Page 100 of Puck with Karma
Our last game with the Sliders was a blood bath. I took my shot and punched Brandon Karlsberg. He got me good, too, but still not as good as I got him. His front teeth flew out of his mouth, blood was everywhere, and I loved every second of it.
That was a week ago, and I’m still thinking about it.
I’ve also done some pretty questionable things during this time, like texting Mallory and implying that I cared about her, that I always have, in the hopes that it would cause friction with Karlsberg. But it did nothing. I don’t know why I did that, why I do anything anymore.
I am now sitting on the couch in my apartment, wondering what it would take to move. I can’t stand being here anymore. And, most of all, I hate the fucking bathroom. Every time I walk in there, I look at that tub and remember Abby inside of it, then me with her in it, us making out, me making her feel good, water sloshing all around us…
A soft knock comes from the door to the apartment. If I were to guess, I’d say it’s Noah, so I make my way to let him in since Iknow he won’t quit knocking if I don’t. He’s made it his mission to come visit me up here regardless if we have a game or not.
Imagine my surprise when it’s not him on the other side of the door.
“Dad.”
I remain standing in the doorway, and, to his credit, he doesn’t try to bulldoze his way into my apartment for once.
“May I come in?”
I shrug and step away, leaving him alone at the door. I walk back to the couch and drop in my recently vacated seat, staring at the large TV on the wall, but not really seeing anything.
After a few moments’ hesitation, he sighs and steps inside. The door closes behind him, and he slowly walks toward the living room. He stops in front of the chair that’s to the right of the couch, then sits without saying a word.
We are in a weird standoff, where I am looking at the screen of the TV and he is looking at me. When he sighs and leans forward, I brace myself. He’s about to speak, and nothing good has ever come out of it when we tried it before.
“I was wrong.”
I force myself not to react to his… statement? Apology? What is this?
“I’ve always been proud of you,” he continues. “I knew the potential you had from the first time we put you on the ice.”
I turn my head to look at him. There’s not much I feel nowadays, and him telling me that means nothing to me.
“So you decided to use it to your benefit?”
He sighs again. “I can see why you’d think so. But it’s never been about that.”
“What has it been about?”
I sound very sarcastic even to my own ears. But I don’t give a shit. What do I have to lose? He already told me he’d take everything from me.
“I wanted you to have a secure future. Since this is not a traditional job you have, someone had to watch out for you. You won’t be able to play forever. And when you stop, what will happen? How will you sustain yourself?”
I don’t say anything, just watch him, hoping to see him squirming in his seat. Instead, he leans forward and places a large envelope on the coffee table in front of me. I didn’t even realize he was holding something.
“What’s this?”
“This shows all the business side of your job. I invested most of your money,” he explains. “You will see that there’s been a great return on all of it. You will also notice there’s a percentage that goes to me at the end of each month.”
I grab the envelope and rip it open. When I pull the documents out, I try to make out what I’m reading. The amounts I see totaled at the bottom don’t make any sense to me.
“This is a lot of money,” I point at the one paper showing the investments. “That’s money coming in?”
“Correct.”
I flip a few more pages. I’m not even sure what I’m looking for. This is something I was never involved in, and to see it all now is mind blowing.
I freeze when I get to the end and notice the nominal fee that’s being paid to my father every month.
“They must’ve given you the wrong numbers,” I tell him now. No matter how I do the math in my head, I can’t process what I see in front of me.
