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I’m filled with a sudden urge to see Parker wearingmyjersey.
“I actually wanted to play hockey,” she says, a little shyly.
“Really? Why didn’t you?”
Her grin is more sad than happy. “My dad.”
“Ah.”
“How does he feel about you working for the Appies?”
“Hey—who’s asking the questions here?” she teases.
“It seems only fair I get a few,” I say.
“Fine. We can trade off. Question for a question. You can start, since I’ve already asked a bunch.”
My heart is suddenly beating in my throat, questions like some mob of noisy birds in my head. I spin around, then fall back until Parker and I are skating side by side, stride to stride. I take the outside since my legs are longer, though she hardly seems winded.
“You can go first,” I tell her, unable to settle on one thing. Other than the one question I don’t know if I should ask about why—or how—she hasn’t kissed anyone.
“What’s your ideal vacation?”
“I’ve always wanted to go to Banff,” I tell her.
“You’ve still never been?” she asks softly. “I figured you would have.”
She remembers. Of course, she remembers. That’s Parker for you.
I shake my head. “I work too much, take off too little. Did you ever get to Bermuda?” I ask.
“Nope,” she says. “Still on the bucket list though.”
I don’t know how we ever got to talking about this back in the day, only that we did. Parker always went on and on about Bermuda—going on about the sun and the colorful houses and British accents—while I wished for mountains and snow and wilderness.
The difference was—her parents could have taken her to Bermuda. If they wanted. My mom barely made rent. The first and last vacation I ever took was my second year going pro. Some of my teammates and I went to this upscale all-inclusive place in Mexico.
I hated it. Too loud. Too hot. Too many people.
“Why didn’t you say goodbye when you left?”
The question comes out of nowhere like a battering ram to the sternum. It takes me a moment to find my breath.
At least she didn’t go for the bigger question, the one I want to answer even less than this one. This one, I can do.
“I was a punk kid. Hockey was my way out of a place and a life I hated.” I don’t miss the way she winces at that. “Mostly hated.”
“There were some good things.” Her soft words are halfway between a statement and a question.
“You were a good thing. You and Brandon.”
“But you left us too.”
My throat feels thick talking about it, but at the same time, it’s a relief. Like draining some festering wound. Doesn’t feel good, but letting it out will feel better. Maybe.
“I’m sorry, Parker. If I could do it again, if I could go back and knock sense into my eighteen-year-old self, I would.”
She snorts at this. “I’d like to take a crack at him too.”
