How the fuck was I going to face my family? My cousin Tate plays for Los Angeles. My cousin Theo is set to be drafted this summer. Grady Garrison, only son of Uncle Cole and Aunt Leah, is the backup goalie for the Seattle Winterhawks. Hell, my baby sister Mae, who we all call Mayhem, is on a full-ride hockey scholarship at Boston College. Everyone says she'll be the first female drafted by the NHL. And I'm the first Garrison to fail. I did not have that on my bingo card.
It's December twenty-first and all of the NHL players in my family are still playing. But Mayhem will be home from college, as will my sister Liv who is studying at UCLA, and a bunch of my other female cousins, as well as Theo who is in his last few months of high school. Worst of all my dad and my stepmom are most definitely home. But that's why I'm going home, I guess. Because I would rather tell them in person.
Although right now, as the lights of Silver Bay, Maine, glimmer in the distance, I’m beginning to think this wasn’t such a hot idea. Because I don’t know if I have the balls to see the disappointment on their faces up close and personal. And theywillbe disappointed. How could they not?
I pump the brakes as I descend the hill drawing me closer to town because it's been snowing like crazy for the last hour and this road is notoriously slippery on a good winter's day. Despite the precarious driving conditions my mind still wanders as I try to predict how this will go. My dad, two-time Stanley Cup winner Devin Garrison, will look like he's been shot. Like this is happening directly to him and not to me.He's never pressured me about hockey, but I know he has a lot of pride in my career. Or he did. This will sting. But then he'll kick into supportive mode.Waytoo supportive. He'll try to give me a pep talk and offer to make calls to league big wigs and I'll want to puke again. Mom, well, she'll be the opposite. Ashleigh formerly Garrison-now-Milligan, will ramble on about how this is for the best and how maybe the universe is showing me I shouldn't have tried to copy my dad. That I should give up 'that brutal, stupid sport' altogether. They're divorced, can you tell? Mom hated being a hockey wife so she stopped being one when I was little. Too little to really remember much, which is probably a good thing. She's in Palm Springs for Christmas with her husband so if I'm lucky, she won’t even know this is going on. She doesn’t follow hockey at all. Has never even been to one of my professional games.
And then there’s my stepmom Callie. The woman has never heard of the word boundaries, and normally I don’t mind it at all. I absolutely adore it, actually. She’s there for me, rain or shine, day or night. And I have had some of the most raw, honest conversations of my life with her. So she’ll expect me to open up about this. She’ll demand it. Truth is, I don’t know what to tell her. I don’t know what went wrong. I don’t know when I lost my magic touch or why. I don’t know how to stop sucking at hockey because I don’t know why I started to suck at hockey in the first place.
A number pops up on my nav as a ringing sound fills the car. It’s my agent Clark Abbott. I swear and punchaccept. Before I can even say hello he’s talking. “Want to tell me where the fuck you are and why the Barons general manager just called me to say you’ve gone AWOL?”
“They’re putting me on waivers, Clark.”
“What?” He sounds genuinely stunned. “They haven’tinformed me, why are they informing you? You can’t be on waivers until?—”
“December twenty-seventh,” I interrupt and grip the steering wheel a little tighter as I kick my wipers up a notch faster to deal with the snow pelting the windshield. “But that little bitch of a coach, Landry, pulled me into his office today and told me anyway. Calls me a bunch of bullshit names and then expects me to show up to the last game before they publicly humiliate me, even though they aren’t even going to play me. Naw. Fuck that. If I’m going out, I’m doing it my way.”
“First of all, you should have called me. Immediately,” Clark barks, annoyance dripping from every pointy, stabby word and I can’t even get uppity about it. I should have called him.
“I know. I’m sorry. I’m spiraling.”
He sighs so loudly it rumbles through my car speakers like wind. His voice is soft when he speaks again. “This is terrifyingly egregious on their part. On Landry’s part. I don’t know what the fuck to do next, because no team has ever been this fucking stupid with one of my players, but I will sort this out and get back to you. I can’t believe they’re calling me up like you’re the villain here and not even mentioning this waivers bullshit.”
“They can do it, though, right?” I ask because I know they can, but I need someone with a brain not melting into an emotional mess to tell me. “They can dump me this way?”
"They can but it's one of the worst business moves I've ever heard of," Clark confesses. "You are still a hot commodity, Con. Yeah, your year hasn't been great but that team is a sinking ship and you are just one bucket. They can try to blame it all on you, but I won't let them. In the meantime… where are you and are you okay?"
I swallow and feel a lump in my throat. “As good asexpected. I kind of freaked out and got in my car and started to drive to Maine.”
“Fuck,” Clark sighs again. “There’s a fucking blizzard.”
“I know but I’m fine. Almost home.” I swallow again. Fucking lump. “I can turn back around if you think I really have to go to the game tomorrow.”
“Nope. Get home and stay safe,” Clark advises. “And pick up the phone when I call, no matter the hour, okay?”
“Yeah. Promise.”
“Bye.”
The phone goes dead before I can thank him. The snow is a bit heavy now. Not exactly a whiteout but on its way to one. Luckily I’m going to be done driving before it gets too bad.
Seven minutes later I’m passing the sign that saysWelcome to Silver Bay. Home of Hockey Royalty.And then underneath, on individual hand-carved wooden signs made by a local artisan are the names: Devin Garrison. Jordan Garrison, Luc Richard. Conner Garrison. Tate Garrison. Grady Garrison. There will be a ceremony to add Theo Richard’s name after the draft this summer. I wouldn’t be surprised if they just took my plaque off and replaced it with Theo’s. They should. Maybe I’ll drop the idea in the suggestion box outside city hall. I don’t deserve to have my name up there anymore.
I used to think that sign was the coolest thing ever, but now it's humiliating. It's not long from the city limits to the lake, which is huge, and the town's main attraction. Callie and my dad built a big place on the lake, next to Uncle Luc and Aunt Rose's place, after Liv was born. Then, Uncle Jordy and Aunt Jessie bought the land right next to Dad and Callie and built a home there. It's a regular Kennedy Compound as the three homes take up a quarter of the lakefront.
I turn onto the long driveway and see the large, two-story, wood and river rock structure that is my dad and Callie's houseloom into view. Even half-obscured by the thick sheet of falling snow, it's still imposing. They've hung their Christmas lights. Rows and rows of big, old-fashioned, multi-colored lights skirt every peak and roofline on the house and four-car garage. The two massive Douglas firs that flank the drive are also twinkling with lights. Callie supposedly was bah-humbug about Christmas before she married my dad. Everyone says it's because of me, Liv, and Mayhem that she became the epitome of Christmas spirit.
I loved how special she made Christmas my whole life. But tonight as the fresh snow crunches under my rolling tires and the house grows closer and closer, I'm filled with dread. Because my eyes are focused on the pile of cars in the drive. More than just the three that should be there—my mom's, my dad's, and the car Mayhem and Liv share. There's, like, four… no, five other cars here. I park behind them and turn to look out the passenger window, towards Uncle Jordan and Aunt Jessie’s house. The gate in the middle of the fence that separates the properties is wide open.
When I turn back to look out the windshield at the house, I notice Mayhem is on the front porch swing. She’s wearing her entire ski suit as well as a hat, mitts, and balaclava, but I still know it’s her. She’s the only one crazy enough to be reading a book outside in a blizzard. Her dark chocolate eyes are staring right at me, and she gives me a little wave. She’s the only reason I get out of the car.
Mayhem is someone I never ignore. She’s not my favorite sister, I love Liv just as much, but she’s special. She’s an old soul. She’s always seemed wise beyond her years, like Yoda. It’s kind of funny that we all call her Mayhem because she’s the calmest, quietest of all the Garrison spawns. But she’s also the quirkiest and she came into the world in a terrifying birth ending in an emergency c-section that almost ended both her life andCallie’s. I still remember that night as one of the scariest of my life.
"Welcome home, bro," she says in a deep voice like she's trying to imitate one of my teammates.
"Thanks, Mayhem," I say as I climb the snow-covered stairs, she lifts a mitten-clad hand up for a high-five. I give her one, and it almost makes me smile. "How many of them are here?"
“Many. So many. Too many.”