Page 128 of Practice Makes Perfect
“But don’t make the mistake of thinking her love is conditional on you making the NHL.” His eyes hold mine. “Your mother would tear down the world for you if you needed it, pro hockey or no pro hockey, and I wouldn’t want to be standing in her way. She’s proud of you and everythingyou’veachieved, Linc, and so am I.”
Something tight in my chest loosens slightly. “Thanks.”
“And she only pushes the hockey so hard because she thinks that’s what you want. She’d be just as enthusiastic if you wanted to be a scientist or a garbage collector.” He shrugs. “Have you ever told her anything different? If you want her to stop pushing you toward the NHL, you need to tell her that.”
That question stops me cold, makes me blink at him.HaveI ever told Mom I don’t want hockey? I’ve complained about her intensity, about the pressure, about how she embarrasses me sometimes… but I’ve never once told her to stop because I don’t want to play.
“I…” I swallow hard. “I guess I haven’t.”
Dad studies me with those patient eyes. “Do you want to stop playing?”
“No.” The answer comes instantly, surprising me with its certainty. “I don’t.”
And it’s true. Despite today’s meltdown, despite the pressure, despite everything—I love the game. I love the ice under my blades, the weight of the stick in my hands, the connection with my teammates, the fierce joy of competition.
And I want to go pro.
“So there it is,” Dad says, his voice gentle. “Your mother thinks she’s supporting your dream because she knows it’s your dream too.”
I scrub my hands over my face, feeling the scratch of stubble. “Shit. I’ve been blaming her for heaping pressure on me that I would have been feeling anyway.”
“Anyone chasing something difficult feels pressure, Linc. But those who make it own the pressure, rather than blaming someone else for it.” A tiny smile touches the corner of Dad’s mouth. “That said, your mother does get carried away. It’s part of why I fell in love with her. But it can be… a lot.”
“Tell me about it,” I mutter, but there’s no bite in it.
“I’ll talk to her,” Dad says. “But she loves you, Lincoln. More than anything on this earth. Don’t shut her out because she loves you too loudly.”
I nod, surprising myself with the wetness that springs to my eyes. “I don’t want her to stop. Just… tone it down a little, maybe? It’s just…”
“Overwhelming.”
“Yeah.” I let out a shaky breath.
Dad nods. “What about the girl? Em, you said?”
My stomach clenches at her name. “What about her?”
“You care about her.”
It’s not a question, but I answer anyway. “Yeah. A lot.”
“But you’re worried that she only likes you because you’re…”
“The campus ‘bed chem’ guy,” I say, wincing at how it sounds out loud. “Guy with the good reputation. Future NHL player.” I shake my head. “What if that’s all I am to her? A story she’ll tell someday about the hockey player she dated in college?”
Dad considers this. “There’s only one way to know.”
“What’s that?”
“Talk to her.”
I stare at him. “That’s it? That’s your advice? ‘Talk to her’?”
“Or I could send an email?” The ghost of a smile touches his lips.
“Asshole.” I shake my head. “I can’t just walk up to her…”
“Why not?” Dad says. “You could apologize for hurting her. Explain what was going through your head. Be honest about your insecurities.” He pauses. “That’s all any of us can do,Lincoln. The hard conversations—they don’t get easier if you run from them—and it sounds like you’ve got a few to have.”
