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She’s thanking me for being there for her tonight. She’s thanking me for caring about her. And maybe she’s thanking me for seeing her. And I am seeing her, maybe for the first time ever, as an individual rather than just my sister’s friend.
“You’re welcome.”
I feel her pull away and watch as she walks out of my room, leaving an emptiness behind. I hear Oakley’s door softly open and shut a moment later.
And sometime down the road, I realize that she never returned my T-shirt.
CHAPTER ONE
OLLIE
PRESENT DAY, JUNIOR YEAR OF COLLEGE
My phone starts vibrating. I pull it from my pocket and glance at the screen, ready to dismiss the call when I see an unknown number.
Stupid robocalls.
I start to put it away again, but I hesitate as the area code catches my eye.
Wait … 312 … that’s a Chicago number.
“Hello?” I answer.
“Oliver Burnham?” a thick, gravelly voice asks, sounding like he’s smoked one too many Marlboros.
I cringe when the man uses my formal name. No one calls me Oliver. Not even my parents. I’ve been Ollie for as long as I can remember.
“Yes,” I say instead of correcting him, “this is he.”
“This is Dean Sedwick.”
Head coach of the Hawks.
I pause and wait for him to continue.
“We’re calling you up for next season.”
My mind and body freeze after he speaks the words. He gave no preamble, no warning; he just dropped the bomb. I’ve heard Coach was a no-nonsense kind of guy.
I’m speechless, but I can feel my pulse pounding in my neck. It’s everything I’ve wanted to hear since I was a little boy, lacing up my skates. I’ve always had dreams of playing in the professional league. And when I was chosen in the top five in the draft last year, those dreams started to come true. But the teams don’t always want you right away. Sometimes, they need you to develop more. I’ve been waiting for this moment for over a year with a large amount of trepidation. I worried they would change their mind about me, as dumb as that sounds. Or worse, that I would get hurt and be taken out of contention.
“You’ve had an impressive three years at Sinclair, and we need someone with your skills at the winger position next season,” Coach Sedwick continues after the extended silence. “I’m going to have Paul Azar give you a call in the next few days and set you up with a workout program for the summer. And then we’ll see you and the other rookies in early September for training camp …”
Paul Azar is the strength and conditioning coach for the team. I’ve done my homework.
Sedwick continues droning on about logistics in that gravelly voice of his, but all I can hear running through my head on repeat is the phrase, “We’re calling you up for next season.”
“Thank you, sir,” I say when he finally stops speaking. My heart is practically beating out of my chest, but my voice is surprisingly steady.
“We expect big things from you in the years to come, Burnham.”
No pressure there.
Coach doesn’t know me well enough yet to realize he could never put more pressure on me than I already place on myself. I always have. Call it first child syndrome or whatever you want. But when it comes to hockey and all other areas of my life, I strive for perfection. And I won’t stop working until I achieve it.
“I expect big things from myself,” I respond.
He chuckles. “That’s good to know. Well, enjoy the rest of your weekend. We’ll be seeing you soon.”
