Scored (V-Card Diaries 1)

I don’t just want the release. I want a connection with another person, someone I find sexy, fun, and fascinating, who feels the same way about me.

For a moment there, when Ian was staring at me with shock and appreciation in his eyes, I thought maybe, just maybe, his feelings for me might be starting to change…

But then I saw his drawing.

Oh my God, that drawing…

I can’t believe he couldn’t see that it was my dad. The jean jacket is just like the one he’s worn every fall and spring since I was a kid and the curl on the lip is a dead ringer for my father’s. Ian could have drawn anyone in the entire world, but his subconscious brain locked in on my dad as the one person who makes him feel angry and out of control.

If that doesn’t prove he still sees me as a little sister, I don’t know what does.

And what’s worse, we’re going to have to talk about it. In front of all the other players.

That’s part of this project. First, we funnel our feelings into the creation of our portraits. Next, we’re going to try to break the hold these people have on us with a simple ritual and a little fire.

“Excellent,” Slavic Sven says when we’re all gathered around the firepit in the corner of the courtyard, where in exchange for two donuts, a very nice janitor agreed to keep a fire burning for me this afternoon. “I was hoping we’d burn them.”

He starts to toss his picture into the flames, but I lift a hand.

“Wait.” I hold up my own drawing, a picture of Vince with a pitying expression that I sketched last night. “Before we burn them, we’re going to speak a few words to take our power back. First, I’d like you to briefly state how this person hurt you or why they still upset you so much. For example, I’m angry that Vince blamed me for the failure of our relationship, making me think there was something wrong with me, when in reality he was probably too busy dating two women at once to give our relationship the focus it deserved.”

“Oh yeah, he totally was,” Sassy Sven says. “No way did he and that blonde meet, fall in love, and get engaged in just three weeks. He was two-timing you, Sheepish. Like a dirty dog.”

“Her name isn’t—”

“It’s fine,” I say, cutting Ian off with a smile. I have to stand on my own as much as possible with these men or I’ll lose what respect I’ve earned so far. And this is already going to get weird enough when it’s Ian’s turn to toss his image into the fire. “Sven is right. And that’s a big part of why Vince had the power to make me lose control on Friday. But I don’t want to be at the mercy of those kinds of feelings anymore, which brings us to step two. Forgiveness.”

“Fuck no,” Kyle says. “I’m never talking to my dad again. Not for all the money in the world and two Stanley Cup championship titles.”

“And you don’t have to,” I assure him. “This isn’t about repairing these relationships or even making contact with these people. It’s about releasing that anger so it doesn’t call the shots anymore, so you can finally be free of old baggage that’s dragging you down, causing you pain, and affecting your game. It’s based on an ancient Hawaiian practice called Ho'oponopono, which means to bring things back in balance. It’s a simple but powerful tool for increasing self-love and healing old wounds.”

Kyle is still frowning, but he nods. “Okay, I’m listening. How do we do that?”

“Just a simple phrase,” I say, lifting my paper and locking eyes with Vince. “Vince Victor, I’m sorry. Please forgive me. Thank you, I love you, goodbye.” I pull in a deep breath, exhale completely and then open my fingers, dropping the paper into the flames.

Kyle grunts. “But I don’t forgive him or love him. I can’t.”

“Forgiving doesn’t mean forgetting,” I say. “You don’t have to forget but letting go of that anger is vital for your health and well-being. Like Nelson Mandela said, ‘resentment is like drinking poison and then hoping it will kill your enemies.’ That rage you’re holding on to isn’t hurting your dad. It’s hurting you. And it seems like he’s already hurt you enough.”

“That actually makes sense,” Laser says softly. “Like getting rid of a tumor or something. Get the poison out and then you’ll feel free.”

I nod. “Exactly. Would you want to go next, Laser? Since this is resonating with you?”

He clears his throat and runs a massive hand through his short-cropped hair. “Sure. Um, this is my grandmother. I’m angry with her for kicking my mom and me out on the streets and for never lifting a finger to help her daughter. I’m pissed that she brags about me to her friends like she had something to do with my success, when I never would have been able to play hockey if my stepdad hadn’t paid for it after he and Mom got married.” His volume drops and his voice tightens as he adds, “But most of all I’m mad that she taught me how shitty people can be when I was so little. I would have liked the chance to grow up like a normal kid instead of being so fucking jaded straight out of the gate.”