Page 36 of Lovesick
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Coach clasps his hands together in front of him, staring me down with a seriousness that trembles the very legs I’m standing on. I’m still holding my breath for some unknown reason, caught in a hailstorm of doubt that only reinforces the power dynamic between us.
“You know this would be a huge responsibility, correct?” Coach says, observing me carefully, his tone almost indifferent.
“Yes, sir,” I respond, immediately straightening my spine.
“Whatever the fundraiser committee asks you to do, don’t forget that you and the boys are committed to hockey first. You need to remember where your priorities lie.”
“Yes, sir.”
Coach rubs the heel of his palm into his temple, and when he speaks, he chews the words like they’re as tough as gristle and twice as hard to digest. “Do you really think you can balance an extracurricular on top of school and hockey, Mr. Calloway?”
Oh, no. I’ve been demoted. We’re back to last names. Come on, Crew. You’re the only one who can convince him. Put a little emotion into it, yeah? Show him that this is more important than winning your dream girl’s heart…even though that’salsovery important.
Here it goes.
“The truth is the whole fundraiser is close to my heart, Coach. I used to be one of those poor kids who couldn’t afford hockey lessons or equipment, and I remember how isolating it was to watch all my friends play a game that shouldn’t be exclusive to those less fortunate. If it wasn’t for my mom scrimping to pay for lessons, I wouldn’t have known how much hockey meant to me. I’m in a privileged spot where I feel a responsibility to give back. I know it’s going to be hard work, and I know it’s going to be a challenge to juggle everything, but to me, it’s worth it. And I think the rest of the guys would feel the same.”
I was only eight when my father left and took everything. And now my mother lives in a one-bedroom apartment, barely keeping her head above water with back-to-back shifts at the hospital. It’s not fair. It’s not fair that he got to destroy our lives just so he could rebuild his own.
When I got older, my mother forbade me from ever contacting him, but I didn’t want to accept that I’d have to live the rest of my life without a dad. So, I went behind her back and tracked him down.
I pulled up to this behemoth, three-story mansion that spanned across a hundred acres and had a giant pool out front. And to make matters worse, my dad was outside playing baseball with some kid…who I later found out was my stepbrother. I didn’t stick around to confront my useless sperm donor.
How was it that my father wanted to be in my stepbrother’s life but not mine? What did I do wrong? Why wasn’t I good enough for him?
That was years ago. To this day, I don’t think he even knows if I’m alive or not. To be frank, I don’t think he cares.
I’m not sure if my magic speech worked on Coach or not, but the softening of his shoulders looks promising. The tension that was previously carved into his face has melted, and that voice of his—the one roughened like the hissing of hot coals—has waned to embers.
“Are you sure about this, son?”
For the first time in a long time, it feels like I’m finally doing something right. Hockey gives me a purpose, but helping others fulfills something else inside of me—something that’s been relegated to the darkness to exist only in shame. A bitterness that I refuse to acknowledge, and one that my father planted there in the wake of his absence.
I’ve spent my whole life trying to carve it from my body. And now that I’ve been blessed with this opportunity to forge a new future for myself—untainted by his betrayal—I rejoice in knowing that I’ll never be anything like my dad.
“I’m positive.”
Coach nods. “I’ll let the team know that after next practice, we’ll be working with the fundraiser committee.”
“Thank you so much, Coach. You won’t regret this. This will be a fantastic way for us to hype up the season.”
I’m about to make myself scarce when Coach clears his throat gruffly, stopping me from slipping out the door.
“And, Crew, I heard about what happened in the locker room the other day,” he divulges, making the hairs on my neck stand up. I swear that my stomach free-falls to the soles of my goddamn shoes.
Crap. The locker room. Aka, my huge blowup that I reallyhope wasn’t caught on camera. I don’t know why I thought I could just…omit that little detail.
Fear squeezes my throat and restricts any words from taking shape. My pulse is going eighty in a forty. “You did?”
“I did. Volesky will be benched for the rest of the season. Sexual harassment is unacceptable at MU, and especially inmylocker room. I’m going to have a word with the dean about his behavior.”
“That’s…good,” I murmur.
At least I don’t have to see that shit stain ever again.
Since I stupidly think Coach is done talking to me, I start to shuffle as conspicuously as I can toward the exit, all while wearing a tight-lipped grimace.
“And I…I wanted to thank you,” he finishes.
