“I love running,” she goes on. “Even when I’m huffing and puffing, there’s sweat in my eyes, and my face is red like a tomato, I love feeling strong in my body. I love what my body can do for me.
“And lastly, my work makes me feel worthy. I love seeing what the human body can do. We’re all capable of incredible things, no matter what type of body we’re moving in. I love playing a part in that.” She pauses. “Now, your turn. Where do you find your purpose? What makes you smile? What makes you feel loved?”
Worthy. The word flings itself around in my head, searching for a place to land. My purpose is to be the best hockey player possible, and anything less is failure.
What makes you feel loved?
A memory flits into my head. I was eleven, and it was the summer before my mom left. We were walking through the trails near our home in North Vancouver. We stopped at a creek, and she bent down to flick a few droplets of water at me, grinning. Her deep blue eyes, the same as mine, glowed in the forest light. I laughed and flicked the water right back at her.
“I love you. I hope you know that.”
A longing ache fills my chest. I haven’t heard those words since I was a kid, since she lived with us.
And I was the one who didn’t want to live with her. I was the one who wanted to stay with Dad full time because I’m always chasing his approval.
When class is over, there’s a chorus of farewells as people sign out.
“Miller,” she says. The others have left the virtual meeting room and we’re the only ones here. There’s something different in her voice as she studies me through the camera. “Are you okay?”
I force a wry smile. “You think I’m so out of shape that I couldn’t endure a little stretching, Hartley?”
She doesn’t answer right away, and panic spikes inside me that she’s not taking my bait.
“I don’t think that at all. I just think for someone from the world of macho jocks and push-ups, my class can be jarring.”
“Macho jocks and push-ups?” I repeat, starting to smile.
She grins. “I’m not wrong.”
“You’re not wrong.” Her smile makes the tight, ugly feeling in my throat dissipate. “Thanks for letting me join.”
She nods. “Good night.”
“Good night, Hartley.”
She ends the meeting, and I sit there, absentmindedly swiveling.
My dad’s approach to discomfort is practice. Practice until you can’t anymore. Tackle it head-on. Beat it out of yourself. Don’t run from it; conquer it. Crush it. Be the strongest and the fastest. Anything but the best is failure.
I pull up Hartley’s website and sign up for all ten classes in this session.
We’re walking through the terminal to board our flight home when something sparkly in a shop window catches my eye.
I lean down to study the tiny crystal dragon. It’s a pale blue, so cute and chubby like a cartoon, but with red eyes that glow under the lights.
A big smile spreads over my face.
“Miller,” Owens calls. “Let’s go.”
“I’ll be right there.” I turn back to the dragon and walk into the store.
It’s about time I buy Hartley a present.
CHAPTER 12
HAZEL
I’m in my office creating a recovery plan for a player when Rory plunks a tiny crystal dragon in front of me.
He smiles down at me, leaning on the doorframe, eyes warm and soft, and my stomach flutters. “Hartley,” he says by way of greeting.
Fuck, he looks good. Today was the toughest practice of the week, but Rory stands tall and his eyes are bright with energy.
I hate how athletic he is. I hate that he truly is one of the best athletes of his generation. I hate it, and yet I can’t help but marvel at him.
My eyes go to the sparkly little dragon on my desk. “What’s this?”
“You.”
My lips part in denial. “It is not.”
“Sure, it is. You’re my tiny fire-breathing dragon.” I glare at him and he nods, pointing at me. “Exactly like that. Red eyes and everything.”
A laugh bursts out of me and I pick the stupid thing up, studying it.
It’s cute.
“This is dumb,” I tell him as warmth spreads through my chest.
“Hey, Hazel?” Hayden appears in the doorway. “Can I grab one of those bands?”
“Right.” I rummage through my desk to find an extra band so he can do the physio exercises at home and toss one to him. “Need me to run through the exercises again?”