Page 14 of Behind the Bench

For as much as I’m in the weight room these days blowing off steam, I shouldn’t be sucking air like this. As I finish my lap, my knee threatens to scream at me if I don’t slow it down soon.

I stop pushing myself so hard and lift my hands up to rest my stick on top of my head. It’s a trick we learned in Mini Mites to open up our lungs any time we’d lose our breath. Still works like a charm too.

Gliding around the rink, I take in my surroundings and try to focus on what I’m doing here in the first place.

Ellie Montgomery is making me lose my mind.

My job is to fix this team and make a playoff contender out of it again. I can’t do that if every other second Ellie’s blue eyes are flashing through my mind.

This girl will be the death of me. Always has been.

Even when we were fifteen years old. But back then the threat was more tangible.

My dad put his hands on me a lot when I was a kid. It became my normal around age ten when my mom walked out on both of us. But the times I remember most clearly, always happened after a hockey game. More specifically, after I played against Ellie.

For whatever fucked up reason, my dad was always pointing out that Ellie was a better hockey player than me and he always loved pointing out that she was a girl.The hits to my face, the belts to my back, always hit a little harder after those games.

I remember one time when we were sixteen, we were playing each other right before the playoffs. The puck bounced right over the defenseman’s stick at the blue line and I took off like a bat out of hell. It was a race between me and Ellie to get to the puck. I was about half a stride ahead of her and I beat her to the puck by a fraction of a second. My strides were a tad longer than hers at that point. Sure, she was tall at five-ten, but she was already done growing. I was about six-foot by that time, and wouldn’t stop growing until I hit six-three. I outskated her and went down on a breakaway and scored the winning goal.

Ellie made some snide remark about me losing my girlfriend to my goalie. But that didn’t matter. I beat Ellie to the puckandwon that game.

If only that mattered to my dad.

I walked out of the locker room and was congratulated by all my teammates’ parents. My coaches gave me pats on the back. The teammates who were already out gave me fist bumps and high fives. Then, I made it to my dad.

He was waiting by the exit and took off out the door as soon as he knew I was close enough to follow. He turned right when we got outside, and proceeded to stumble over the curb, which could only mean one thing.

He’d been drinking again.

The hits always came when drinks were involved.

It didn’t matter that I played a hell of a game. It didn’t even matter that we won the game. I was never going to be good enough for my dad.

After having to physically remove the keys from my dad’s hands and shove him into the back of his truck, I drove us home. He passed out on the fourteen-minute drive and I was praying to God he’d stay that way until morning.

Luck was not on my side.

He woke up as soon as the car turned off and proceeded to berate me the entire walk into our house. He didn’t stop yelling when we got inside. He only got louder.

“You almost let agirlcatch you on the ice. You’re an embarrassment. I don’t even know why you play this stupid game when you’re not any good at it.”

That was the last thing I heard him say to me before I turned around and saw his fist coming at my face.

I struggle to shake myself from the horrible memory, and realize I’m breathing harder reliving the memories than I was when I was skating laps. Struggling to stay upright, I somehow manage to skate to the boards. Throwing off my gloves, I grip the boards and hold on for dear life. My fingers dig into the panel’s edge as I continue the battle to stay on my feet.

My breaths are short and painful, skin clammy, my pulse rioting in my ears as the blood rushes to my head. I close my eyes and try to focus on my breathing. I take a deep breath, and on the exhale I feel a hand on my shoulder.

After that unusual encounter with Link in my office, I was left full of questions and uncertainty. Link has never been one to support me, but as the head coach, it gives me hope that we’reon the right track. If only my memories weren’t still creeping in, giving me doubts.

I’ve never really understood why Link hated me so much when we were growing up. We didn’t even go to the same school. We just played against each other in our travel league.

It doesn’t even make any sense. He didn’t even know me. Hell, he still doesn’t.

That’s why I can’t seem to get my head on straight right now. Why is this man, who has made my life a living hell every step of the way, confusing the heck out of me? It should be simple. I should hate him. End of story.

God, I need to clear my head.

The ice has always been my sanctuary. I lace up my skates in the coaches’ room and head through the players’ tunnel to the ice. I’m about to step onto the ice when I hear a sound coming from the far end near the goal. It almost sounds like someone is hyperventilating. I turn my head to see where it’s coming from.

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