Since I was a kid, making it into the World Hockey League was the ultimate goal. No relationship could match my first love, and after my rough childhood, I wasn't putting my heart on the line.
When Bellerive makes a successful bid to move the Califo...
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The next day when I leave Logan's apartment, I know I have to do something about Dalton. Ignoring his threats will only cause Logan to do something rash. Even though he promised last night—promised, promised—that he wouldn't go to Dalton to seek revenge, I have a hard time believing him. What Dalton did to me isn't something that can be easily forgiven, and I've seen how well Logan holds a grudge on the ice during a game. I can only imagine Logan's rage is ten times worse off the ice where retaliation is harder to come by.
I ring the doorbell of Ava's house, not even sure she'll answer. She's been absent from the group chat for the last few days, which is very unlike her. Normally, she sends voice memos and random emojis every hour.
Now that I think about it, she was pretty quiet during our family dinner too. She usually shares her drama with her whole chest, so I hadn't noticed that there might be something brewing under the surface.
"What do you want?" Ava asks when she opens her door. She's in silk pajamas with no shoes, and it doesn't look like she's showered or even brushed her hair for days.
"Are you okay?"
"Do you care? Does anyone care?"
"We all care, Ava. But we're not mind readers. What's going on?"
"Ember stopped by yesterday, so at least she cares. Someone noticed my absence."
"We all noticed." But I know that's not accurate. I've been in so deep with Logan and then so anxious about Dalton, that I haven't been circling the rest of the family like I normally do for weeks, maybe months. I'd hate to think it's been longer than that, but I can't be sure. "Just tell me what's going on."
"It doesn't matter. Come in." She steps back and leaves the doorway, assuming I'll follow.
The dramatics are typical of Ava, but those moments have never been preceded by such a terrible physical appearance. She's fueled by revenge with a hint of spite, which normally requires an immaculate physical appearance. We all have a bit of the brave face mentality our mother instilled in us, but Ava's always worn it best. Never bothered. Never ruffled.
"What do you need?" Ava crosses her arms in the middle of her high-ceilinged oversized living room.
Her house is sparsely furnished and decorated, as though she decided to adopt a minimalist décor trend. Based on what I heard from Nathaniel, it's more likely that she sold the pricier personal pieces to try to fund her business ventures. That's what we've all had to do if we wanted purpose in our lives—find creative ways to jumpstart our goals around the outskirts of the Tucker Family Trust rules. Though, Ava's had to do it more than the rest of us. Every business venture she's poured her money into hasn't gotten far off the ground.
"It's a bit embarrassing," I admit, sliding onto the only couch.
That perks her up, and she looks almost happy for a second. "You did something embarrassing?"
