Page 34 of Enemy Games

How could I not have realized it sooner? That made things even worse.

The first time I heard her name, it sounded vaguely familiar, but my brain apparently refused to make the connection since she looked absolutely nothing like the girl I once knew.

When was the last time I saw Presley?

We stopped training at the same arena when I made it onto the traveling team when I was thirteen, but it was pretty likely we ran into each other over the years. The hockey community was small back home, and we went to rival high schools, so there was a chance we could have been at the same parties or games.

It didn’t make any sense, because she was right. We joined the Silver Vikings Mini Mite team around the same time. We were friends. Our moms were a part of a carpool group, and it wasn’t uncommon for us to go to one of our houses after practice to play.

But then I moved up to the next level with the boys in my grade while she stayed back since she was a year younger. Our practice time was different, so I stopped going in her carpool and we didn’t see each other very much outside of that anymore.

I made new friends and had to prove to them I was cool. The easiest way was to join in when they teased the kids on the baby team. It wasn’t just me. We all made jokes and laughed, but I was the only one that used to be friends with one of them.

I should have been a better person. A better friend.

I should have been the one to stop the guys from heckling them.

But it was hard to stand up to your friends, especially when you’re the new kid.

Plus, young Presley Stone was … There was no kind way to say it. She was unfortunate looking. Unsightly. She’d been injured during our second year and broke her jaw, leaving her with a severely crooked overbite while the headgear she had to wear gradually fixed the alignment.

Was it her fault she had that hideous contraption covering her face?

No.

Did we care?

Nope.

Plus, she got gum in her hair at one point and showed up with short, boy hair with a cowlick in the front that made a whole section stick straight up. At least, we called it boy hair. In reality, it would be considered a pixie cut, but we didn’t care. It was shorter than we were used to seeing on her and that was what we targeted.

But it wasn’t just her looks.

No. We went after her for daring to play hockey.

She mentioned something about skates, and it triggered a memory. I told her almost every time I saw her that she was wearing the wrong ones. That she should have figure skates and a leotard and practice spins because girls shouldn’t play hockey.

I closed my eyes and dropped my head back.

I was terrible.

But it all worked out, right?

She ignored me and my teammates and continued to play. She and I were playing at the same school. She proved the idiot kid I was wrong. Good for her.

Plus, she definitely grew out of her awkward stage. Her smile was stunning, with no sign of previous damage. Her blonde hair was long and wavy, and I knew there wasn’t a soul on campus who would have thought she was ever an ugly duckling.

She was beautiful, talented, and an Olympic prospect.

So why did she hold onto what I did so, so long ago?

I didn’t hold onto things like that. I brushed words off without a second thought. There was no point in letting other people’s opinions impact you. It wasn’t any of my business what someone else thought of me. As long as I was happy with myself, it didn’t matter what outside forces tried to convince me of.

One, then two, now three days passed without me figuring out the answer. Why hadn’t she forgotten about me as easily as I had her? Had I really been that awful that she remembered specifics nearly fifteen years later?

Yesterday, Benjamin asked if there was something going on with me, but I assured him I was fine.

Because I was. I wasn’t the one holding a grudge. I let things go and carried on with life.