Aria

The car isn't mine. It's a rental from a company. I didn't even rent the car — my agent, Isabella did. It's a high-end vehicle, one that suits a professional hockey player like myself.

But right now, as I hear the old engine of that knobby dark blue truck drive away, it makes me feel disgusted with myself.

I stare bitterly at the car as I comb through the unanswered questions that are building behind my lips, ready to break and flood the area around me like a dam. As if that would make a difference — the rain hasn't let up in Whistler for several days now, an odd weather routine despite the town's decent proximity to the Pacific Ocean. I'm surprised the town hasn't flooded yet.

Knowing that I'm wasting time, standing out in the rain, I climb back into the car and turn on the ignition, a fresh wave of rain-scented heat blowing against my chilled skin. A shiver runs down my spine, which is ridiculous because it's the end of June — I shouldn't be cold. But, like a lot of my conscious thoughts have been since I came around the corner and nearly hit that boy, that thought is in the back of my mind. I can't stop thinking about the questions I wanted to ask him.

What's with your eyes? Where are you from? How did the accident happen?  Are you okay?

I blink away the sudden swell of threatening tears, but a few manage to escape. With delayed movement, I wipe away my tears, the coldness of my fingertips stinging my face and smudging my mascara.

I hadn't meant to nearly kill someone today, but that's probably what everyone says when they do collide with an innocent pedestrian crossing the road. The truth is, my mind had been elsewhere when I was driving. After a long and intense training session with the team's personal trainer and the heavyweight of living up to my father's legacy riding on my shoulders, my mind was anywhere on the road. I know it's wrong of me to nurture the roots of an excuse — I should have been focusing on the road — but I can't help it. Being a woman in the hockey world is tough shit. Unlike my dad, when he was captain of Calgary Flames and had every opportunity to display his skills and participate in important events, this is my only opportunity. At the Winter Olympics, playing for Canada's women's team.

Ever since I was scouted, it's been hard for me to adapt. Not in regards to the training — that I can handle. It's the attention from the people around me, from the media that I'm having difficulties with. I know I have skill, that I have potential to be one of the best players in women's history, but the pressure has an impact on me. Analysts are expecting me, the daughter of Luke Madden, to wrack up the points and help lead Canada to gold. People on the streets tell me they're looking forward to seeing me in action come February.

I've responded with what they want to hear; telling them how excited I am to be representing my country, to be on the hunt for gold, to contribute to the team. What I haven't told them is how terrified I am of failing. Of failing the Madden name and my country. My name is well-known throughout Canada and the hockey world. My father is a legend. My little brother has just been drafted by the Winnipeg Jets. And now here I am, Aria Madden, going through an intensive routine of training and dieting this summer to make sure I'm in tip-top shape for the upcoming season and then, in time, the Olympics.

People talk to me all the time. I lie to them every day. They ask me to sign their jerseys and other memorabilia. They ask me about my dad. I've been in the spotlight since the moment I was born.

So why didn't he know who I was?

I stare out at the road before me, the cedar limbs intertwined with fog and the asphalt damp, its colouring rich against the endless supply of green that Whistler is known for. He was stand-offish, even a little ignorant, but I have to admit, it's a breath of fresh air to feel normal. It's like spending all my time in Calgary, breathing in the smog and farm-like stench, and then suddenly arriving in Whistler, my lungs greedy for the crisp alpine air. I wonder if he's one of the few Canadians who is opposed to watching hockey, our national sport. 

Speaking of Canadians, I wonder where he's from. I come to Whistler every summer to work at my grandma's mountain bike rental shop — another downside of being a woman in the hockey industry. Our paycheques are ten times lower than a man's, making them unsustainable. My array thought tangent aside, I haven't seen him around before. He's definitely not one of the usuals like my aunt, uncle, and cousin. Maybe he's not even Canadian and he's a foreign tourist visiting from Alaska or Rome.

Either way, I hope I get to see him again and ask him what that book was about, or, more importantly, what the piece of paper sticking out from it was.

*  *  *

"Why are you late and why are you sopping wet?" Benn asks, checking his watch. He can't fathom the idea of being late for an event, let alone an important fundraising event that benefits kids who can't play hockey. An event that I'm attending with him tonight due to his inability to find a girlfriend.

Oh, did I mention that Bennett Stone, my cousin, is one of the top defensemen for the Vancouver Canucks? It seems as though hockey has become embedded in the Madden-slash-Stone-slash-Walker family. Uncle Hainsey and Aunty Emyln, Benn's parents, were never big in the hockey world, but they did play when they were younger. My mom was never a fan of hockey until she met my dad, Luke Madden. After that, hockey seemed to be the basic foundation of our worlds, which isn't necessarily a bad thing. I don't know how many times Benn and I played against each other or how many times we all spent time together on tournament trips. Hockey, despite being on different teams in different provinces, is something that brings families and friends, even enemies, together. 

I glance down at my soaked clothes, run my fingers through my damp hair. "I decided I wanted to have a natural shower," I grin. "As it turns out, it didn't go very well."

"You look like a raccoon, cuz," he snorts. "But in all honesty, what happened? I thought you were going to be back by four. Now we don't have time to go our for a drink before the event."

I push past Benn, kicking my shoes off and discarding my bag on the bench. Aunty Emyln and Uncle Hainsey's house is your typical lodge-style home that's very occurrent in Whistler, complete with tile and hardwood and wooden beams. It used to be our grandma's house before she and her husband decided to move somewhere smaller, giving the house to them.

The tile is cold beneath my feet as I head directly to the laundry room, ready to toss my soaked sweater into the washer. Behind me, I hear Benn's feet pad against the floor. "I'm late," I sigh, opening the washer. "Because I came around the corner and nearly hit someone. In his defense, I was speeding."

Benn makes a tsk tsk noise and shakes his head. "Aria, Aria, Aria," he scolds.

"I know," I reply, replaying the events of today in my head. "It was terrible of me, and you know what makes matters worse?"

"What?" my cousin asks.

I picture the boy's face: his strange eyes, the chiselled jaw and high cheekbones, and the hair plastered to his forehead from the rain. His rosy cheeks and the stubble along his jaw. The book in his shaky hands and the hiking-style backpack on his shoulders. The piece of paper folded between the pages of the book. "You know the cross we were always wondering about on the way up to the stables?" I ask.

Benn nods.

"This boy I almost hit," I begin. "That's where his father died. He was hit by a drunk driver eighteen years ago. I don't know how old this boy is, but he did mention that he never got to meet his father. So, I'm assuming that his father died before he was even born — he doesn't look much older than eighteen or nineteen."

Benn's stormy-grey eyes widen. "No shit," he breathes. "That's insane. I never would have thought...Wow."

"Yeah," I reply, feeling ashamed of my reaction. I shouldn't have yelled at him. It was my fault we even got into that argument, and my apology had zero value, despite how sorry I felt. While I am highly embarrassed by my reaction, there's a part of me that wishes I could see him again and tell him just how sorry I am. A smidge of that, of my longing to see him again, also complies with the fact that he didn't know who I was. "Anyway," I continue. "We're lucky — the venue up at the stables is available to celebrate your mom and dad's anniversary on August-Long Weekend. I booked it and I sent out an invitation to extended family members and some close friends. Val already confirmed her invitation, but that's all I've heard so far. And Tenille, the lady I talked to today, is looking forward to meeting with the mastermind behind this event as opposed to some sweaty young woman."

Benn smiles slyly. Just like his mother, he's always been good and pulling the strings and creating the best surprises ever. For my sixteenth birthday, Benn managed to catch a plane to Calgary and set up this humungous surprise birthday party for me that included a Hollywood theme and renting out the high school's gymnasium. It was fantastic, so I have no doubt that the anniversary party for Uncle Hainsey and Aunty Emyln is going to be even better. "I would have come today and saved you the humiliation, but I had to help set up for the event we're supposed to be at within the next two hours."

I playfully shove my cousin. "Yeah, yeah, buddy," I say, pushing past him. "I'm on it — I'll make myself look presentable. Granted, you are the main reason as to why I'm not ready yet. If you had gone to the meeting like you were supposed to, I would have come straight home from training."

Benn reaches out and ruffles my hair. "But then you wouldn't have met your mysterious suitor."

I slap his hand away, shooing him an equally as nasty glare. "He is not my suitor. I don't even know his name. And, as far as I can tell, he hates me. I'm an apparent reckless driver, Benn."

"Hence the word mysterious," he grins. "Now hurry up and get ready. We have to leave within the next hour and half."

I give him the one-finger salute with my middle finger. "Aye, aye Captain Dick."

He laughs, adjusting the tie around his neck. I have to say, my cousin looks ravishing in his suit and messy light brown hair. Sometimes, I find it difficult to believe that he hasn't found anyone to date yet. But, then again, my mom didn't meet my dad until they were in their mid-twenties — and Benn is only twenty, the same age as me. Sometimes, love just takes time. "Just as stubborn as always," he jokes.

"And it's never going to change," I reply, heading upstairs and leaving Benn behind. The bedroom I'm staying in just so happens to be my mom's old room from when she was a kid and lived here. That was during the time before her parents divorced. Thing were rocky between my mom and grandma for a while, but they've come to terms now and things are looking a lot better with their relationship.

When I'm in the bathroom that's attached to my mom's old room, the door locked behind me, I strip out of my wet tank top and shorts, bra and underwear, and step into the tiled shower. I turn on the water and immediately step into the pressurized stream, holding back a yelp when the cold water rushes down my body. Thankfully, despite my small moment of suffering, the cold water has done its job well and I'm wide awake again, enjoying the blissful experience of the water changing from freezing to a steamy, comforting temperature.

As I stand beneath the stream of water, I think about today, fascinated by how the boy with a multi-coloured iris in his left eye didn't know who I am. And how, for the first time in years, I continue to wonder who he is and where he came from. I want to know why he's in Whistler when it holds such close ties to the loss of his father, to that overwhelming notion of losing someone you love — even if you never got the chance to meet them.

However, as much as I wish I could ask him these questions, I know I need to stop obsessing over him. February is a long ways away, but time has always been tricky that way; it goes by fast when you think you have enough of it. What I need to focus on is amping up my skills and toning my body, packing on muscle and improving my slap-shot. When the time comes, I want to be a force to be reckoned with on the ice. I want other countries to fear my team and what we stand for.

Tonight, I need to go and mingle with Benn and his teammates, present my speech about why women deserve equal pay in the hockey industry and introduce the fundraiser I wish to start, and then come home and prepare myself for tomorrow's training session.

Hockey is is my blood. It's my religion, my life.

And I'll be damned if I don't live up to the Madden name.