Page 32 of Made For You

I get up and go over to his side of the sun pad and sit in front of him. He just looks at me, his gray eyes even more blue with the tears that came. “I don’t know much about other teams but,” I say softly, “I know my father treats every single player on his team as if they were his own. I know that my uncle Justin is doing that now. I know that Dylan, Michael, and Cooper feel it in Dallas. You got the shit end of the stick.”

“Maybe. I just think more should be done for us. When you join the NHL, you think you are automatically king shit. There should be people there for you to talk to. People should be in place in case it gets to be too much. The whole thing needs to be more in your face. There should be so much more done for us.”

“Maybe that person should be you,” I urge him, and he laughs. “Maybe after all of this.” I want to touch his face with my hand, but I don’t. “The only person who can do it any justice would be you.”

CHAPTER20

XAVIER

“Maybe,”I tell her, “I just think that there should be more done for us. When you join the NHL, you think you are automatically king shit. There should be people there for you to talk to. People should be in place in case it gets to be too much. The whole thing needs to be more in your face. There should be so much more done for us.” I’ve never been this open about the struggle before. Sure, I told my therapist, but after her, I haven’t even told Miles. Actually, scratch that, Beatrice also knows because I’ve told her little bits here and there. When Vivienne asked me the question, I wasn’t sure I was ready or able to tell her. I didn’t think I would tell her everything, but something about sharing it with her made it better.

Knowing she could google me and come up with the half-truth, the only thing I wanted was her to know my side of the story. I wanted her to know my truth, the whole truth. Reliving it was a lot less hurtful than the first time I told my therapist, maybe because it wasn’t so raw. Maybe it was because I’ve grown past it. Perhaps it was because I knew, deep in my heart, I had done nothing wrong. At the end of the day, the system they preached about failed me. I can’t even imagine how many other people it failed.

“Maybe that person should be you,” she tells me, and I laugh. “Maybe after all of this.” She sits right in front of me, and I can feel her heat on me. “The only person who can do it any justice would be you.”

“You would be an amazing sponsor,” I inform her, and she looks at me, her face not smiling. “If the whole editing thing doesn’t work out for you.” I can see the change in her right away.

“I need you to ask me what I do for a living,” she tells me, and I can tell from her tone she’s serious, which also confuses me.

“I thought we already went over this.” I laugh at her, and her face doesn’t even crack a smile. “Fine.” I take a deep breath. “What do you do for a living?” I ask, knowing the answer she told me the other day.

“I’m an author,” she shares nervously, looking down at her hands. “As in I write books.”

“For other people?” I ask. “Like a ghostwriter?”

She shakes her head. “No, not like that.” I can tell she’s getting nervous because she looks down at her hands, and I can see she’s tapping her fingers together. “When I was in college, I was a loner.” She looks up. “Unlike the rest of my family, I didn’t have that big of a social calendar. If it was up to me, I would have gone to community college and lived at home. But the peer pressure was real.” I chuckle now, seeing how nervous she is. I want to reach out and hold her hand to give her comfort, but she’s too busy twirling her fingers. “Anyway, I went online to this fan fiction place.” I open my mouth. “Yeah, I know, but then I started writing my own little story, and it just took off until…I would put out chapters every single week, and for the first time in a long time, I felt like I was in my own skin. I didn’t get it because of my name because, well, my name was Miss Vicki’s, so no one even knew who I was.” She smiles shyly. “Also, because they are my favorite chip.” I laugh, making a mental note to stock up on them. “It made me escape the reality that I was miserable at school. That I missed my family.” She laughs, and I can see the tears in her eyes. “They drive me insane and crazy, but I was all alone for the first time in my whole life, and I didn’t know how to feel about it.” She brings up her hand. “But writing was my escape from my sad reality.”

“Have you written a book?” I ask, shocked, and she nods at me.

“Yes, after I finished writing all the chapters on the fan fiction page. I scoured the internet to find out how to publish my book.” I smile at her, thinking about how courageous that was for her to put herself out there for the whole world to see. I played hockey in front of a crowd, but what she did millions of people would be able to read. “I got a cover for it, and then quietly published it without thinking twice. I shut off the computer, took two sleeping pills, and the next thing you know, I wake up, and I’m number one on the charts. It was insane.” She laughs through the tears. “And then I thought about telling my family, but then what if it was a one-time thing? A fluke.”

“Was it?” I ask. “Did you write another book?”

“I’ve written more than one,” she declares proudly. “I’ve written quite a few.” She laughs. “I’ve never said that out loud before. I mean I’ve never said that out loud to anyone who doesn’t work for or with me.” She smiles even bigger than she did before and her eyes light up even more. “Oh, and my aunt Vivienne.”

“Get out of here,” I say, smiling at her. “I’ve never even met an author before.” I can swear she blushes. “Are you in bookstores?”

“I am,” she says, and I have so many questions. I’ve met doctors, lawyers, and politicians but never, not once, have I met an author. I’ve met reporters but never someone who wrote a book.

“That is so cool. What do you write? Is it romance?”

Her head goes back again as her laughter fills the quietness. “I do not write romance. I like to read romance but I don’t write it.” She looks down before looking back up again. “I write murder mystery books,” she tells me, and I just stare at her as she lifts her eyebrows at me. “There is this main character.” She looks at me. “I called her.” Her eyes search mine, and it finally clicks into place. I sit up, gasping. “Lucinda.”

“You are not Cooper Parker!” I shout, shaking my head in disbelief, and she rolls her lips. “You’re lying.” I point at her.

“My grandfather is Cooper Stone, and my grandmother is named Parker,” she explains to me, and my eyes just go wide. “Never, in one million years, did I think it would get so big.”

I hold up my hand, sitting up in front of her. “Wait a second.” I shake my head. “You saw your book when you came over?”

“I did,” she admits, looking at me. “I was both shocked and surprised.”

“But you didn’t say anything.” I tilt my head to the side.

“No one knows what I do for a living,” she says softly.

“What do you mean?” I ask, my mind going in circles.

“I mean, I haven’t told anyone, including my family, that I’m Cooper Parker. No one knows.” Just when I think she can’t shock me more.