Page 86 of Mac Meyers Needs Me

Thankfully it’s my turn and I pass over my mail slip in exchange for a small box. Mac tucks the poster into his binder. A thrill of excitement rushes through me when I notice a few of my stickers on the inside cover.

“Who’s the package from?” he asks after he tucks his binder back in his bag.

I scan the address label. “It’s from Kristoff.” At Mac’s deepening frown, I explain further, “Lexi’s dad.”

“Oh, cool.” His brow smooths out and his shoulder relax. “Are you close?”

“Not really? He’s nice, and Callie likes him, but he’s…not super present? He’s a big lawyer in New York. He and my mom divorced when Lexi was young. He remarried a woman named Jacqueline who’s also a lawyer and they’re basically workaholics. He’s come to a couple of Terror games every season, but he usually ends up working through them. Occasionally he sends gifts.” I shake the box, then pick at the tape until the end comes free. “It’s how he shows he cares. I used to get frustrated with him, mostly because I felt bad for Lexi. She had to do everything on her own. She wasn’t close with our mom the way Callie and I were, and Kristoff is always busy with work. But she has Roman now, and we’re part of the Terror family, so that feels good, you know?”

“It really hasn’t been easy for any of you, has it?” he asks.

“Every family challenges.” I shrug. “I have great sisters and awesome friends, and this big extended found-family, and a super cool, very sweet boyfriend, so I think I’m doing okay.” I open the box and pull out the gift bag. Inside are the paint markers I’ve been drooling over for the past few months. “Holy crap. These have been sold out everywhere.” I hug them to my chest. “They’ll be a game changer when I render your portrait.”

“How did Kristoff know you wanted them?”

“Maybe Lexi or Callie said something?” I take a photo and shoot him a quick text to thank him and follow it with an excessive number of excited emojis.

“Maybe it’s a sign,” Mac says.

“A sign for what?”

“That you should submit a piece for the art show."

I’m scared to put my stuff out there for everyone to see and critique, but I can’t achieve my dreams if I don’t take a chance. “It does seem like the universe is pointing in that direction, doesn’t it?”

CHAPTER 30

MAC

“Holy shit, is that Roman Hammerstein?” Steele asks as we take our seats on the bench.

“Forrest-Hammer now, but yeah.” That I don’t sound like I huffed helium is a miracle.

“Did you know he was coming?” Lovett’s knee is going a mile a minute, just like mine.

“I did not.” Fee, who is seated next to her younger sister, with Cammie on her other side, assured me she was coming tonight, but she failed to warn me her brother-in-law would also be here.

“Scouts in the row behind him.” Stiles chews on his mouth guard.

It’s a habit we all have. The hockey equivalent of a soother.

“No fucking way.” Steele rolls his head on his shoulders. “I hope I get decent ice time. Or maybe I hope I don’t. That’s some real fucking pressure.”

Roman stands and turns to shake the scouts’ hands. I’m sure Roman has regular conversations with those guys, being a coach for the Hockey Academy.

I send a prayer to the hockey gods that all my extra time on the ice pays off tonight.

“You got this, man. You’ve been owning the ice lately,” Stiles assures me.

“I got this,” I repeat. My passing accuracy has improved, and I’m not eating ice when I hit the crease like I was earlier in the season.

I channel my positive energy into playing smart and clean. And it works. Fee being here to cheer me on, wearing my hoodie, is an ego boost. She’s here because she cares and she believes in me. It’s not about who I know, or what my future career might look like. Fee isn’t starstruck by pro hockey players; she’s genuinely impressed with the tenacity, effort, and dedication it takes to play for my school team.

During the first period, I manage an assist, and another in the third. Tilton wins the game 3-1, and my team is riding the high as we head for the locker room.

“We are definitely celebrating the hell out of this win.” Steele claps me on the back, then shouts, “Party at my place!”

“Is there ever a weekend we don’t have to clean up after fifty people?” Stiles grumbles, but even he’s smiling.