Page 40 of Cheap Shot
“Fair, but it’s not the same. Now you are a member of the team, not just the coach’s youngest daughter.” Parker shrugs, turning to the right and heading toward the locker room at the end of the hall, but I stop in my tracks.
I don’t know why the thought never crossed my mind until right now. I’ll work for the same team as my father. The team he has coached for Lord knows how many seasons. I was so worried about no one on the hiring team finding out who my father was and giving me preferential treatment, I didn’t even stop to think about what might happen afterward.
The entire training team and all the players have probably seen the picture Dad has sitting on the edge of his desk of me and my two sisters. Sure, the photo is from before I left for college, but other than the length of my hair, not much about me has changed since then.
I can feel my anxiety slowly ramping up. My heart pounds in my chest, and the sound of blood rushing through my veins is slowly getting louder, filling my ears. I close my eyes and begin counting, hoping to get my emotions under control. My mind races as I try to think of the perfect way to continue to keep my anonymity.
“Is there any way to keep that under wraps?” I question, my mind racing at ways to cover this up.
I usually just go by Michele at work, not bothering to use my last name for anything, but that doesn’t mean no one will notice. Dad will more than likely be watching me like a hawk, looking for the first chance he can to complain about me to human resources, but I doubt he’s going to let his players step one toe out of line with me.
My hands shake as my eyes frantically search for something to focus on. I can’t have a panic attack, not here. Not in the middle of the hallway where anyone can come by and see me. They won’t understand what’s happening—hell, I’m not even sureIunderstand why I’m freaking out over something so trivial.
“What do you want to keep it under wraps?” Parker spins around, eyeing me suspiciously, but I say nothing. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Just worried about people finding out about my dad.” My voice sounds off, but thankfully, he doesn’t notice as my hand tightens around the straps of my backpack. The rough feeling of the all-weather material scrapes my palms.
Deep breath in, and let it out slowly.
Shit. I need to focus. But I can’t. No matter how much I breathe and count, still trying to focus on the world around me, nothing is helping the pain radiating through my chest as I try to focus on anything else but the fear of being told I’m inadequate.
No one is going to believe that Dad didn’t help me get this job, that I earned it. I’m more than qualified—overqualified if you ask Dad for his opinion—but no one is going to believe me. The minute they learn my last name…
Deep breath in, and let it out slowly.
Thankfully, I’ve got panicking to a science, where no one usually notices as I spiral, but this time, I’m not so lucky.
“Hey.” Warm hands grip my clenched fists, the heat warming my freezing limbs as my eyes snap open. Standing right in front of me with a warm smile is Parker. “You got this. Just breathe with me, okay?”
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 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.
“I’m sorry,” I croak, my eyes scanning the hallway, searching to see who might have noticed what happened.
That is probably the worst part about my episodes. It’s the feeling of embarrassment afterward. Everyone has things they are worried about, but the physical manifestations of those fears are looked down upon. I can’t even count how many times I’ve been told to suck it up and that life can’t be as bad as I’m making it out to be. Oh, how fucking much I wish that were true! All the pills and therapy make it slightly easier to deal with, but it’s not a cure. It’s more like a Band-Aid to help me function daily. But it doesn’t make the trauma disappear. Your mind and body remember things forever. The only thing I can do is find a healthy way to cope and process my thoughts and feelings.
“Everything is going to be all right, Michele.” Parker pulls me into his side for a quick hug before putting some space between us. “The team already knows the new physio is starting today.”
“But do they know about my dad?” I whisper, not wanting to take the chance of someone passing by overhearing our conversation.
“I doubt it.” Parker smiles before turning on his heels and taking the last few steps toward the locker room. “Is that what you were panicking about?”
My cheeks heat with embarrassment as I shake my head. I wait for him to laugh at me or make light of the fact that I’m so afraid of anyone finding out my secret, but he does none of those things. Parker only smiles and shakes his head.
“I’m sorry you were stressing about this, but there’s no need for anyone to say anything to the team unlessyouwant to.”
“But if they find out… what if they think—” I begin, but Parker cuts me off.
“Who cares what they think, Michele?” He cradles my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing against my cheeks, helping me focus on something other than the panic swelling in my belly for the second time. “Nothing they say or do can change the fact that you earned a spot on the team. It had nothing to do with your last name or anyone else. You put in the work. You were chosen out of hundreds of applicants.”
Parker is right. No one knew who I was when I applied for this position. I used a fake name because I wanted to prove to myself that I could do this without Dad's interference. And I did, so what else is left to prove? I want to prove to Dad that this is what I want to do with the rest of my life. Helping players continue to play a sport that has been a part of me my entire life. If it weren’t for hockey, my dad never would have met my mom. My sisters and I never would’ve been born. I practically owe hockey my life.
“Besides, they are going to find out eventually because you’re practically a female version of Coach.”
I recoil at his statement, wondering what the hell he’s talking about. “I am not.”
I mean, the man is my father, so there is bound to be some familial resemblance, but a spitting image of Dad? No fucking way.
