Page 69 of Pucking Off-Sides With My Brother's Best Friend

“Listen,” I start again, turning to look at them all. “We’ve had better nights, and we’ll have better nights ahead. This shit sucks. Any loss is going to, but I know this first loss is hard as fuck. We can’t let that define the rest of our season.”

Brody speaks up from where he’s slumped on the bench. I know he’s feeling particularly shitty. “I screwed up, y’all. I’m sorry.” His voice is barely audible. “I should’ve made the fucking pass. If I had, they wouldn’t have—“

“No,” Jax says. “The puck could have easily changed hands then too. Unless you personally walk over and deliver the puck to them, we take wins and losses as a team. Everyone understand?”

I see nods all around, and I know we’ll be okay.

“So, what now?” I ask, looking at each of them one at a time. “We’re a team, so let’s get some suggestions going.”

“Regroup,” Caleb mutters before looking up. “We watch the tape, figure out exactly what went wrong, and add that to our drills.”

I nod. “Absolutely. And we come back stronger than before. This is part of the game, part of the grind. We don’t let losses define us.”

When coach clears his throat, I take a step back, letting him take the lead. He smacks me on the shoulder before moving to stand in the middle of the locker room. When I look over at Jax, he has a small smile on his face, and when he nods again, I know we’re going to be okay.

“Alright, team,” coach says before clapping his hands together. “Let’s clean it up and head out. We have a long road ahead of us, but the only way we’ll get to our destination is by working together. Get some good sleep and be prepared to practice even harder when we get home.”

Cheers ring out, not of excitement, but of determination. Just because we’ve had a loss tonight doesn’t mean we won’t bounce back stronger than before.

The guys file out, but I linger, pretending to adjust my gear. In the quiet, Aurora’s text floods back into my mind. A kid. Christ. What would that even look like? Me, responsible for a tiny human? The thought makes me want to laugh and puke at the same time.

With a sigh, Istare down at the phone. It’s been ringing once every hour, and I know exactly who I’ll be dealing with once I answer it. I wasn’t ready to talk because I was reeling from our first loss on the road, and even now, back in the comfort of my own fucking home, I’m still not ready.

But I know all I’m doing is prolonging the inevitable. Maybe it’s better to get this shit over with now so I can move the fuck on.

Decision made, I sigh deeply and school my expression before answering the phone.

“Dad.”

“Finally decided to answer the damn phone, I see. Cowardly isn’t a good look on you.”

I try not to let that first jab get to me. “I was busy with practice.”

He snorts out a cruel-sounding laugh. “Practice? What kind of practice are you having that doesn’t even ensure a win?”

I know he’s trying to sound authoritative, but he really just sounds like a toddler throwing a tantrum. I don’t know what’s different now, but I’m having a hard time taking him seriously.

“You know, you had a chance to make a difference, and instead, you let the team down. This is becoming a habit.”

“Last time I checked, hockey is a team sport,” I remind him. “The team works together to victory.”

“Working together. All of this sounds like hippie bullshit to cover for the fact that you’re weak at the sport you claim to love.” I can tell by his tone he’s probably sneering over the line. “Your passes are weak, and you haven’t had a push since the first game. If you can’t score, why do you even bother getting on the ice? It’s pathetic.”

I’ve put up with my father’s shit for years, but something about the way he’s insistent on berating me now has me seeing red.

I’m tired of it. Something needs to change.

“No, what’s even more pathetic is you criticizing me every time something doesn’t go perfectly. I’m doing my best out there. I’m trying to make myself better, which is more than you ever did.”

“You call that trying? I saw the game. You missed crucial opportunities, and it cost your team the win. You need to step up, or you’ll never get anywhere.”

“No, you’ll never get anywhere,” I shoot back, raising my voice. “You call me every game and do nothing but find fault, but I don’t see you on the ice. I don’t remember you making a league team or doing anything but running your fucking mouth behind a phone screen.”

And at that moment, all I can think about is what he would say if you knew about Aurora. About the possibility of me having ababy? Would he see that as another failure, another way I’ve let him down? Or would he finally see me as a man?

“Watch who you’re talking to, boy,” he threatens. An empty one at best, one that I don’t plan on paying any attention to. I’m an adult. There’s nothing he can do to change that.

“I know exactly who I’m talking to,” I insist, intent on speaking my mind. “You’re weak. You’re pathetic for wanting to bring down your own son just to make you feel tall again.”

---