Page 87 of Forever Wild
I grab the drink and take it back to the couch, wishing it was something stronger. It’s real irony that my alcoholic father often drives me to wanting to drink.
“When’s camp?” he asks.
“Three weeks. I can’t wait.”
“I remember that feeling.” He drags his gaze away from me and sighs. “I couldn’t even enjoy vacation because I missed being on the ice.”
It’s hard to remember a time when he cared about anything that much. Certainly not me. Actually, that’s not true. He was a good father before he lost his job and became a full-time drunk. But those happy memories are buried so far in my mind it almost feels like a story someone told me instead of my own recollection.
“How’s the new girlfriend?”
My head snaps toward him and my brows furrow. “Girlfriend?”
“That girl that came with you last time. Sharp’s sister. She’s pretty.”
“Everly.” Her name feels like glass in my mouth. “She’s not my girlfriend.”
And pretty? Sure, saying she’s pretty is like saying hockey is fun. True but uninspired.
He studies me for a moment, then a grin takes over his face. He’s smiling so big that my skin itches with discomfort.
“Now I see,” he says.
“You see what?”
“Why you look like shit.” He chuckles and shakes his head. “I didn’t think you’d let that one go so easily.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. Have another drink.” I tip my head to his glass.
His jaw flexes and I feel like shit for stooping low.
“I might not be the smartest man in the world, but on the topic of you, I am an expert,” he says.
It’s rich coming from a guy that hasn’t been to my house or watched me play in years. Sure, he catches it on TV, but it’s not the same. We only have a relationship because I make the effort to check in on him. Who knows how long we’d go between talking if I didn’t.
“Drop it, okay?”
“Fine. Fine.”
We fall quiet as our attention goes back to the game. Watching sports is the one thing we’re capable of doing without being at each other’s throats. Baseball, football, even motocross. Outside of that, we’ve never been good at communicating.
When the game’s over, I get up and head for the door. Dad pushes his chair upright and stands.
“If I don’t make it back before the first home game, tickets will be at will call as usual.” I can’t look him in the eye because if I do, I know I’ll see his answer before he says it.
“You don’t need to waste tickets on me. I prefer seeing all the angles and replays right here.”
I nod and ignore the disappointment. I knew he wouldn’t come, but I buy the tickets every year just in case.
“By the way, this Everly…”
I sigh loudly. “Dad, it’s really not like that.”
Not anymore at least.
“Got it.” Dad works his jaw back and forth like he might want to say more, but then decides against it. “Well, thanks for stopping by.”
My feet pause on the doorstep. “Call if you need anything.”
