Page 32 of Off-Ice Misconduct
“Yeah. No doubt he’s concerned about funding for next year.”
I sweep my hand toward the crowd. “Yep, that’s why we’re stuck doing this.” And why my essay for Professor VanCourt’s class is a bust. We have practice early tomorrow, and I’ll have just enough time to spit something out—anything out—before the season opener, which we decided to squeeze in after this. There won’t be a float, and I won’t be gliding into the house dressed as King of the Spartans, but dammit, we’ll have a good time.
Standing tall, I project the same “I have all my shit together” aura that I always do as soon as Dad arrives on scene. The only thing worse than not having my shit together is Dad knowing I don’t have my shit together.
“It’s not like I’m gonna leave them without a parachute,” he says. “But it’s a good idea for Coach VanCourt to get used to holding these kinds of fundraisers. My presence here will help,and I’ll do some schmoozing of my own to set the right tone. You need to do the same, Ace.”
“Um, what do you mean?”
“You’re closing a chapter, you need to show people you’re building the next one. You need to leave on a high note, give the impression that being a Scorpion is what shaped you as a hockey player.”
It’s Dad’s way. When Mom died, he needed to create, raise something from the ashes. He took on project after project, his way of proving to everyone he was okay. Hell, maybe he believes he’s okay, but I know better. I see what others can’t, because they don’t know him like I do.
Okay, so we’re adding “if I don’t say the right things at these fundraiser events, it could cost the team” to my list of shit.
Pressure.
Frustrating.
Awesome.
Guess he totally agrees with Coach.
But also, will Dad ever get it through his thick skull that I don’t deal with things the same way he does? I don’t know what I want next, because moving on to the next chapter feels like leaving her behind. Ugh, but if I tell him that, he’ll look at me like I’m broken, the exact thing I’ve been working so hard to avoid.
“Got it, sir,” I say, tight-lipped. I’m not having that argument here; it’ll be a joy I can look forward to for another time.
Before he leaves, he fixes my tie. “You’re still wearing this old thing? I’ll have my assistant send you some new ones.”
Is that who got him the pink one he’s wearing?
“Mom gave me this tie.” The words come out harsher than I mean them.
Dad winces. “And she’d want you to have something new.”
We both know he’s not talking about ties. It leaves something heavy in my gut, and as he walks away, I let the tears burn my eyes.
I barely have time to wipe them away before Shep finds me. “Have you seen Bender?”
“Um, no. Been kinda busy.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be fucking watching him? He went off with some rich woman.”
Bend? With a woman? “Um, I’m gonna hold your hand when I tell you this, sweet summer child?—”
He cuts me off with an eye roll. “I know, but I have two words for you: Lavendar. Marriage.”
“Oh my fucking god. Tell me you’re not serious.”
Shep shrugs. “Besides, anyone can have a fucking bisexual awakening at any time.”
They can, but speaking from experience, you don’t usually discover you’re Bi and then jump into marriage. Still, I’d better figure this the fuck out because there’s a first time for everything.
“Why do you care so much?” Those two are usually bickering about something or fighting over me.
“Why do you care so little?”
I leave it. He’s got some burr up his ass, and I’m not getting into it here.
