Lucky Hit (Swift Hat-Trick Trilogy Book 1)
Lucky Hit: Chapter 17

“Get a move on, Gray!” Mom shouts from the bottom of the stairs.

I cross my arms over my chest and lean against the wall, watching as Mom taps the face of her watch with bitten nails. She has her hair swept back in a twisty bun that Gracie did for her this morning and the delicate gold chain around her neck that Dad got her on their fifteenth wedding anniversary. I swallow hard.

“She’s a perfectionist,” I say, forcing a smile.

“I wonder where she gets that from.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She slants me a look. “Right.”

“Don’t throw stones, Ma. I haven’t forgotten about the time you missed the first and second periods of my biggest game last season because you couldn’t replace the jersey you wanted to wear.”

“That’s a low blow. I couldn’t very well show up wearing the wrong one and look a fool when my son is the Oakley Hutton,” she teases.

I drop my chin to my chest and laugh. My parents were always my biggest supporters, and now that it’s just Mom, she’s taken to support me enough for two people. I’ll never be able to repay her for all she’s done for me, but making it into the NHL is the first step in the right direction.

“Oh, how the moms would have gossiped about that.”

She hits my arm, and I look up to replace her smiling wide, the corners of her eyes wrinkled. “Exactly. I wouldn’t have been able to show my face in that arena ever again. They would have shunned me.”

“Mom! Come here!” Gracie shrieks, sounding about as frantic as I would imagine after being this far behind schedule.

“We should have been there already,” I note.

Mom sighs before yelling, “Coming, baby!” With quick steps, she’s moving up the stairs and disappearing from sight.

Not having anything better to do, I push off the wall and follow after her. The only thing I want to do to keep myself busy is text Ava again, but she’s been radio silent since our last few messages yesterday afternoon.

I don’t know if I came on too strong or if she’s simply busy, but there’s been a knot in my gut since this morning that tells me something is going on. Whatever the cause of it may be, I know I won’t be able to fix it from here. Right now, this is about Gracie—

I come to a sudden stop in front of the open bathroom door, and my jaw damn near dislocates on its way to the floor. The smell in the small room is too strong, and as soon as it hits my nose, I’m throwing an arm up in front of my face and sneezing.

“What the fuck?” I sputter.

Gracie spins on me from her place in front of the sink, her eyes welling with tears at the same time Mom glares at me.

“Oakley!” she scolds and tries to shield my sister from my view. It doesn’t work, and I continue to stare at her over Mom’s shoulder.

“Get out!” Gracie shrieks, burying her pink, splotched face in her hands. It looks like she’s been stung by bees or rubbed poison ivy all over her skin. Shit.

I try to fumble for words. “What did you do to your face? And what is that smell?”

“Lotion! It’s lotion,” she cries.

“Then why do you look like that?” I feel like an idiot right now. I’m so out of my depth here.

Her watery blue eyes pin me in place when she drops her hands and snaps, “I didn’t know it would do this, jackass.”

“This is why it’s been taking you so long to come down,” I mutter, finally piecing everything together.

“What am I supposed to do? I can’t go like this.”

“Do you want me to beat up anyone who looks at you?” I offer.

A smile teases her mouth before her scowl returns. “No. I want to not have my face feel like someone dumped fire ants on me and left me to die in the ditch.”

“We have calamine lotion I can slather on,” Mom says. She pulls away from Gray and starts rooting through the cabinets under the sink.

“I hate calamine lotion.”

Mom frowns at her. “Too bad. It’s this and an antihistamine. We’ll have to figure out what’s up with that lotion after.” With a slim pink bottle in her hand, she turns to me. “Go get two Benadryl’s, and stop staring at your sister like she’s an alien.”

I stifle a laugh and head back downstairs. We keep the common medications in a cupboard in the kitchen, and the Benadryl is easy enough to replace. After grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, I rush back and hand the pills and water to my sister. She takes the pills with a huge swallow of water.

“Did you see any Midol down there? Not only do I look like a giant hemorrhoid, but I’m also bleeding like a carotid injury.”

“Jesus, Gracie,” I grunt, avoiding eye contact.

She scoffs. “Oh, don’t be so sensitive. It’s a bit of period blood.”

“From what you’re saying, it isn’t just ‘a bit.’” I do finger quotations around the last two words before flicking my gaze to Mom. “Shouldn’t she be going to the hospital for that?”

“She’s being dramatic, Oakley,” Mom says on a long exhale.

“Oh.”

“Can you go put your sister’s bag in the car? I’m going to try to fix what I can here, and then we’ll go before we miss the entire damn thing.”

Gracie’s eyes flare with annoyance, but she doesn’t say anything, just goes about fixing her hair. It’s not in the usual slicked-back bun I’m used to seeing and looks more like a back-combed bird’s nest.

“On it,” I tell Mom before heading downstairs.

If we’re lucky, Gracie will still do really well today. If not, it’s going to be a very long night.

My sister is a natural-born dancer. Ballet to her is hockey to me.

My grin shows only a sliver of the pride I feel watching her up onstage, twirling and moving her body in such a fluid, precise way. Her features are taut with concentration as she lifts her leg and bends her knee, resting the flat of her foot to her inner thigh as her spin comes to a graceful stop.

She raises her arms above her head and bounces across the stage. Her feet are perfect points as she owns the stage, captivating every set of eyes in the audience. I might be biased, but there’s no way she’s not winning this competition.

Gracie is a Hutton, and we don’t lose. Not even if she’s up against some of the best in British Columbia.

“She looks perfect,” Mom whispers to me from the seat to my right. She looks at me with a soft gaze and covers my wrist with her hand. “I’m so happy you’re here to see this. It means a lot to her, even if she won’t admit it to you.”

I nod. “Happy to be here, Ma.”

She squeezes my hand before turning her attention back to the end of Gracie’s dance. The music trickles off as Gray finishes off three consecutive twirls and drops into a bow position.

I’m the first person out of my seat, clapping loudly before shoving two fingers in my mouth and whistling. “Atta girl, Gray!”

She replaces me in the crowd and laughs, shaking her head but taking the praise in stride. Mom grabs my hand and waves at Gracie with the other.

We look like the perfect family, and for the most part, I would agree. But I can’t ignore the ache that’s appeared in my chest at the reminder that we’re missing someone who would have been just as embarrassing as I am with his praise for Gracie’s performance.

It’s been six years since Dad passed away, but sometimes, the wound feels too fresh. The guilt too heavy.

He should have been here today, watching his daughter completely steal the show like she always manages to do. It’s unfair, and regardless of how often I remind myself that life isn’t meant to be fair, it never gets any easier.

I’ve begun to wonder if it ever will.