Damian’s Point of View
“You’re late,” my mother quipped at me the second I walked in the front door. I let out a grunt in response. I’d just come from practice, who was she to say I was late? I could have been home an hour ago and she still would have said I was late. Sure, maybe I spent an extra half hour after practice just driving around aimlessly, but what she didn’t know, didn’t hurt her.
“Where have you been?” My mother followed after me as I threw my keys on the table and began to make my way down the hall. Her heels clicked away angrily on the tile floor, so loudly that you could swear she was stomping her feet on purpose.
“Hockey practice,” I grumbled back as if she didn’t already know the answer. It was the same place I was almost every other time she had asked me, even if th
