have. But it doesn't feel like I have. I'm in love with this romper. It's soft and sustainable and comfortable. Everything, from the drawstring at the waist to the hood to the grey colour, has me hypnotized. Plus, I can't wait to pair it with a leather jacket and my new Canucks hat.

Shea will never hear the end of my gifts.

Nor will I ever hear the end of the pink sweater. Whenever Shea wears it, he sends me a selfie. Selfies I'm tempted to create a collage of and use as my new phone's background. He looks too damn good.

What I can't get over is how excited he was for the hot-pink sweater. Shea's more observant than I thought. He clued in about the sweater being a nod to our trip to Scandia.

The blush that spread across his cheeks was adorable.

Now that we've expressed how we feel, things seem easier. It feels like a weight has been removed from my shoulders. Until I think about hockey.

I've scheduled a meeting with both coaches. Matthias Stryder and Aiden Jameson. They're not intimidating. What's intimidating is the topic I'm bringing up. Hockey shouldn't restrict my dating life. Being the only girl playing the league shouldn't bother the people who run it. By restricting me, they're sexualizing my body and personality and removing my rights. No one may dictate what I do with my life except myself. They're not allowed to assume my goal is to sleep with every hockey player. Or that I'll mess with their game by flirting and such.

Feminism is a double-edged sword. Sometimes, I believe we should erase the terminology and just call out the people who are being sexist. That way, it would seem more inclusive regarding equality. No matter, I still support the context of the word. It's called feminism because men have never been suppressed the way we have. Even then, it's not that simple. 

Discussing it offends some men. Makes them uncomfortable. It's a view I enjoy. Without support, though, it's difficult to prevent yourself from drowning. I still get nervous about bringing it up, which is an effect of the patriarchy. One I'm trying to get rid of. 

Sighing, I set my book down and pick up my phone. Concentrating on a book feels impossible. There's too much running through my mind. The meeting is tomorrow, before the break is over. We play hockey again on Friday. Plus, I still haven't had a discussion with Mom.

I glance over my shoulder. All morning, she's been working in the kitchen. Mom bakes when she's stressed, and something tells me that stress is originating from me. I've been hard on Mom. She should've told me. It's like Shea said, though. She has a reason. One I should sit down and listen to.

My stubbornness doesn't want to, though.

Which is why I text Shea first.

Any way you can save me from speaking to my mom?

Several seconds tick by before he responds. Nope. We discussed this. It's a conversation you need to have. Get through this one and the one with the coaches tomorrow, and then we'll do something fun.

I snort. Are you bribing me?

He sends me an emoji. Depends.

A chill runs down my spine as I press my phone to my chest. He's a cocky son of a gun. But I like Shea's confidence. I like his teasing and ability to change. Had he not put in the effort, we never would've gotten here.

Aren't you supposed to save your girlfriend?

I'm teasing him. We haven't discussed where we stand yet. I don't think we will until after we've gone on a date or two.

I'm all in if you are.

My eyebrows shoot up. Okay, that's an unexpected response. I draw my bottom lip between my teeth. Maybe Shea and I don't need a date to confirm we're dating. We've known each other since elementary school. Plus, we've been hanging out a lot. I don't see an issue with this. I'm interested in Shea. He's interested in me. If the feelings are mutual, you go for it.

Where do I sign the papers? I type.

Slow your roll, Harrison. I'm not ready for marriage yet.

I hang over the edge of the couch. The blanket is still tangled around my body and my hair falls around my face like a curtain. I like the way our texts make me feel. Playful banter makes my chest warm and causes the butterflies to flutter wildly. I'm glad Shea and I crossed paths again in a more social way. Had he not been expelled from KSS, we would've remained hockey rivalries. 

I would like to call you my boyfriend.

My stomach drops as soon as I fire off the text. Shea will respond with what I'm expecting. It's just nerve-wracking to express my emotions.

I'm not calling you my girlfriend until you talk to your mom.

I roll my eyes. Not the response I wanted. It is fair, though. "Damn you, Smith," I mutter.

Bribing again? I type. Fine.

He sends me a smiley face.

Sighing, I pull myself into a sitting position. Then I untangle myself from the blanket and set my phone down on the coffee table. After stretching out my muscles, I head for the kitchen.

I'm welcomed by the smell of banana bread. My stomach growls. Mom makes the best banana bread. She's leaning over the sink, scrubbing away at the mixing bowl. Sliding onto one stool, I grab a muffin from the cooling rack, tossing it back and forth between my hands.

"So, I guess we should talk."

Mom jumps and spins around, resting a hand on her heart. "Christ, Brenna. You scared me!"

"Sorry, Mom," I reply. Although it's kind of funny, I feel sheepish. I should've announced my presence.

Mom turns around and finishes scrubbing the dish. She sets the wet cloth down then grabs the dry one. While she's drying the bowl, she turns to me. "What do you want to talk about?"

It's easy to understand what she means. Mom knows what I want to discuss. She wants me to dictate where we start and end.

Emotion clogs my throat as I ask, "Why didn't you tell me?"

She shoots me a pained look before setting the bowl and cloth down. They make a faint clanging noise against the granite. "Brenna, I am so sorry for not telling you. The pregnancy was accidental, but I kept the baby. Randy was... His story is unique. Randy was a heroin addict, Brenna. I thought I could help him. Young love makes you foolish. Instead of—"

"Did you ever do drugs?" I interrupt.

"No," Mom replies. "My goal was to guide Randy away from using. Turns out, I was enabling him. Then I got pregnant. Randy was unstable. When he found out, he told me he wasn't ready to be a father. I was okay with that. When we had the discussion, I wasn't expecting him to stay. He deserved to know I wanted to keep the baby, though. I will admit, I expected him to support me from afar. He didn't. He focused on getting his next fix. Randy decided on drugs over family, Brenna. As soon as he left, I omitted this portion of my baby's history from their life. I didn't want my child growing up thinking they had to define their life through the poor choices of their father. I—"

Just then, the doorbell rings.

"Shit," Mom curses. She wipes her hands on the cloth. "That's your uncle."

"My uncle?" I frown. My posture straightens. Mom doesn't have any siblings. I've met none of Randy's. "What? Who's my uncle?"

Mom waves off my question. She disappears into the hallway.

I hear the door opening, then closing. Voices muffled by the walls. I tap my fingers against the granite while I wait. My stomach is a jumbled mess of knots. I'm eager to meet a new family member.

"Aiden," Mom says. "It's good to see you again. Brenna's in the kitchen."

My eyes almost bug out of my head when he steps into the kitchen. His peppered brown curls bracket his face. The lines around his mouth and eyes are prominent as ever. What's strange is seeing him dressed in jeans and a T-shirt instead of his typical coaching attire. 

"Coach Jameson? What are you doing here?"

As soon as the question leaves my mouth, I want to retract it. Although I've only met Randy once, the resemblance is impeccable. Their facial structure is similar and they have the same eye colour.

Their matching last names should've been a clue. Fuck, I feel like a fool.

"Hey, kid," he smiles.

Coach Jameson plants himself across from me. He leans against the counter. Mom stands beside him.

My gaze flicks at Mom. "Great. This conversation was happening either way."

Mom fights off a smile while she nods.

I slouch in my chair. "Was this for damage control? If I freaked out?"

Coach chuckles. "More or less."

I sigh. At least he's truthful. "You don't have to worry about a freakout. Smith made sure of that."

"Excuse me?" Mom asks.

Right. Mom isn't a fan of Shea. She thinks he's a bad influence.

I roll my eyes. "Don't get me started, Mom. He was disrespectful, but he was upset with you. He's planning on apologizing next time he comes over."

She cocks an eyebrow. "Next time?"

"We're French partners," I shrug.

"Brenna."

Her warning tone makes me grind my teeth.

"Ava," Coach sighs. "He's not a bad guy."

Mom scoffs. "You don't coach him."

Coach raises a finger. "I don't. But Shea Smith is someone I've talked to a lot in recent events. He came to Matthias and I for help. He also revealed an awful truth about one player." Coach shoots me an apologetic smile. "That takes guts for a kid to do. Especially when it's his own teammate."

I dip my head down. This is where the truth comes out. Mom'll find out about the bet. About how Shea and I upended Connor.

"Brenna?" Mom asks. I picture her hands on her hips. "Do you have anything to say?"

Sighing, I spend the next five minutes explaining Connor and his assholery. By the end, Mom is livid. She turns to Coach and demands answers. "Why have you not removed Shea from the team, too?"

Coach shrugs. "Not my player. Besides, Shea made Brenna aware of the situation. They handled the matter themselves. They were smart. Matthias can be a troublesome man to convince. The proof led to the removal of Connor from their team and the league. Permanently. Ava, I understand your concerns. They're kids, but they're not babies. What Brenna and Shea did was admirable. They set their differences aside and worked together. Besides..." He flashes me a proud grin. "I prefer this version of Shea compared to the previous one. He was an asshole. Now, he's only a partial asshole. And that's when he's on the ice."

I smother a laugh with my hand. What Coach has said is true. As much as Shea has improved, I still hate him on the ice. After years of playing hockey together and against each other, we know how to scope out weaknesses. Shea knows what my weaknesses are just as much as he knows Hunter's and Drew's. That's what happens when you grow up in the same group. Also, Shea's just an amazing hockey player. He knows the game.

I hate how good he is. Of course, things would be different if we were on the same team. But we're not.

Mom glances between us. She purses her lips. "It appears I'm not the only one who's been left out."

Guilt pinches at my gut. I feel sheepish. Which is why I change the subject.

Glancing at Coach, I say, "So... You're my uncle."

His mouth pulls to one side as he nods. "Yes. Randy's older brother."

"And you've been my coach this whole time."

"Yes."

I run a hand through my hair. This is unreal. All this time, my uncle has been coaching me. At first, it's unnerving. But as I comb through my memories, that feeling fades away. Coach was never easy on me. Never singled me out. He treated me just like the rest of the team. Did his best to accommodate me playing with the boys.

Just like before, I respect him.

"That's kind of insane," I comment.

"It is. The boys thought so, too."

"Wait," I groan. "Everyone knows? How long have they known?"

"A couple of weeks," he admits. "Not all of them know. Just a select few."

"Let me guess," I drawl. "Shea, KJ, Hunter, Drew, Nick, and Jayden?"

He snaps his fingers. "Those would be the ones."

Great. Now I feel like a complete fool. Hunter, Drew, Nick, KJ, Jayden, and Shea know Aiden Jameson is my uncle. Three guys aren't even on my team!

"Tucker wasn't happy," he continues. A chuckle escapes his mouth. "I'm sure Tucker will somehow retaliate." He sighs and glances at Mom. "But we're not here to discuss Tucker's behaviour."

"That's right," Mom nods. Her posture is stiff. Her arms are crossed over her chest. She's not pleased about me teaming up with Shea. Or me keeping the bet secret from her.

"You were—are?—pissed at Ava?" Coach asks.

I shrug. "More or less. Protecting me or not, Mom shouldn't have kept the truth from me."

"Your father is a drug addict, Brenna. The decisions I made were to benefit you."

"At what cost?" I demand, throwing my hands in the air. My sharp gaze locks on Mom. "You should've told me! Seeing him in the hotel was heartbreaking, Mom! Sometimes, I thought he was dead. Or that he didn't care. The last thing I thought was that I'd ever see him! Let alone in Kamloops when we're at a hockey tournament."

Before Mom can say anything, Coach interrupts. "That was my fault. Understand, Brenna, that enabling addicts doesn't benefit anyone. I've seen Randy try several rehab centres. He'll stay sober for a few weeks post-rehab. Then he'll relapse. He lives in Kamloops, Brenna." Coach scratches the back of his neck, looking guilty. "He contacted me and claimed he wanted to get sober again. I told him where I was staying. When Randy and I met up in the café, he saw your mom walk through the lobby. You can guess where things went from there."

I can. Randy followed Mom upstairs and tried talking to her. Different subjects, including me, were brought up. Then I walked in. Everything went to shit.

Sadness encompasses the lining of my gut. It's amazing how fast our emotions can switch. Although Shea and I were still under truce regulations, our kiss made me happy. Walking into that room, I was buzzed. Then everything crumbled.

"That still doesn't justify Mom's decision. I understand why you wanted to protect me, okay? But knowing something could've prevented all this shit. It felt like a slap across the face, Mom."

Mom glances down at her hands. They're resting on the counter. Coach takes one of her hands and squeezes it. Part of me thinks that's strange. The other half understands why they're comforting each other. Mom lost the person she loved. Coach watched his brother fall victim to addiction, which is a mental illness. It must have been devastating.

I clear my throat. "All I wanted was some warning. Mom, I've never been concerned about meeting him. That doesn't mean I wasn't curious. Knowing the story would've been nice. Plus, we travel to Kamloops a lot for hockey. What if he had approached me?" I cock an eyebrow. "I'm assuming you provided pictures?"

Mom sighs, averting her gaze from mine. "We thought providing updates on you would fuel him to get better. It didn't. But don't feel like it's your fault, Brenna."

I wrinkle my nose. "Why would I feel that way? He has a mental illness, Mom. That's not my fault."

Mom and Coach exchange a glance. Coach doesn't look surprised, but Mom does. Sometimes, I think she underestimates my strength. Coach never does. I play hockey with the boys. My armour is unbreakable, and I try to stay aware of my surroundings, including important concepts like feminism, sexuality, and mental health.

Also, I watch a lot of Intervention.

"I told you, Ava," Coach says. "There's nothing to worry about. Your daughter is brilliant. Headstrong, but brilliant."

While I appreciate Coach's compliments, there's question repeating in my head. "What else did you all talk about? When Shea and them turned in the video?"

Coach glances at Mom. Then he clears his throat. "Smith made some... amusing confessions."

I cock an eyebrow. "Amusing?"

He sighs. "They were serious confessions. It was amusing to watch him blab. That kid defines cocky. Seeing him stumble was enjoyable. The other half of the conversation we had related to the meeting tomorrow. A meeting we no longer need to have, Brenna."

"Meeting?" Mom frowns. "What meeting?"

Coach expels another deep breath.

God, I have to stop calling him Coach. We'll probably be invited over for Easter dinner. I don't think he'll want me calling him Coach there.

"Brenna and Shea are close, Ava," Coach—Uncle Aiden continues.

Fuck, that sounds so weird.

"As you know, the league deemed it reasonable to control Brenna's dating life. She's banned from dating him. She's been stripped of her rights."

"Yes," Mom nods. "That was part of the price. It's a good idea."

I suppress a sigh. Of course Mom would say that. Getting close to any guys aside from Hunter is wrong in her books.

"It's not right," Uncle Aiden continues. "None of the boys are subjected to these rules. Why is it any different for Brenna?"

Mom glares at him. "Because she's not allowed to date that boy."

"Mom," I warn. If she dictates everything in my life, I'll lose my mind.

"Shea Smith is a good kid," he argues. "There's been a significant change in his behaviour. Matthias and I already had a discussion. What the league has done isn't right." He looks at me. "You don't need to ask permission. But since that's what you're looking for, it's fine, Brenna. Date whomever you please. Jayden, KJ, Hunter... Shea..." He ends his sentence with a shrug.

Hearing Jayden's name on that list makes me chuckle. Little do they know Jayden's got the hots for his own teammate. I think it's adorable.

Mom's not happy. She glares at Coach, her lips pressed in a firm line. "You're not helping."

"Come on, Ava. Give the kid a chance."

Mom crosses her arms. "He was disrespectful to me."

"He was defending me," I argue. "Sometimes, Shea is impulsive. Don't hold that against him. He's trying to be better. Like I said, he wants to apologize. We talked about it at the Christmas party."

Mom's eyes widen. "He was at the Christmas party?"

"Yeah," I reply. And I kissed him. More than once. 

Although I should bite my tongue, I still add: "I'm not looking for your approval, Mom. Dating Shea is my decision. I like him. He's changed."

She releases a resigned sigh. "Fine."

I press my palms flat against the granite. "Are we done here?"

This conversation isn't over. There's more I need to know about Randy Jameson and my mom. Also, I need to be held accountable for my behaviour. It wasn't fair of me to give Mom the silent treatment. She deserved a chance to explain—even if I'm still a little pissed.

Mom sighs. "Yes, Brenna. "

I slide off of the stool. Mom's dismissive tone doesn't bother me. If she's upset about Shea and me, she needs to deal with her shit. Have a little more faith in me. Had Shea continued to act like an asshole, this never would've happened.

I'm done with this conversation. My mind is racing. Learning about Coach being my uncle is fucking with my head. So is the fact that Mom doesn't believe my decision is a good one. Her opinion shouldn't bother me.

But it does. A little. 

Pausing at the entryway, I grip the edge of the counter. Mom and Aiden are talking in low voices. About what, I don't care.

"Mom?" I ask.

She looks at me.

"Have some faith in me. Listen to Coach. You've given Randy several tries. Why doesn't Shea get the same treatment?"

Her face falls as realization dawns on her. She's being a hypocrite. Randy has put the effort in to change. So has Shea. Why does one get more credit than the other? While the results are different, effort was put in. As far as I'm concerned, Shea deserves more credit but only because he has better access to resources and the capacity to change. He's determined to become a better person. To weed out the patriarchy in his mind.

I feel a twinge of pity for my father. Perhaps, if he had access to proper resources and the capacity to change, things would be different. Maybe they will be. Who knows? 

All I know is that Shea Smith isn't the bad guy.  

Without another word, I exit the kitchen.