Page 56 of Wildcat
“Are you nervous about the game tomorrow?”
“Always,” he says. “They’re a talented group. Maybe the most talented I’ve ever coached.”
“Shouldn’t that make you less nervous than normal?” He never sleeps the night before the first home game. As far back as I can remember.
He laughs softly. “Probably.”
“I get it. It’s like when I’m taking pictures of something really beautiful or special and the light is perfect, I expect the quality of my photography skills to be better, too.”
“Taken anything recently I can see?”
“You mean like when I forced you to look at an hour worth of my study abroad pictures and you fell asleep?” I sent pictures while I was gone, of course, but I held back all my favorites to see their reactions in person. Dad was out after ten minutes. To be fair, there were a lot and most of them were buildings and churches. The other half had Rhyse in them.
“I’m mostly doing favors for friends and trying to come up with a portfolio before I apply for photographer positions.”
He nods his approval. “I know why I’m up burning the midnight oil, but why are you?”
“I told Mom that I dropped my classes.” She was giving me the third-degree on missing classes to travel with the team and I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Ah.” His eyes briefly widen. “That explains why she’s up there with her sleep machine on listening to the soothing sounds of the ocean.”
I’d bet a month’s salary she also has on her gel sleep mask, slipped into silk pajamas, painted her nails, and journaled before bed. My mother drowns herself in self-care when she gets stressed. I’m not hating on her methods, but they’re a sure warning sign for the rest of us to give her space to decompress when she’s going through her ritual. It makes being the one to cause it that much more miserable to see her in that state.
“She’ll come around. We both want to see you happy.”
“I am,” I say. Or I’m getting there, anyway.
The next nightI ride to the first home game with Mom. Her nail game is on point and her face has the dewy glow of a day at the spa. She hasn’t mentioned school or photography, but I noticed she restocked the Fruity Pebbles.
At the arena, we get drinks and popcorn and find our seats. We’re so close to the ice, I could toss popcorn over the plexi glass onto the Wildcats bench.
Dad, as if he has some sort of sixth sense alerting him to our arrival, turns as we’re sitting down and waves. He looks handsome in a navy suit with a striped navy, white, and green tie.
“Did you pick out that suit and tie combo?” I ask as I wave back to Dad. He flashes his same old dad smile and then turns back and slips right back into Coach Miller mode.
“I told you, last year he was voted the worst dressed coach in the league. I took the necessary precautions to make sure that doesn’t happen again.”
“How did you get rid of all of the baggy polyester blends he’s been trying to bring back since he wore them in the nineties?”
She grins. The proud grin of a woman who has outsmarted her man. “I refused to take them to the dry cleaner.”
Why does it not surprise me that my dad would rather buy new suits and ensure that my mom continues to run his errands than make weekly trips to the dry cleaner himself? He’s all about efficiency.
The players are on the ice warming up. I scan, looking for Leo. He texted earlier to make sure I was still coming tonight and to invite me out after. I gave him a noncommittal,We’ll see.
I had fun with him yesterday, but he’s a star hockey player and I’m… rebuilding. Or maybe it’s just building, since I haven’t successfully made anything of myself yet.
I’m confident in me. I’m awesome. I just liked him better when I thought he was in the same stage of life as me. And before I knew he was a Wildcat.
When I find him, he’s already got that dark gaze aimed at me. One long leg is up on the wall next to the bench, stretching. Ash is next to him, his longer hair a shade lighter than Leo’s. He talks and Leo nods like he’s listening, but he keeps staring at me.
Mom nudges me. “Scar?”
“Yeah.” I snap my attention to her and my cheeks warm.
Laughing, she says, “I asked how working with your dad was going?”
I glance back at Leo. He’s no longer in the same spot, but I find him by the back of his jersey. Lohan, number fourteen. “It’s been good, actually. I missed him while I was gone.”
