Page 30 of Blitz
“So, wait, you want to contact him instead?” I was so confused.
She leaned over and flicked my forehead. “Duh, the two aren’t mutually exclusive. I don’t want his money. I don’t want to see him.” She hesitated, picking at the cardboard sleeve on her cup. “I just want to know you. That’s all.”
“I’ve never had anyone,” I admitted quietly. “Not really. Not someone who wasn’t being paid to be in my life. Teammates, coaches, lawyers, managers. Everyone’s got an angle.”
Rebecca nodded slowly. “I understand. Look, I’m not asking to be part of your public life. Just… maybe coffee sometimes? Or texts? I don’t know.” She laughed nervously. “This is weird for me too, you know.”
I took a deep breath. “Coffee sometimes could work. Messages, too.” I pulled out my phone, hesitating before unlocking it, then waiting for her to give me her number. Instead, she reached for the phone, and I balked. This was my private shit, my messages with Tom, porn links, what if…
“Give me the phone,” she murmured, and in the end, I passed it to her. If everything came out? If she knew, what did it matter?After typing in her number, she sent herself a text, then passed it back and replied.
We’d completed the social connection ritual and now… well, it was about coffee, but I felt unsettled and weird.
Rebecca’s smile was bright enough to light up the dingy coffee shop. “Tell me something real about you. Something not on Instagram.”
I hesitated, running my finger along the rim of my cup. I could say a thousand things—about the team, my apartment, the endless stream of parties and appearances that filled my calendar. But none of that felt real. I could confirm her thoughts about me being gay, but that was nuclear. I could say to her that I met someone who wouldn’t leave me alone, but what if I let it slip it was a man? Fuck. There had to be better things I could tell her.
“I think I hate playing hockey,” I said quietly.
Rebecca’s eyebrows shot up. “Seriously? But you’re like… good at it. Really good.”
“Thank you.”
“I bet you hear it all the time.”
“Nah, mostly I hear about my wasted potential.” I sighed. “Still, it was the only way out of my parents’ house. My father’s control.” I stared at the scratched tabletop. “Hockey was the one thing I was good at that he couldn’t take away. He couldn’t play it for me. He couldn’t do the drills or take the hits. It was mine.”
“And he let you have it because…?”
“Because it made him look good. Pastor’s son, NHL draft pick?” I laughed bitterly. “Great PR. Plus, he gets a cut of everything I make.”
Rebecca’s eyes narrowed. “How much?”
“Doesn’t matter.” Why did I say anything?
“It does.”
“It’s a charity thing,” I mumbled.
“How much?”
I was angry then. How could she ask that kind of private thing? I stared at her, ready to fight, but her expression was so calm and patient it took the wind out of my sails.
“Fifty percent,” I admitted quietly. “It goes to his ministry. Tax write-off for me, free money for him.” I didn’t mention the secrets he kept as long as I kept paying him.
Rebecca whistled low. “That’s fucked-up.”
“Yeah. Well.” I shrugged, trying to make it seem like it didn’t matter. “It’s just money, and he leaves me alone for the most part.”
“It’s notjustmoney when it’s your life,” she said fiercely. “To get away from him, you’re doing something youthinkyou don’t like, and he’s still profiting from it? That’s…” She trailed off.
“That’s my father,” I finished for her. “And I do like hockey, I just… I used to love hockey, but now…” I’m fucking it all up.
We sat silently for a moment, the coffee shop noise washing over us. Rebecca was fidgeting with her cup, turning it in circles, her brow furrowed in thought.
“What would you do?” she asked finally. “If you could do anything besides hockey?”
The question caught me off guard. I’d spent so long viewing hockey as my escape route that I’d never considered what came after. What I wanted for myself.
