Page 41 of Don't Leave
Before I can decide how to handle the situation, he swallows up the distance between us and wraps his arms around me. I can’t help but burrow against his wide chest as his arms tighten. We cling to each other in the middle of the restaurant for at least a minute, maybe two.
And it feels good.
So good that moisture gathers in my eyes. When we finally break apart, the uncomfortable tension crackling in the air around us dissolves as if it had been a figment of my imagination.
Once we’re seated, his gaze sweeps over me. “You look good, Cassidy,” he says before adding approvingly, “healthy.”
My lips lift at the compliment. “Thank you, I feel good. I’ve been running three times a week and I’m practicing with the team a couple times a week. Sometimes Cole and I skate in the mornings before school.”
That being said, there’s no way I’ll ever be as sleek and muscular as I was in high school. I’d adhered to a strict diet and workout regimen to maintain a peak physical condition. I have no desire to ever live such a regimented or restrictive lifestyle again.
After I’d failed out of school last year, I stopped working out and hadn’t wanted to go anywhere near an ice rink. But all that changed when I met Cole. He introduced me to his cousin, Sammy, the captain of the Western Wolves women’s team and I was able to join even though the season had started.
It’s Cole I have to thank for pushing me to skate with the team and giving me back something I truly love. He’s the one I have him to thank for reaching out to my father and inviting him to watch my first scrimmage. Without him doing that, my dad and I wouldn’t be sitting here, working on our relationship.
It doesn’t escape me just how wonderful Cole is.
Or how lucky I am to have him in my life.
My dad nods. “I’m glad you’re skating again.”
The waitress brings us both glasses of water and I take a drink before answering. Just because I’m happy to be here, and bridging the yawning expanse that separates us, doesn’t mean it’s easy. Hockey now feels like a minefield between us.
It was what we’d bonded over during my childhood. It had always been our thing. My two younger sisters danced and didn’t want anything to do with skating. My dad had always been into hockey. I’m sure he’d secretly hoped for a boy but got stuck with three girls instead. Me getting kicked off the team last year had devastated him. It was an abrupt end to all the goals and dreams we’d spent years working toward.
I clear my throat and stare at the menu. Only then do I realize how tightly I’m gripping the plastic. One by one, I pry my fingers loose. It takes effort to consciously relax my muscles.
“Me too, but I’d needed a break.”
That comment has the conversation stalling as we study our menus in silence. The waitress returns and we both order burgers. In a small way, being out to eat with my dad feels normal. When we traveled for games and tournaments, it was always just the two of us. We’d go out to eat, sleep in hotels, take in some of the local sights and sometimes, if we were lucky, catch a classic car show. I loved spending a few hours between tournament games checking out muscle cars and old roadsters.
Not only did my dad give me a love for hockey but an appreciation for classic cars.
It makes perfect sense that we ended up being so close. We spent a lot of time together. It’s just as understandable that it hurt like hell when he turned his back on me. It takes a moment to realize that I’m not ready to forgive him for that. Like everything else in life, it’s going to take time.
My gaze lifts and our gazes collide. Dad’s eyes are a deep ocean blue like mine. We also share a headful of inky black hair. Although his has a good amount of silver shooting through it. There are more lines bracketing his eyes and deeper grooves marring his forehead.
It makes me wonder if the last year was as hard on him as it was on me.
Before I realize it, the emotion-filled words are slipping from my mouth. “I’m sorry, Dad. Sorry for screwing everything up.”
I spent my entire life trying to please this man. Even now, I realize that I just want him to be proud of me. I wonder if I’ll ever get to a point in my life when his approval doesn’t matter. I might be angry with him for how he reacted when I failed out, but deep down, I want him to be proud of me.
Sometimes it feels like a losing battle.
His guarded expression crumbles as he sucks in a quick breath before saying in a rush, “I know you are. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry for how I handled the situation.” With a shrug, he glances away. “Maybe I pushed you too hard. Or pushed you into playing a sport you didn’t want to. I just don’t know anymore…” A hint of a smile lifts his lips. “I used to think I had all the answers, now I realize that I don’t have any of them. Raising children is a humbling experience.”
A thick sheen of tears fills my eyes as I shake my head. “No, Dad. I wanted to play hockey. I loved playing.” I’d loved being out on the ice. I’d felt at home in a freezing cold rink. I still do. So many of my childhood memories are centered around the ice. Hard fought wins. Crushing defeats. Time spent with my dad. I wouldn’t trade any of those memories. They mean too much to me.
My experience growing up wasn’t a perfect one, but it’s mine. And it’s what shaped me into who I am today.
And maybe that person isn’t so bad, after all.
Dad’s gaze lock on mine from across the small table that separates us. “Sometimes I wonder if I wanted your success more than you wanted it for yourself.”
This time, I’m the one inhaling a deep breath, trying to steady all the raging emotions that are roiling through me. I hadn’t expected to delve headfirst into this conversation before our food was even served.
Part of me wondered if we were going to sweep everything neatly under the rug and pretend that last year didn’t happen. I’m kind of shocked that my father is talking about all this so openly and easily. Well, maybe not easily, because I can see that the past is as painful and tender for him as it is for me.
