She’s always been aimless, flitting from thing to thing, and place to place, and man to man. She was never consistent in my life. But when I was in college in Florida, she wormed her way back in for a short while. She’s always had the uncanny ability to get under my skin like a porcupine quill, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to get her out.

She was the reason I ended up dropping out in the final semester of my dual major of art and psychology after being told repeatedly—by her—that I was wasting my dad’s money on a pointless degree, since I’d never be good enough to get my work into a gallery and I was too fucked up to help people. She told me I’d be better off finding someone who could take care of me. And that was the last time I spoke to her.

I hate that I believed her. I also despise that I did exactly what she said I should: I ran back home and let my dad pick up my pieces. But what’s worse is that I’ve been so afraid that she’s right about how screwed up I am that I haven’t even tried to finish what I started.

This year I was hoping I could work on some business-related courses, because that sounds practical, but there was a mix-up with my transcript, and by the time the problem got sorted out, I was late applying and ended up on a wait list. My marks are decent, but it’s a competitive program, and not exactly what I’m passionate about, so it’s probably better that it didn’t work out.

“You’re only twenty-four,” my dad says gently. “You have lots of time to find your passion, Queenie. I don’t want you to feel like you have to pursue something because you think it’ll get you a job in a better pay grade. The money isn’t important. I want you to do what you love, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

“I wish I knew what that was.” I know he means well, and that we’ve relied on each other for a lot of years, but I don’t want my dad to take care of me for the rest of my life like a pampered brat. Besides, he’s only forty-four. He has all his hair, he’s in great shape, and he’s an awesome person with a killer sense of humor. It’d be nice if he could find someone who could appreciate all those things about him, aside from me. Since we spend most nights hanging out, I know he’s not actively dating. He doesn’t even have an app on his phone.

“You’ll figure it out, kiddo, and in the meantime we’ll get to spend more time together. It’s pretty much a win all the way around, isn’t it?”

“Total win, Dad.” And I mean it. Mostly. I love spending time with my father. I just worry that working for him isn’t going to be quite as easy as we hope.

CHAPTER 2

SOMEONE’S BABY GIRL

Kingston

“Hey, momster, how’s it goin’?”

Hanna chuckles and shakes her head. “Should I start calling you bro-son, or sother?”

“I told you that nickname would grow on you.”

“Like mold?”

I pause in my mission to clean my breakfast dishes so I can meet her gaze in the two-dimensional screen. “If it bothers you, I won’t call you that anymore, Hanna.”

“It doesn’t bother me. I actually kind of like it.”

“I can hear the but in there.” I set my cereal bowl in the drying rack.

Morning video chats have become a new part of our routine at least twice a week. It’s our way of getting in one-on-one time as we adjust to the new dynamics of our relationship. That’s how the therapist put it. Really we’re just working out the awkwardness and weirdness of the whole thing. Nothing has changed, but everything has changed.

“We know each other too well.” Hanna sighs and sips her coffee. “I just . . . don’t want Mom to feel like it makes her role any less important. And I don’t know if I deserve a special nickname, all things considered.”

“You deserve a lot of things, including a special nickname. We’ve always been tight, and it doesn’t diminish her role in either or both of our lives. It can just be our thing, if that would make you feel better.”

She laughs quietly. “Listen to you. Who’s the parent and who’s the child here? I should be the one giving the support, and more times than not it’s you supporting me.”

“You had to give up something, though. And I’ve had two amazing female role models in my life, so for your loss I had a significant gain. How you experience this revelation and how I do are going to be different.”

“I know, and like every other situation, you’ve handled it incredibly well. Anyway, I didn’t call to get all philosophical with you about a nickname. I just wanted to wish you good luck this morning. How are you feeling about the beginning of the season?”

I pull the plug and let the sink drain before wiping down the sides with a sponge. “Pretty good. I was a little restless last night, but otherwise fine. I worked out a lot with my teammates this summer, and we’ve had enough time together that we’re smooth on the ice now.”

“Your friend and the team captain are still getting along? I know that caused a lot of problems for a while.”

“Oh yeah, Bishop and Rook are good. For the most part. I mean, Bishop is always going to be Bishop, so he often misses the concept of tact, but the rivalry on the ice is long over, which is better for the team.”

“I’m glad to hear that. I know that kind of thing weighs on you.”

“Well, we both know how much I love internal dissension.”

We laugh, because I’m 100 percent the guy who addresses an issue as soon as it arises. Hence the reason I put Hanna on a plane the day after I learned that she was my biological mother. We dealt with it together, and then when we were ready—or as ready as we could be—we flew home to Tennessee and dealt with it as a family. Because that’s how we’ve always done things. No point in letting wounds fester. The best way to heal is to get rid of the rot, even if it hurts at first. And this one hurt a lot, although I’ve done my best not to put that on Hanna.

“How about you? How are you handling everything else?” I’m referencing the divorce, which hasn’t been easy for Hanna, especially with my finding out the family secret that our mother had apparently planned to take to the grave. Instead, Hanna’s vindictive jerk of an ex-husband took it upon himself to send me the adoption papers citing Hanna as my biological mother.

“I’m okay. Better now that the house is sold and I’m in a new place without my mistakes from the past haunting me on a daily basis.”

“Has Gordon backed off? Do you need any more help with the lawyer stuff? Do you want me to come out there? My weekend should be pretty open.”

“No, no, you don’t need to do that. You’re at the start of preseason training, and I’ll be flying out in a couple of weeks.”

“Are you sure? Family takes precedence. I always have time for you if you need me.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but I’ve got things handled. Between Mom and Dad, and some work friends who live close by, I’ve got loads of support. Me and a few girlfriends are planning a rom-com movie night on Saturday, and I know how much you love those.”

“Jessica used to get so mad when I’d fall asleep on her.” We both chuckle.

“How is Jessica? Are you two still talking, or . . .” She lets it hang.

It’s been seven months since I broke things off with Jessica. It wasn’t an easy decision to make, but it was necessary. “She calls every once in a while, and we were a part of each other’s lives for a long time, so I don’t feel like I can cut her out of my life altogether. But I don’t think the whole being friends thing is easy on either one of us, since I’m already over it and I don’t think she is.” We didn’t see a lot of each other apart from occasional visits and a few uninterrupted weeks during the off-season. But we’ve been an integral part of one another’s lives for the better part of a decade, and my family has always treated her like a daughter—more than hers ever has—so I understand the challenge that comes with feeling like she’s lost more than just a boyfriend.

“Mmm, I think you might be right about that,” Hanna agrees.

“What’s going on? You’re doing that lip-tapping thing.” It means she wants to say something but isn’t sure if she should or not.

“Mom told me Jessica stopped by more than once with some of your things, but the timing was suspect, since it’s been around dinnertime on Sundays.”

“Did she stay or drop stuff off and go?”

“You know how Mom is. She’s not going to turn her away.”

“No. Of course not.” I rub the back of my neck. Our mom has always been Team Jessica and wants nothing more than for us to reconcile. “Did Mom say anything else?”

“Just that she seemed to be a little nostalgic. I’m sure she’ll move on, though.”

“Hopefully they both will,” I mutter.

Hanna laughs, but it’s a half sigh. She gets what I mean. Our mom is very much about making things work. “You two were together for a lot of years, so it makes sense that she’s having trouble letting go. And you know how Mom is. She doesn’t love change. Anyway, what about you? Any hot dates lined up?”

“Uh, no. No hot dates. I’m just getting my head back into the hockey season. I don’t have much time to dedicate to dating.” It’s not a complete lie.