Page 82 of Blindsided By the Enforcer

“You aren’t wrong, Cade. I’m seeing things different,” he says. Dad moved out of my parents’ beautiful home in Cherry Hills Village for a condo in downtown Denver’s Union Station neighborhood. It is a swanky neighborhood but a different vibe than Cherry Hills.

“How so?” I ask.

“You aren’t happy playing hockey. I can see it now,” he admits.

Are we doing this now?

“I’ve told you this before,” I state.

“And I wasn’t listening. I knew what it would take for you to be successful and make it to the NHL, but it wasn’t the only way. It was my way and it was wrong for you.”

My stats have been dropping ever since the night Coach rung me out.

“It’s too late. I’m the enforcer. That’s what everyone expects,” I say to him.

“I saw the Michigan West game, Cade,” he says.

“So what?” I ask on defense.

“You have what it takes to be a winger. Maybe I can call up Scott and plant the idea,” he says referring to my agent. Now thatAnnie is in my life, I can’t see myself being apart from her on the other side of the country.

“Maybe you can also mention to Scott I want to stay in the Upper Midwest.”

My dad’s sigh is audible and frustrated. “Is this about the girl?”

“Annie, yes, I don’t want to be too far from her.” She plans to be on her farm. I want to be close by. She doesn’t know that plan yet.

“So, things are serious?” he asks.

“No, but I want them to be,” I confide to him.

“That’s not how relationships work, Cade,” he says, as if he’s in a position to give relationship advice.

“I’m aware, but I think she feels the same way. She’s just scared.”

“And you want to be on opposite ends of the country from your mom and me?” he questions. That is what I wanted when I accepted the offer at Riverside U.

“Maybe it’s how I felt when I first started college, but it’s not how I feel anymore. You don’t need to stay in Denver. You aren’t in the NHL anymore. There’s nothing keeping you there,” I remind. “I told Mom the same thing. What does she need that big house for all by herself?”

“It’s something for me to think about,” he replies. I’m not asking my parents to want to be close to me but since they aren’t considering it on their own, I thought I should at least plant the idea.

“I’ll call Scott and be in touch. Sounds like it’s busy around you.”

“The bus just pulled out,” I tell him.

“Okay, have a good game tomorrow. I know it’s not what you want, but do your best with the position you play. If your statsdrop any more there won’t be early offers, and you’ll fall down the list for the June draft.”

He isn’t wrong.

“Thanks for talking to Scott.” My father is respected in the hockey world. My agent knows who he is. He has pull also because he’s a commentator on the games.

“Sure thing. Night, Son.”

“Night, Dad.”

I end the call. Macklin sticks his head over the chair. “You good?”

“Were you listening to the whole conversation?” I ask.

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