Page 8 of Sticks and Stones (Shadow Valley U)
Evan grimaces, but he doesn’t comment on my personal dig. Instead, he introduces the last roommate, and by the time I follow him upstairs to my new room, I’m certain I’ve memorized their names and matched them with their faces.Taylor, Grant, Sully, and Archer.
“It’s not huge, but it works.”
I laugh. “This is a huge room and an even bigger house, Evander. You all are just…big.”
Evan throws his head back and lets out a loud laugh before placing my boxes on the floor. “Don’t let them hear you say that. Their egos are already too much.”
“All hockey players’ egos are too much,” I counter.
Warmth fills the air around me while I stand in a small bedroom with Evan showing off his adorable, goofy grin that he only reserves for those he actually feels comfortable with. I do a spin, checking out every nook and cranny, and I’m happy to report that there are no holes in the walls or spiders in the corners of the ceilings,andthere’s an actual bed that’s mine.
Not shared with a cheating boyfriend or filthy from previous foster kids.
“Déjà vu,” Evan says, inching toward the door.
His eyes spark with what I can only describe as relief.
“Just like old times,” I half-joke. My lips curve into a sad smile.
Evan grips the top of the doorjamb before pushing himself off. “Yeah, but this time, no one’s gonna force you to leave.”
He shuts the door, and I stand there alone, feeling half relieved but half scared. If there’s anything I’ve learned from the moment I was born, it’s that when things seem too good to be true, that usually means they are.
CHAPTER4
STONE
“This is an opportunity of a lifetime.”I cross my arms, then uncross them. I’m jittery,anxious, and I hate this fucking feeling. Like my life is balanced on this decision, and someone else is holding the reins. “I have to go.”
My father’s gaze is on whatever bullshit paperwork is in his hands. He’s working. He’s always working. But with some big trial coming up, it’s been almost impossible to get his attention. Even when I need it.
Especially when I need it.
“Dad.”
“One moment, Stone.”
I clench my jaw and turn away.
He practically lives at his office downtown. He’s on the third floor, in the corner office of the clock tower building his law firm took over last year. His windows overlook a busy street, another building across it—the library—and a fucking park. How idyllic. He’s got rooftop access in this building and everything.
He once took my step-monster and me to a work party. We dressed up and drank cocktails. Well, they did. I snuck the free glasses of champagne when no one was watching, got so drunk I puked in the privacy hedges surrounding the roof, and was escorted home by Dad’s assistant.
That was before my body-is-a-temple mentality. Before I got serious about hockey.
Before I realized Dad doesn’t give a shit about anything that doesn’t touch his image.
A billboard just went up with his face on it. He’s smiling in the photo, with some slogan about saving innocent people from the justice system.In Foster, We Trust. I’d think nothing of it—except that he’s getting too big for his britches—if I hadn’t overheard a conversation where he talked about running for governor next term.
Then he’d truly be insufferable.
“Okay.” Dad sets down the file and faces me. His hands are in his pockets, his face relaxed. “What’s the opportunity of a lifetime?”
The whole spiel about attending this new school—I have to repeat it?
I bite the inside of my cheek hard enough to draw blood. The metallic taste is grounding in a way, and I relish it on my tongue. It sharpens my focus in the same way a hockey fight does.
“You’ve heard of Mike Aster?” I question.