Page 109 of On Thin Ice

Jacob laughed. “I have no interest in lecturing you on anything, Reynolds.”

“Alright,” Morgan said and gestured towards the ice. “Puck drop.”

After that, they watched the game in silence.

The Evergreens’ offense was potent, anchored by Elliott and Malcolm on the wings, and they spent much of the first period harassing the Bandits’ goalie, scoring twice.

It was only at the end of the period when Ramsey got caught for a hooking penalty—Morgan swearing under his breath—that Finn got any work at all.

“They’ve got a good penalty kill,” Jacob said to Morgan, breaking the silence, before it became too brittle with all the pressure they both felt.

“’Course they do,” Morgan retorted.

They watched as the Bandits swarmed their offensive zone, despite Ramsey and Brody and the rest of the power play kill team’s best efforts.

Finn stopped one shot, then another, then effortlessly slid into a third position to stop the rebound.

Morgan made a noise under his breath. Jacob looked at him, quickly, not wanting to miss a moment of the game action, and as tense ashefelt, Morgan looked like he was about to puke.

“Do you always—” Jacob stopped abruptly as Finn dove for the puck again, smothering it with his glove. “No, don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.”

Morgan didn’t say anything, not until the horn sounded, ending the period.

The Evergreens would be on the power play for approximately thirty seconds when the second period began, but with how Finn had handled his business for the majority of it, Jacob believed he’d be okay.

“You know it’s hard,” Morgan said. “I’m gonna get a fucking ulcer, watching him on TV. Nevermind coming here to watch.” He shook his head. “I know you don’t get it, but I want it so fucking bad for him. I think all the time he shouldn’t be doing this, he should do something easier, something else he’s good at—and he’s good at lots of things. But to tackle this . . .” Morgan sighed. “I never wanted him to be a hockey player. I knew what he’d face if he was.”

“He can bear more than you think,” Jacob said softly.More than either of us think.

Morgan made a face. “I know.” He didn’t need to add again that he’d know better than Jacob.

“You ever tell him any of that?”

“Of course I fucking have,” Morgan said.

“No, I mean,exactlylike that. Not so he could interpret it to mean you’re ashamed of him and don’t want him to play because of that.”

“If you’re trying to tell me I’m a shit father—”

“I’m trying to tell you,” Jacob interrupted, losing his patience, “that one of the things Finn’s best at, besides hockey, is believing the worst version of what people tell him. Specificallyyou. And let me tell you, you haven’t done yourself any favors.”

“I know,” Morgan muttered.

“Some friendly advice? Tell him that.Allof that. Just like that.”

“I’m trying to be better. I know you don’t believe that.”

“Doesn’t matter what I believe.” Though that wasn’t necessarily true. If Morgan continued to be a shithead, Jacob would be the first in line to suggest to Finn he put some space between himself and his dad.

“Yeah it does.” Morgan sounded disgusted by this. “He trusts you. Maybe he went to you first because I didn’t like you, and that sounded like a fun way to piss me off.”

“And now?”

“He’s playing fucking great.”

“That’s not me,” Jacob said. Though he’d given Finn some pointers and he could see echoes of them, ghosts of his own movements, filtering into Finn’s blocks. Maybe he shouldn’t like seeing the undeniable imprint of him on Finn, but he did. “That’s him. All I did was give him the confidence he needed to be what he was always capable of.”

Morgan sighed. “I want to punch you in the face for that.”

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