Page 165 of Unloved

The phone ringing sounds as intensely loud as an opposing team’s goal horn at an away game, but I’m filled with more nerves than a hockey game has ever given me.

Archer answers on the first ring.

“Hey,” he drawls, a door slamming in the background. “It if isn’t my favorite kid. How are you?”

An instant calm washes over me, water bathing a too-dry beach.

If it isn’t my favorite kid.

But his words blend, old voices and new. The memory blares through me like electric shock.

Me at nine years old. A private rink practice with an NHL coach.

Saturdays after early skate are my favorites—especially when Coach Ace comes to pick me up, because it means I get extra practice time with him. But today is harder, because my dad is supposed to spend the rest of the weekend with me.

The rest, because he didn’t show up Friday like he was supposed to, again.

“I don’t think my dad likes me very much.”

The words spill out of me accidentally, shame and embarrassment coloring my cheeks. I didn’t mean to say that, but things always spill out when I talk to Coach Archer.

Archer frowns, and I feel like I shouldn’t have said it. But… maybe he should know. I’m not good at being a son.

When the other guys on my team asked me about my dad playing hockey with me, I almost told them about Archer. Sometimes in my head I pretend that Archer is my dad, especially before I go to sleep at night, imagining the picture in the kitchen with my mom and Archer and me, as if my dad didn’t exist.

Still, I blanch a little.

“Don’t tell my mom I said that,” I add, skating to the next puck he’s pushed out for me. “I don’t want her to think she’s doing a bad job.”

“Okay,” Archer says. “Just between us.”

He waits to speak again until I make my next shot, perfect up top, just barely under the bar.

“Great shot, Matty.” He pats my helmet before skating to face me and ducking his head so he can meet my eyes through the cage. Grabbing my shoulders, he says, “And for the record, I think you’re the best of all the kids.”

My eyes widen. “In the whole class?”

He shakes his head. “In the world. You’re my favorite kid in the whole world.”

I can’t help the smile on my face through the rest of our practice and dinner that night. One that Archer mimics, sitting beside my mom.

“Hey,” I say, swallowing down the immediate swell of emotions. “I’m okay—I just finished finals, actually.”

“Yeah? How is that going?”

“Good.” I nod like he can see me, then feel a little ridiculous and smack myself in the head. “I—it was hard, for a bit. But I got a great tutor and I passed. Like, more than just eligibility. I’m a B student now.”

“God, that’s great to hear, kid. I’m so proud of you.”

It warms my chest, healing something that’s been broken in me for far longer than I can remember.

“Yeah,” I sigh, feeling a twinge of nerves pinch at me.What else do I say? What does he want to talk about?

I must feel like a stranger to him now. So I pick the only topic I can, the one thing peoplelikediscussing with me.

“Hockey is great—we’re having a killer season. Rhys is back, which, I don’t know if you watch or keep up with us—”

“I always keep up with you, Matty.”

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