“It’s not about the show.” She turns on the music and begins the choreography for one of this semester’s dances. I follow her movements. Hip sway, followed by hip slide, then a figure eight. “It’s about the feeling. You know that.”
“I need the mirror in front of me,” I say.
“The mirror’s becoming your crutch,” Clarissa says, her brown eyes watching me. “Belly dance is about trusting your body, Savannah, about trusting you can do it. Come on, you know the routines with your eyes closed. You’re ready to get up on the stage and face an audience.”
“I’m not ready. My costume’s a mess. So is my undulation.”
“Your undulation is fine.” Clarissa fixes me with a stern look. “It’s your courage that’s missing.”
I fidget next to her, wishing I could look away. But the mirror dominates the room. I continue to sway my hips, adding in a rib slide. “I get it. Easier said than done, though.”
“Exactly. So this month,” she says emphatically. “You’ll perform. It’s time, Savannah.”
As I walk into the house after my dance lesson, Mama and Molly call out hello. I take off my coat in the foyer and hang it up in the same closet I’ve been hanging up my coat my whole life. I grew up in this house and have never lived anywhere else.
I walk through the hallway and into the living room where my mother and older sister are huddled together on our worn but well-loved couch, watching sitcom reruns from the seventies.
Mama and Molly may be years apart in age, but with their matching buns on the top of their heads—Mama’s gray and Molly’s light brown—not to mention their same thick blue sweaters, they could be twins.
When Molly told us all that she was gay, Daddy’s judgment crushed her. He wanted to send her to a therapist to “get fixed” as he so kindly put it.
Molly shut down after that. She works, comes home and cooks, and watches television with Mama. Although Celie’s resolution has prompted Molly to start going out once in a while, so she’s a step ahead of me.
“Hi, you two.” I sit next to Mama and kiss her cheek.
“How was work, honey?” Mama asks me. “And dance?”
“Fine.”
I take a closer look at my mother. She makes a decent living selling homemade aprons and afghans, an at-home business she started after the divorce. It was a divorce she put off for some time, despite my father being long gone. Eventually, he sent her the papers himself, signed and ready for her signature. The house was mainly paid off. She makes enough with the aprons and afghans to live on, and she says she doesn’t want for anything else. But the haunted look in her eyes…that comes from living with a ghost.
“So, you ready for your big trip, Vannah?” Molly asks, leaning past Mama to look at me.
“It’s just a little business trip, Mol. It’s not a honeymoon.”
“Really?” She raises her eyebrows. “I saw that new top lying out on your bed. You buy it for the trip?”
I lean across Mama to flick Molly on the leg. “Quit snooping in my room!”
The front door bangs open, and Celie and her husband, Pru, walk into the living room.
“I heard there’s some good food here tonight.” She throws her arms around Mama and gives her a kiss. “Pru’s starved for good food. Six months of being a wife, and I still can’t cook for crap,” she adds with a laugh. “But I’m working at it.”
Pru, twenty years her senior, smiles at Celie fondly and kisses her head. Molly always jokes privately that Celie dealt with the loss of our father by finding a new one.
Celie turns to me. “How’s Cam the man?” she asks pointedly.
Describing Cam as a man scares me. Boy sounds more manageable. And dating boys isn’t something I got to experience and grow comfortable with. But Cameron Wild is a man without question. A hot, confident, strong man who definitely seems like he would know what he’s doing in the bedroom.
“Cam’s the same as he was the last time you asked,” I snap. “Playing for the Cannons. Off-limits, in other words.”
“Huh.” Celie tilts her head and studies me for a moment, and I shift uncomfortably. “So we need a workaround. That’s doable.”
“Cel…” I say warningly.
Celie’s only seventeen months older than me, yet we look less alike than most unrelated people. I’m dark-haired and average height; Celie’s blond and as small as a figure skater. She’s also a natural flirt, and my reticence with men has always been a point of contention between us.
“Let me get dinner warmed up,” Mama says as she stands up.
“Good idea,” Molly says.
As the four of them head for the kitchen, I lag behind to pick up Celie’s jacket and go hang it up in the front coat closet. On my way through the living room, I realize the only framed photo of Mama and Daddy has been tipped slightly. I straighten it carefully and then notice it’s dusty, so I give it a quick wipe with my shirtsleeve.
“Mama, please,” Celie’s saying as I walk into the kitchen and take a seat at the table.
Molly whips around from where she’s standing at the stove. “Shut up, Cel.”
Celie sighs loudly. “It’s like a tomb in this house. Everything still untouched as if Daddy’s about to come walking in the door. I’m surprised you don’t have a plate of food out on the table for him right now.”
“Celie…” I say.
She glares at me. “He’s gone, Vannah! He can’t scrutinize your every move anymore, making sure you do everything just the way he needs. It’s not his house anymore.”
“Actually…” Molly turns around again. “Technically, it is still his house. Mama never got the deed transferred.”
Celie turns to Mama. “You never did that? I gave you all the paperwork and everything! Well, I’ve still got the electronic copy on my phone.” She starts to pull it up. “I’ll print it out, and you can sign it tonight.”
“It’s not a good time,” Mama says quickly.
“It’s the perfect time.” Celie holds up her phone and shows us a legal-looking document. “We’ve got the form…” She puts her arm around Mama. “And we’ve got Mama.” Mama sighs, but Celie keeps going. “All we need is to put those two things together, and we’ve got a winner.”
“Coercing someone to do something is not the same thing as them doing it out of their own free will,” I say to Celie. “Let Mama make up her own mind, or it’s no good, anyway.”
Mama takes the out. “I need to look it over, Cel. I promise I’ll look at it. I really will. But I don’t feel good doing it when I’ve had no warning.”
That’s exactly how I feel.
“This place needs a change!” Celie throws up her hands in frustration. “A change in ownership!”
She’s right, of course. Daddy’s been gone for six years, but it feels like six minutes in many ways. Mama has left the house virtually untouched.
Before she finally quit smoking, Celie used up all his cigarettes pretty fast, but it took Mama three years to throw out his comb and toothbrush. He hadn’t had time to pack, not even to grab a sandwich or a soda out of the fridge. All he left with was his wallet. That was all he needed, I guess. He had enough in there to get him to Colorado.
Pru puts his arm around Celie and whispers something to her. She stops yelling, but then her eyes light up.
“I just got a great idea,” she says slowly.
“No,” Molly, Mama, and I all say at once.
But Celie just laughs. “You girls are three peas in a pod. But seriously, this is an awesome idea. Remember our New Year’s resolutions?”
“I don’t think we could forget,” I say. “You’ve been reminding us all month. I still have all your texts.”
“Well, I want to make sure you achieve your goal. You’ve now only got eleven months to do what most people want to do in twelve.” Celie points to Mama. “I’m giving you a resolution too, Mama. You will take this damn house back so you are the sole owner. Okay?”
Mama manages a weak nod as C
elie turns to Molly. “You’ve been texting me photos of yourself at bars, so I know you’re taking your resolution seriously. No dates on the horizon yet, but at least you’re out in public.”
Celie points a finger at me. “And you, Vannah? You met a guy you’re willing to score with, which is a huge step. I’m proud of you.”
“Cam is not…” I start to protest.
“Please.” Celie waves a hand. “We all know he’s the one. So ask him. Or jump him. Do something. Remember,” she warns me. “Only eleven months left. In fact, I have a great idea—how about you score a date with him this month?”
“I’m not going to sleep with him on the first date.”
“You don’t have to sleep with him yet. Just a date. And maybe a kiss.”
I shake my head. “You said you still suck at cooking. So why don’t you focus on your resolution and let me focus on mine?”
But as I go jump in the shower, I can’t get her words out of my head.
Ask him. Or jump him. Do something.
Chapter Eight
I love watching Cam play. He’s so smooth on the ice, so fluid. And when he’s playing in a game, like right now, I can watch him to my heart’s content without anyone being the wiser. I can lust and daydream all I want to. Ever since Celie gave me what she’s now renamed my “mandatory” New Year’s resolution, the concept of losing my virginity has become something of an obsessive thought.
I think about it pretty much—oh, all the damn time. And the only man I picture having sex with?
He’s currently skating across the ice. He handles a stick better than any player I’ve ever seen, and the way he shoots? Sexy as anything.
I don’t bother taking a seat in my usual place. Instead, I hang out at the edge of the stands for a while before finally deciding to head into the scorekeeper’s box. I wave to Bruce when he turns around in surprise.
“Haven’t seen you in this box in years,” he says, his full gray beard nearly covering his smile. “What’s the occasion?”
I shrug off the question. “Sometimes it helps to see the players up close. I get a different perspective on how the formations are working.”
He gestures to the free seat next to him. “Sit next to me, darling. It’ll be nice to have some company.”
I pull out the folding chair and join him at the scoring table.
Memories of being in this box when my father was coach race through my mind. I hated the pressure—making sure the clock stopped and started on time, and praying it never malfunctioned. And of course, it did, far too often. And Coach McMann always yelled. I felt like I had a permanently red face from all the shouting. Just thinking about it makes me squirm even now.
But then, Cam skates by, and I forget everything but him.
“Break the ice!” I shout.
With one lightning-quick flip of his wrist, the puck crosses half-ice. The goalkeeper stops it from landing in the net, but a shot on goal is a step in the right direction.
“That’s the first time someone’s gotten the puck past the center line tonight,” I murmur, repeating my frustration from when I first stepped into the arena.
“Tonight’s been tough so far. But I tell you, this new Wild kid makes you feel like you’re never out of it. He got off to a slow start when he joined us, but lately, he’s been scoring like a dog in heat.”
“Nice,” I say sarcastically, and Bruce laughs.
He’s right, though. Cam’s the reason the Cannons have been winning so decisively, and his points totals have been off the charts. He’s insanely talented, and it’s obvious to anyone with eyes that he could easily be playing in the national league.
I glance across the rink and spot Mr. Wild. I can’t make out who he’s standing with because the massive Cannons’ sign is blocking my view. But Cam’s dad is standing up, fists clenched at his sides, looking every bit as irritated and invested as Cam describes. I know Cam feels pressure to live up to his brother’s success, but in my eyes, he’s perfect as he is.
I return my attention to the game just in time to watch Cam body check an opposing player into the boards right in front of me. Charcoal eyes with a hint of gold meet mine through the glass, right before he effortlessly takes the puck away from the defender.
“Go, Cam!” I stand up so abruptly I knock my chair over. Cupping my hands around my mouth, I shout as loudly as I can, “Get it!”
He pivots and takes off so fast he’s a blur on the ice. He smoothly shifts the puck back and forth in front of him as he skates past the last defenseman.
With nothing between him and the goal but the goalie, Cam lifts his stick and shoots. Like a bullet, the puck rifles past the goalie’s outstretched hand and into the net.
I jump up and down and scream like we’ve just won the title.
Bruce chuckles. “I love seeing you enjoying yourself in here again.”
Cam turns around and points his stick in my direction. I’m not sure if he’s actually signaling to me or is just gesturing toward the scorer’s box, but I break into a smile and return to my seat as his teammates surround him in celebration.
“Actually,” Bruce says, giving me a careful look. “I don’t think you’ve ever smiled the way you are right now.”
I don’t answer him, but I know he’s right.
Cameron
The buzzer sounds, ending the game. We won, but that’s not what has me grinning. The echo of Savannah’s cheers are still reverberating in my head, and it sounds fucking nuts, but I felt almost…protected by her show of support. I can’t remember the last time somebody cheered for me with such enthusiasm.
I get that she wants the Cannons to win so she can keep her job. But the genuine attention she puts on me is undeniable. And she knows I’m quitting hockey after this season. She’s the only one who knows, and she doesn’t judge me for it. She even said she supports my choice to do something else. For that alone, I want to make sure the Cannons bring home the trophy.
My cousins are always on my side, but they’re never sure if I want them rooting for me to score or hoping I don’t so my dad will get off my ass. My mom and brother are too intrinsically linked with my father for me to know where they really stand, and my coaches just want me to help them look good. To say I’ve become fucking cynical would be putting it mildly.
But Savannah’s cheering was pure and innocent. I could hear the passion in her tone, and she made me want to score. For her. Not for my career or my father or my coaches, but for this beautiful woman who seems to believe in my goodness when everybody else thinks I’m just a rebellious twenty-something who can’t figure out my shit.
I skate off the ice, raising my stick in salute to my cousins in the stands. Dylan, Colton, and Brayden are sitting with my father, who’s frowning.
“We won, Dad!” I call out to him as I walk by on my way to the locker room. “You can be happy for a minute.”
“Cameron.” Dad hurries into the aisle and chases me down.
I glance up at Dylan, who shakes his head at me.
He’s right.
I shouldn’t have poked the bear.
I keep walking, but I can hear him behind me.
“Cameron.” Dad is by my side in an instant, despite the fact that I’m speed walking to the locker room. “Stop.”
I come to a halt and face my father. Physically, we look so alike with our black hair—his now peppered with gray—strong jaw, and dark eyes. But personality-wise, we couldn’t be more different. Tyler Wild is obsessed with success and with his youngest son becoming the next greatest hockey player of his generation.
And part of me gets it, which is why I don’t fight him very often. Hockey has always come easily to me. I was an athletic child, and I loved the feeling of skating across the ice. I felt invincible and like no one, not even my father, could catch me.
The games were fun like a game is supposed to be. But my dad made it all about numbers and winning. If I didn’t have the most points in the league, then I had to try hard
er. Do more drills, spend more time with hockey and less with everything else, including school work. I had almost nothing else to hang onto.
I got lucky when I landed my sales job with a furniture distributor. I can do it from anywhere, and it’s allowed me to dream of a world outside of hockey. I’m learning so much it’s been like free business school, but I get paid a decent commission.
Plus, it led me to a guy who specializes in woodworking and custom-made furniture. He showed me the ropes, and I took to it. Making custom Western-style furniture became a passion of mine, and I’ve been fortunate to be able to do it for some of my sales clients. It’s enabled me to hone my skills and grow my brand.
My garage is filled with pieces. Right now, more of my income still comes from reselling other companies’ furniture, but I’ve worked my ass off, and I’m nearly there.
Until then, I play hockey. And since I talked to Savannah, I’ve been able to refocus on the parts of the sport I used to love. With my dad at every game, it’s been hard to reach for that childlike joy I once had for the ice. But something’s changed in me. I’m not sure what yet, but I’ve promised myself I’ll try to ignore my father’s unhappiness the best I can.
“You scored two goals tonight.” Dad’s frown gets bigger.
“So?” I raise the hand holding my helmet. “I’m doing okay. This team is a better fit for me.”
He curses under his breath. “This team is the bottom of the barrel. You don’t belong here. Remember—you want to get where Declan is. But you’re improving—two goals is okay.” He turns to leave. “Try to make it three next time. I’m having a scout in to watch.”
Shit. I was hoping he’d forget about calling scouts while I was playing for the Cannons.
“Don’t you think we should wait until I get called back up?” I say to his back.
He halts but doesn’t turn my way. “No time like the present to show them what you’ve got.”
And he’s gone. Swiftly down the hall and through the large double doors to the outside.
Cameron (Wild Men Book 7) Page 5
