“The what?”
“The Hastings Hurricanes. That’s the hockey team at Hastings Elementary. Middle school league, seventh and eighth graders. Briar has a community outreach program in which our student athletes volunteer to coach or act as assistant coaches with local sports teams. The senior who’s been working with the Hurricanes—she’s the left wing for the Briar’s ladies team. She came down with mono, so we need to replace her. Jensen and I think you’d be the perfect candidate to take over.”
I try to mask my horror. I don’t think I’m successful, because O’Shea is openly smirking at me now.
“It’s two afternoon practices a week, and game day is Friday at six. I went ahead and peeked at your class schedule and it doesn’t interfere with the Hurricanes’ schedule. So we’re all set.” He tips his head. “Unless you have an objection…？”
Damn right I do. I don’t want to spend three days a week coaching a bunch of middle-schoolers. This is my senior year, for chrissake. My course workload is massive. And I’m already practicing six days a week with my own team and playing my own games, which doesn’t leave a lot of downtime.
But if I object to this, O’Shea will no doubt make my life miserable. Same way he did back in high school.
“Nope, it sounds like fun.” I force the words out and resist from giving him the finger.
He nods in approval. “Well, look at that. Maybe you have changed. The Dean Di Laurentis I knew only cared about one person—himself.”
The jab stings more than it should. Sure, I can be a selfish bastard at times, but I hadn’t done anything wrong back then, damn it. Miranda and I had been on the same page…until suddenly we weren’t.
But I guess it doesn’t matter who was in the wrong, does it? Because it’s pretty fucking clear that Frank O’Shea is never going to forgive me for what went down between me and his daughter.
6
Dean
First thing I do after I stalk out of the arena is call my older brother. It’s Sunday, so I try his cell first, though there’s a good chance he’s at the office. Nick works long hours at the firm, including most weekends. I think he’s trying to impress our dad with his dedication to the law, and honestly, I think it’s working.
The cheerful voice that slides into my ear, however, doesn’t belong to Nick.
“Dicky! Yay! I haven’t spoken to you in ages!”
The nickname never made me cringe when we were kids, but now that we’re adults, it’s fucking mortifying. As far as I’m concerned, once my little sister learned how to pronounce Dean, our folks should’ve ordered her to kick Dicky to the curb. Then again, ordering Summer to do anything pretty much ensures she’ll do the opposite. My sister is a stubborn brat.
“Why are you answering Nick’s cell?” I ask suspiciously.
“Because I saw your name and wanted to talk to you first. You never call me anymore.”
I can envision the pout she’s no doubt sporting, and it brings a smile to my lips. “You never call me either,” I point out.
Summer goes quiet for a second. Then she heaves a colossal sigh. “You’re right. I don’t. I’ve been a terrible sister.”
“Naah, you’re probably just as busy as I am.” I head down the cobblestone path toward the back of the training center, making my way to the parking lot.
“I have been pretty busy,” she relents.
I hear a loud snort over the extension. “What was that?” I ask.
“Nothing. Just Nicky being an ass. He’s been driving me nuts all weekend. Has he always been this uptight, or did it happen once he became a lawyer?”
She says “lawyer” as if it’s a dirty word. Though to Summer, it probably is. My sister had declared at the age of twelve that law is “hella boring”， and eight years later her stance remains the same. She only agreed to attend an Ivy League college to placate our parents, but last we spoke, she told me she wants to go into interior design after she graduates.
“Compared to you, everyone is uptight,” I tell my sister. “Which isn’t to say I approve of all the batshit crazy things you do.” Summer is two years younger than me, but she gives me a run for my money when it comes to grabbing life by the horns and seizing the day and all that crap. I’m surprised our parents haven’t disowned her yet.
A thought suddenly occurs to me. “Why are you in Manhattan? Shouldn’t you be at school?”