Chapter 8

Emma's POV

Victoria's eyebrows went up. "You're training with the guy you're competing against for draft position?"

Caleb's jaw tightened. Barely. You'd miss it if you weren't looking.

"We push each other. Coach approved it."

Liar.

I didn't know how I knew. I just did. Something about the way he said it. Too smooth. Too rehearsed.

He's making an excuse to not be here. To not be at the barbecue. With me.

Victoria sighed. She looked disappointed but didn't push it.

"Alright. If that's what you need to do."

"It is."

Caleb stood up. Grabbed his gym bag from the floor. The same black Nike one from yesterday, still probably smelling like sweat and ice.

He walked past my chair. Didn't slow down. Didn't look at me.

Just gone.

The front door opened. Closed.

I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding.

Victoria sat down across from me with her coffee. "He's under a lot of pressure this year. This year is crucial for the draft."

I nodded. Took a bite of toast I didn't taste.

Yeah. Pressure. That's definitely why he can't stand to be in the same room as me for more than five minutes.

---

The shopping center was huge. One of those massive outdoor mall complexes with a Whole Foods and a Target and about fifty other stores I'd never been able to afford back in Florida.

Victoria pushed the cart through the grocery aisles like a woman on a mission. Tossing in steaks, packages of hot dogs, corn on the cob, bags of salad mix.

"David loves a good ribeye," she said, examining two different cuts. "And Caleb only eats lean protein. Do you have any dietary restrictions I should know about?"

I shook my head. "I eat pretty much anything."

"Perfect." She dropped both steaks in the cart. "We'll do a mix. That way everyone's happy."

We moved through the store. Victoria kept up a running commentary—which brand of hot dogs was best, how to tell if corn was fresh, whether we needed beer or just wine.

It was nice. Normal. The kind of grocery shopping I'd only ever seen in TV shows.

"We'll set up in the backyard," Victoria said as we headed toward checkout. "The grill, some tables. You can invite friends if you want. The more the merrier."

I tried to smile. "I don't really know anyone yet."

"That'll change once school starts. You'll see." She patted my arm. "Oh! And maybe Caleb can introduce you to some people when he is free."

My face went hot.

Yeah. I'm sure his hockey friends would love to meet the girl who showed up at their locker room smelling like a frat house bathroom.

"Maybe," I managed.

We loaded the groceries into Victoria's SUV—a sleek black Audi that probably cost more than my mom made in a year. Then she surprised me by parking in front of a clothing store instead of heading home.

"Colorado weather is tricky," she said, already unbuckling her seatbelt. "Cold mornings, hot afternoons. You probably didn't pack for that."

"Victoria, you don't have to—"

"Come on." She was already out of the car.

I followed her inside. The store was bright and clean, full of the kind of casual-but-expensive clothes I usually just looked at online.

Victoria moved through the racks like she did this every day. Pulled out a few t-shirts, jeans, a light jacket.

"Try these."

I took them. Stared at the price tags.

One of these shirts costs what I used to spend on groceries for a week.

"Victoria, this is too much."

She waved me off. "Don't be silly. You're my daughter now. This is what mothers do."

The word hit me square in the chest.

Daughter.

I looked down at the clothes in my arms. Felt my throat get tight.

"Thank you," I whispered. "Really. Thank you... Vicky."

Her whole face lit up. "Oh sweetie, come here."

She pulled me into a hug. Right there in the middle of the store. And I let her.

When we got to the register, Victoria handed over her credit card without even looking at the total.

As the cashier rang everything up, Victoria sighed. Quiet. Almost to herself.

"I always wanted a daughter," she said. "Caleb was such a momma's boy when he was little, but boys... they grow up. They pull away. Especially after..." She trailed off.

I looked at her. Really looked at her.

Her eyes had gone distant. Sad.

"After what?" I asked quietly.

She blinked. Seemed to come back to herself.

"After his father and I divorced." She took the shopping bag from the cashier. "Come on. Let's get this stuff to the car."

We loaded the bags into the trunk. Got back in the SUV.

Victoria didn't start the car right away. Just sat there, hands on the steering wheel, staring out the windshield.

"I don't usually talk about this," she said finally. "But you're family now. You should know."

My stomach twisted.

This is going to be bad. I can feel it.

"Hector—Caleb's father—he had an affair. With his law partner. We divorced when Caleb was ten."

Victoria's hands tightened on the wheel.

"Every boy has that moment, you know? When he realizes his father isn't a hero. Just a man. A flawed, selfish man." She paused. "For Caleb, that moment came early. But that wasn't even the worst part."

She turned to look at me. Her eyes were wet.

"The worst part came a few months later. Caleb's hockey coach—his first real coach, the man who taught him to skate—died in a car accident."

My breath caught.

"Hector was driving. He'd been drinking. Had the coach in the passenger seat, coming back from one of Caleb's games." Her voice cracked. "The car hit a barrier. Hector walked away with minor injuries. The coach died on impact."

"Oh my god."

"And then Hector did what Hector does best. He lawyered up. Found some technicality, some procedural error. Convinced a jury the accident wasn't his fault." Victoria's laugh was bitter. "He walked away from that too."

I felt sick.

"Caleb didn't speak to his father for a year after that. Refused to see him. Refused to take his calls." She wiped her eyes. "He threw himself into hockey. Practiced until he couldn't stand. Like if he just skated hard enough, fast enough, he could outrun it all."

We sat there in silence. The SUV suddenly felt too small.

"I'm telling you this," Victoria said, "because I need you to understand. Caleb isn't a bad boy though he looks cold sometimes. He's cold because he doesn't know how to be anything else. Not anymore."

She reached over and squeezed my hand.

"You're close to his age. Maybe... maybe you can reach him in a way I can't. Maybe you can help him."

I stared at her.

Help him? The guy who looked at me this morning like I was a stain on his perfect life?

But now I knew. Beneath that ice, there was a ten-year-old boy who'd watched his hero die and his father walk free.

And I had absolutely no idea what to do with that.