Chapter 1

Riley, 11 years old

I didn't always hate Reign Thorn. Once upon a time, he was my best friend. He didn't care that I grew up in and out of homeless shelters with my mom, or that any hockey equipment or fees that were given to me were donated from local charities and our state funds. All Reign cared about was that I was there for hockey. That is where our friendship formed, on the ice, in the run-down arena that was built in 1968, in the Crimson Bay Youth Hockey program.

My mom used to joke that we were thick-as-thieves when we were younger. If Reign saw her working at the grocery store, he would make sure to ask if I was going to be at practice or at games. I always told her to tell him I wouldn't miss it. There is no way I'd ever miss time on the ice or time with Reign. He was my best friend, the light in my life all through elementary school. His long, dark brown hair always poked out under his stocking cap, his crooked grin, often missing teeth when we were young, and that single dimple in his left cheek made my heart soar.

The fact that he taught me my backward crossovers was a bonus. We played together all through mini-mite and mite levels of hockey. I never failed to get my homework done or help my mom with chores at the shelter so that I was free to play as much hockey as I wanted. Reign never cared that I was a girl or more rough around the edges than other girls our age. We were inseparable and every day with Reign was the best.

Growing up, all I had ever known was my mom. She raised me as a single mother and claimed my father was in the military and couldn't handle us in his life. She did well for many years, working her part-time job and caring for me. Eventually life became harder, things became more expensive, and she couldn't do it all on her own. She never dared approach my grandparents for money; after being a young mother, they were disappointed in her. We lost our apartment, but thanks to a nearby church, we were able to stay in the homeless shelter. My mom agreed to help them out part-time as well as continuing to get hours at the grocery store when she could. It wasn't the greatest place to grow up, but we made due.

It was through the shelter I discovered hockey. They sponsored a farm league just outside of town and the kids were taken on a field trip one evening to the game. I loved watching the fast pace of the game and hearing the smooth edges of the blades cut the ice. It felt magical, and to a little kid who hadn't experienced much magic, it was everything. Nancy and Tim, who were in charge of the family units at the shelter, noticed my excitement during the game and told my mom about the Learn to Skate Program and youth hockey association in town. From that point on, I ate, slept, and breathed hockey.

My mom never complained about practices or my games and made it to everyone she could. Often, she would smile at me and tell me that my talent came from my dad. He used to play hockey in high school. That was as much as she would divulge about him. Still, as a child, that made me feel incredibly proud to play the game my dad did. Even though he wasn't in my life, I had the urge to please him, to make this faceless person proud of me.

I didn't know my mom was sick until it was too late. In her never-ending need to protect me and keep all the negativity away, she never told me what was happening. That her body was failing. That cancer was spreading everywhere and she was beyond chemo or surgery. I was ten, and my life was changed in a horrible way. My mom refused to sign custodianship over to my grandparents so they could take me in; instead, she made a call to the one person she said wasn't good for us. My dad. And just like that Nathan Conrad stepped in to take care of me. He started renting a trailer in the park in the opposite direction of school and moved us in. My mom served as a buffer between us while he got to know me and I tried my hardest to learn to trust him, while secretly wondering when this would all fall apart.

I hid my family drama from everyone at school, including my school counselor. She tried many times to get me to open up, but I refused to be vulnerable with her. The only person I let in was Reign. He held my hand through it all. He didn't have the words to say to comfort me, no ten-year-old does, but he kept my mind busy with hockey and our end-of-the-year tournament.

When my mom passed, it was the worst day of my life. I stood stoically by my dad at her grave and watched as the man, who was now my provider, cried. Reign stood next to me, his shoulder touching mine, while I comforted my dad. The guy my mom had sworn didn't want us. Later that night, I discovered why he never wanted us around.

I woke up to glass smashing and a thunderous yell. I ran from my bed and found my dad wearing his pajama pants and no shirt, holding a knife. His eyes were open, but they appeared to be seeing something in front of him that no one else could see. He jumped from the floor to the couch and stabbed his knife through the pillows.

"Dad?" I slid along the hallway wall, trying to call to him, hoping he would regain control. His head turned in my direction. "Dad."

His head shook, and when his eyes glazed over again, he started prowling toward me. I panicked, holding my hands up. I couldn't think of any other way to distract him, so I started talking to him about hockey. About statistics of his favorite NHL team. Right as he reached me, towering over my body in the hallway, I slid to the ground. I sat clutching my knees to my chest while he stood over me, breathing heavily, his eyes fixed on the wall. A sob escaped my throat.

"Riley?"

I glanced up. "Dad?"

He fell to his knees and cried. "I'm so sorry. I wouldn't hurt you. I'm sorry."

Somehow I managed to get to my knees and wrapped my arms around his bulking frame.

The next day he visited the VA with me in tow. Apparently he has been getting help for years after his tour in Iraq when he was in the military. But moving locations and being out of his normal routine induced a PTSD episode. For weeks after that, it would happen on occasion. One time he even started digging a trench in the backyard. He never hurt me, but I was scared. The only thing to calm him ever was hockey statistics. Eventually, when he suddenly took an interest in watching me play, we bonded over it.

At the end-of-the-year tournament, I wanted to make my dad proud. He made it to as many games as he could, but he requested time off with his boss to be at this tournament. I played hard. Reign and I dominated the games. There was no stopping us. He scored; I assisted. I scored, and he assisted. We led the entire tourney, across sixteen teams, with most goals scored, and our team was heading to the championship game.

"We got this, Riles." Reign fist bumped me, his dimple flashing in his smile as we took the ice to play the last period.

We were winning 3-1 and the other team was looking tired. Still, I was salivating for another goal. It felt good to be winners. It was even better that my dad was cheering the loudest in the stands. I felt like I was on cloud nine, playing for the pros or something. When the puck split between Reign and me in the last few seconds of the game, I didn't hesitate to take it from him. I even gave him a smile, knowing if I scored, I would also get most goals scored in the tournament and take the trophy home. Reign's surprised look accompanied a hint of hurt, as if I'd betrayed him. His competitiveness won and he fought me for it. We had a breakaway: there was no one else close to us and we were stealing the puck from each other to score. I heard my dad cheering and plunged forward, using my stick to knock it loose. I saw Reign go down, but I kept skating and scored the final goal of the game. Our team won 4-1, and then I noticed Reign wasn't getting up.

Our team huddled around him while he was taken out of the rink on a gurney. My stomach dropped and I felt sick. I tried to remember what happened, but I couldn't recall. I had been so caught up in the drive to score that I blocked out everything else.

"He'll be okay," my dad reassured me. We ended up leaving the arena. I wasn't able to make it to the hospital to see him and heard from everyone at school he had a knee injury and would most likely not be better by the time spring camp started. I felt terrible knowing how much Reign loved skating. Spring camp was one of our favorite times of the year because we always played against our town rivals, the Saints, at the end of the eight weeks.

I tried to get over to his house to see him, but his mom informed me he didn't want visitors. At school I saw him hobbling on crutches. When I offered to help, he gave me the iciest glare; his baby blue eyes filled with an anger I'd never seen before. He wouldn't let me apologize and flat out refused to speak to me. That was the day Reign stopped being my best friend. It was the day I lost my other half. We were eleven at the time and that moment will stick with me forever. An accident that I had not meant to take that far occurred. That was the year everything fell apart and my friendship with Reign became a rivalry of epic proportions.