Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 121764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Our lives moved on.
Just like we both knew they would.
Except I still had this hole burning into my chest, reminding me of what once had been there, whispering for me not to let it go just yet.
On September twenty-seventh, our first preseason game at home, I had barely taken my pads off before my phone was ringing. Just like it did every time, my heart leapt into my throat, wishing for it to be Grace.
When I saw my father’s name and photo on the screen, I sighed, running a hand through my wet hair before I ducked into an empty training room and took the call.
“Well, I don’t know what to say, son, except you’re damn lucky Tanev had a monster night.”
The familiarity of his voice grated like nails on a chalkboard.
“Hello, Dad,” I said, leaning against the wall. I let my head fall back against it.
“What was that shit in the second? You were too busy puck-watching, and Hankin attacked like you were a fucking watch guard sleeping on the job.”
I pulled the phone from my ear, letting my father scream into the void of the empty room while I forced a calming breath. He raged and rambled and recited garbage I knew he was just pulling off the Internet from other trolls who loved to talk shit — all while I tuned him out.
This was nothing new.
But the more he went on and on, the harder my breaths came. I felt something stirring inside me, like I’d woken a sleeping giant and he was climbing up out of the depths.
I realized I’d had enough of this being my normal.
And before I could decide if this was really the fight I wanted to pick, the giant was breaking free.
“Enough, Dad!”
I brought the phone back to my ear, cutting him off mid-sentence in a baritone I knew surprised him — that was the only explanation for why he actually shut the fuck up.
“God, do you hear yourself? Aren’t you fucking tired of this?”
A moment of silence stretched between us, and I pinched the bridge of my nose on an exhale.
“Every fucking game, every game, since I was a kid,” I said, shaking my head. “Now that you can’t yell at me in the car ride home, you call me. And you know I’m going to answer. You know it. Did you ever stop to think why? Did you ever ask yourself, ‘why does my son always answer when he knows I’ll either be shitting on his game or asking him to send a check?’”
My chest was heaving.
Dad didn’t say a word.
“It’s because I love you,” I filled in for him when he didn’t dare to answer. “I love you, Dad. And I respect you. I’m so, so fucking thankful that you brought hockey into my life, and that you taught me everything you did. But I’m done with this.”
I shook my head, waiting for him to speak.
I was pretty sure he was having a heart attack, considering I’d never talked back to him before.
“I’m sorry about your accident, Dad. I’m sorry it took the sport you love from you. But that doesn’t give you the right to do the same to me.”
My chest sparked at that, and suddenly, I was picturing Grace in the room with me. I could see her nodding, encouraging me. I could feel her holding my hand and telling me to keep going.
“I am happy to help you and Mom. I always have been. I want you to be comfortable. But I also want you to call me without my stomach dropping when you do. I want you to ask about my life. I want you to be a part of it.”
“Is that a fucking joke?”
I reared back as if he’d slapped me — especially when he started laughing.
“You want us to be a part of your life, eh?” he asked. His voice was terrifyingly calm. “So much so that you spent a week in Canmore and didn’t so much as tell us, let alone stop by?”
Shit.
I swallowed, my throat tight. I’d wondered why I hadn’t heard from him before tonight. Usually, he was chewing my ass as soon as camp started.
I had my answer now.
“You’re right,” I said. “I should have come home. And I would have, under different circumstances. But as it stands…” I shook my head, searching for my strength. “I don’t want to fucking see you. Okay? I don’t care to receive my lashings in person. Or at all, for that matter.”
He puffed a laugh. “My son, a keener. You want me to pat you on the head and tell you what a good boy you are?”
“I just want you to be my dad!”
I screamed the words, chest heaving in the silence they left me in.
Dad sniffed on the other line, and I swore I heard the distinct sound of him slinging back a shot from his mickey. “Well, I am. Any good father lets his son know when he needs to do better.”