Page 29 of Cheap Shot
Unsure of what to say, I smile at her awkwardly before turning to head out of her office and toward the locker room. Dad has a fancy office on the executive level at the top of the arena, but he prefers to be down in the trenches, as he calls it. He’s happiest when he’s in the locker room with his players. I have a feeling it has more to do with being able to hear if anyone is talking crap about him, but I could never prove it. Either way, Dad loves his players, and they love him. If having a tiny office in the locker room makes him happy, then so be it.
I find a safe spot away from prying eyes and drop to the ground, my arms wrapped tightly around my legs. “If it weren’t for bad luck, I wouldn’t have any luck at all,” I whisper to myself, attempting to make sense of everything that’s happened.
My chest tightens as if all the air is being sucked out of the room and someone has wrapped their fingers around my neck. I struggle to take a breath as panic bubbles up from my stomach and settles in my chest. Beads of sweat dot my forehead as my eyes snap shut, my lips moving slightly as I slowly count backward from ten in my head. I continue counting, willing my body to calm down, only getting to three before sucking in a gasping breath and falling to the side.
This is not the time for me to start freaking out. I just need to get off the floor, walk into Dad’s office, and tell him I found the job of my dreams, then leave. Easy peasy, right? Wrong. I’m an adult. I make my own decisions about my career, but on the other hand, I’m a slightly reformed people pleaser. I say slightly because I have no problem standing up for myself when it comes to anyone but my dad. The idea of seeing that disappointed look in his eyes when I tell him terrifies me.
I need to find something, anything, to ground me.
My eyes snap open and search the hallway for anything that could help, landing on a fire extinguisher hanging from the wall. Not the most obvious choice, but for now, it will have to do. I think about the cool metal beneath my hands as I run my fingertips along the side of it. The sound the latch would make as I pulled it off the wall.
Deep breath in, and let it out slowly.
My skin on my arms tingles as images of fire licking up the walls around me filter into my mind. Feelings of being surrounded and trapped in this tiny corner with no way to escape replace the small amount of calm I managed to muster. My entire body shakes with nerves, and I can barely focus on anything but my fear and the pain radiating through my chest. I throw my hands out in front of me, trying desperately to get past this feeling of the walls closing in. I slam my eyes shut, trying to think of anything else as I gasp loudly for air. I need to think of something else, something to help my mind calm, even if only slightly.
“Fire extinguishers are red. Red things. Think of red things,” I mumble to myself as tears pour down my cheeks.
Stacey’s hair. My favorite sweater. Apples. These things are all red. A memory of last fall, when I last wore that sweater to go apple picking with Stacey and Kyle before I moved back to Oregon. I latch on to it, letting my mind remember that day with perfect clarity.
Deep breath in, and let it out slowly.
Stacey's red hair was piled on top of her head, sun streaks of blonde peeking through. She tucked her hand into mine as we ran toward the trees. Stacey had never been apple picking before, unlike Kyle and me, so her excitement to be spending the day doing something new was written all over her face. We spent almost the entire day picking apples and drinking cider, talking about what our futures would be like after graduation. We were all sad that Kyle was staying behind, needing to finish his degree while hoping for a shot at an NHL contract after graduation. This was one of the last times we were all able to be together.
No! Happy thoughts only.
Stacey and I had just heard about getting a position at the hospital here in Portland. I remember sitting at the picnic tables, showing Kyle the apartments we had planned to rent, and him helping us choose. We talked about how we were going to decorate it and how excited we were to have a place to call our own.
In and out. In and out.
I gasp for breath, my cheeks and chest feeling like they’re on fire as I allow the air to slowly fill my lungs, easing my panic. I push up to a seated position, resting my back against the door for a second time. The tightness in my chest subsides, allowing me to breathe easier.
It shouldn’t be this hard to talk to my dad. He’s my dad. He should support me no matter what, but I know that’s not true. I know the lecture is coming. He’ll tell me how I should want more for my life and about being someone special. I wish he’d see that being happy is more important than all of those things. That as long as I’m happy, nothing else should matter to him.
I thump my head against the door a few times, trying to think of something—anything—else. Fear once again tightens its grip around my heart, but this time, I fight it. I need to get a grip. Obviously, I already have the job. There is no going back now. Dad can’t fire me or force me to take another position. I have the job of my dreams, and now I just need to find a way to keep it. I’ve got to figure out how to tell my dad that this is what I want, what I have always wanted, and I sure a shit can’t do that sitting on the hallway floor.
Maybe it won’t be so bad.
I scoff at myself, knowing damn well it's going to be bad. Dad has always had a plan for my sister’s and my life. And I was happy to follow that plan, no matter how miserable it made me, but after taking my first psychology class and going back to therapy, I knew that wasn’t an option. It’s one of the reasons I left Oregon and went out of state for school, unlike my sisters. I needed the space to grow, to find out who I wanted to be as a person without my family hovering and trying to influence all of my decisions.
I probably should’ve stayed away from my family, but I missed them. Well, most of them. But I came home because I wanted to prove to myself that I could do it. That I could get past this last hurdle and reclaim my life for myself. In my head, it would be easy to come home a new person. My family would see how I had changed and be happy for me, but that is not how it went down.
I need a pep talk.
I need my hype team: Stacey and Kyle. I reach up, swiping my cheeks for any stray tears, and push to my feet. Quickly glancing at my watch, I notice it’s too early to call Stacey since she’s at the therapy center, but Kyle should be out of class for the day and headed to training. Thank the lord for time differences. With my mind made up, I pull out my phone and swipe my thumb across the screen to unlock it. As if I conjured him out of thin air, my phone chimes, and an unread text message from Kyle appears on the screen.
“Speak of the devil,” I say into the empty room before ignoring the message and calling him instead.
Kyle picks up on the first ring, his cheerful voice instantly soothing my still-frayed nerves. “How’s my favorite physiotherapist?”
“Do you know any other physiotherapists?” I roll my eyes, remembering the first time Kyle and I met, his freshman year.
Kyle and I are the same age, but I was entering my senior year at the university's physical therapy program. Overachiever, remember? I was helping out with the athletic trainers for the hockey team at the time, and Kyle came limping in, his knee gashed open with a stream of blood on the ground behind him. Apparently, one of his teammates dared him to attempt some figure skating move, and Kyle took a skate to the knee. It literally made no sense to me how that could possibly have happened, but now knowing Kyle, it makes perfect sense.
Clumsy should be his middle name. After getting his knee patched up and swatting him on the back of the head for being so reckless, the two of us have been the best of friends. People always assumed that we were a thing, not that we never used that to our advantage over the years, but nothing ever happened between us. Good thing because things would be even more awkward than they already are.
“No, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be my favorite.” Kyle chuckles softly, but instead of having the usual calming effect on my nerves, I’m even more amped.
“I love you with all my heart, Kyle, but I’m kind of having an existential crisis right now.” I sigh, sliding back down the wall to the floor.
