Chapter 9
Nine
Brody
My legs feel like cooked spaghetti after today’s practice. With every deep breath, I still feel the frozen burn in my lungs.
When Coach whistled to signal practice was over, I almost cheered. The relief is short-lived as I leave the locker room.
I wish I could say I’m surprised to hear my dad’s inconsiderately loud voice carrying down the hall, but I knew this day would
come. I’m shocked he lasted this long, that he wasn’t here on day one leading me onto the ice like I was a child showing up
to their first day of kindergarten. Of course, his intentions aren’t protective in nature. He rarely shows up for me; he’s
here to get his ego stroked, gathering compliments like hockey cards to add to his legacy collection.
My dad’s got Coach Carol cornered. It immediately gives me horrible flashbacks to youth hockey—that one time things went too
far, got too public. In an instant, I revert to that same fourteen-year-old boy who wants to run and hide. Unfortunately,
both men notice me immediately and Coach waves me over. I gulp, almost choking on my saliva and the memories of a childhood
spent chasing an unattainable greatness.
“Jesus. That hair. You look like you’re about to enlist,” my dad says, wasting no time on pleasantries. He’s tanner than I remember. The wrinkles separating his eyebrows deepen as he scans me up and down.
Coach laughs his comment off as if it were a joke. I know it wasn’t. I run my hand over the top of my new buzz cut; it’s a
sensory dream. I think of Olivia every time my head gets cold out on the ice. She was right, shedding the past was therapeutic.
I’m sure the wins will follow. Any game now. We’re due.
“Hey, Dad.” I keep it brief. Small talk is as excruciating as a bag skate.
He smiles his made-for-TV sportscaster grin. “Coach Carol and I were just talking about you,” he says, cheerily.
This is not a compliment. The statement doesn’t warm my heart; it stops it. It’s as scary a thought as it’s intended to be.
My dad’s words are often like rip currents—they appear harmless to the unsuspecting, loving even. But it’s not calm and it’s
not something you can swim through. His words are dangerous, and they swallow me whole.
I grind my teeth, chewing on all the things I can never say.
“You’re so lucky to have Erik as a mentor,” Coach Carol says to me, his hand firmly kneading my dad’s shoulder. They’re already
friendly—most people in hockey are wooed by his charm.
In that moment, my entire body is more tense than it was at any point during today’s practice. Even my knees are locked, which
I only notice because as my heart rate increases, my vision pinholes. I remember to release my breath and shift my weight
in time to force a smile before things get awkward.
“I should get back to work.” Coach’s hand falls off my dad’s shoulder. “Good job out there today, Brody,” he adds before heading
to his office a few doors down.
As soon as he’s out of earshot, I say to my dad, “I didn’t know you were coming.”
“I saw a picture of the new hairdo online and knew I needed to stop by.”
“Did Mom come with you?” I keep my tone neutral, but my dad always sees through it.
“I’m traveling for business—hockey business. Your mom’s at home.”
I knew better than to get my hopes up. My dad insists that us Parker men handle the hockey business, but when it’s all hockey
business, there isn’t much time for anything or anyone else. He searches my face, looking for any splinters. I tighten my
jaw, narrow my eyes. No weakness, especially not in a hockey rink. But it’s not enough. His head still shakes with disappointment.
“Seriously, your head looks like a thumb. Is this a cry for help?” He grabs my arm, feeling my biceps in the process. Body
checking me to make sure I’m measuring up to his expectations.
“It’s a haircut,” I say, wiggling out of his grip. I’m in good shape, probably the best of my career.
“You should have run it by me first. Let’s hope it grows out in time for my Hockey Hall of Fame induction ceremony because
you look ridiculous.” The names won’t be released for months, but he’s already planning his victory lap.
“It’s not about looks,” I quietly reply.
“Everything is about looks. We have an image to uphold.” He shimmies up the sleeve of his blazer to check his signature Rolex
watch—a gift from the Tampa Storm when he played his thousandth NHL game. “We should get out of here. I’ve got a bit of time
before my next flight, and I still want to see your new place.”
“How much time?”
“Not much. Maybe a few hours. I’m headed to Toronto to film an SNN feature story on the recent Hall of Fame renovations. This
is my year, Brody. I can feel it.” He puffs out his chest and for a moment I admire his confidence. “So, no more rash decisions,”
he adds, waving his finger in my face. “Or emotional breakdowns.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
I also wouldn’t dare spend the afternoon with him. I’m not ready to give him my home address and along with it unlimited opportunities
to pop in on me whenever his work schedule so conveniently allows. I need to keep my head in the game, focused on the Freeze—it’s
the only way I’m going to play well, and the only way this team is going to win any games. Dad even said so himself; we have
an image to uphold. The best thing for the Parker legacy is if he stays away.
“Is your phone vibrating?” I ask. But all that’s vibrating are my trembling hands.
While he checks the pocket of his designer sport coat, I discreetly call Olivia and pray she picks up. Her “hello” comes through
and I quickly bring the phone to my ear. “My bad, it was mine,” I tell my dad. “Hey, Olivia. I’m still at the rink so I’ll
be about ten minutes late to our date.”
“Hello? Who is this?” she asks.
I turn away from my dad. I can’t lie and maintain eye contact with him. “You’re so funny. That’s why I love hanging out with
you. Anyway, I’ll see you in about thirty minutes at the Korean café, just like we planned. Cool?” I hold my breath and cross
my fingers that this works.
“Sure.”
“See you soon.” There’s nothing fake about the current smile on my face. I hang up the call before my ploy is spoiled. “You probably overheard that. I’ve already got plans this afternoon,” I tell my dad.
Without missing a beat, he says, “That’s fine. I’ll come. I should meet her. Make sure she’s up to par.”
“Oh. Isn’t that a big step in a relationship?” I stare at my feet. He’s angling for the exit, but I know better than to get
in a car with him. As scary as a public meltdown is, I feel safer inside these walls than I do being alone with him anywhere
else.
“Are you serious about this girl or is she a distraction?” he asks.
“No!” I panic. “I mean, it’s serious.”
This is a disaster. I can’t have my dad crashing my coffee date with Olivia. He thinks it’s a serious relationship, but we’ve
only known each other for two weeks.
“Actually, I’m meeting her parents today. It might be weird if I brought you. I don’t want them getting starstruck.” As I
try to decipher the expression on my dad’s face, Coach Carol interrupts our conversation.
“Hey, Parker.” Coach Carol pops his head out of his office.
We both turn. At the same time as my dad replies, “Yes,” I’m reminding Coach that, “It’s Brody.”
“Birds of a feather.” Coach chuckles. “Erik Parker, wouldn’t want to go over some game tape with me, would you?” he asks.
Neither of us speak. My dad looks over at me with a disappointing glare that lets me know however this afternoon shakes up,
I’m about to fall on the sword for it.
Coach rubs his hand over his salt-and-pepper beard. His nervous tic is usually only reserved for our penalty kill; he must
be really starstruck. “Forget it, you two are probably catching up this afternoon.”
“You’re in luck,” my dad announces. “Brody’s got other plans this afternoon, but a guy like me is always ready to talk hockey
strategy.”
A classic Erik Parker response. If he leaves it at that, he’s letting me off the hook easy this time.
“Let’s watch last night’s tape and start with Brody’s goal in the first,” my dad adds, glaring over at me. He waits for me
to break eye contact first before walking over to Coach’s office.
I hardly feel like I’ve dodged a bullet. I’m not sure which is the lesser evil, but I’m too panicked to give it any more thought.
I need to get out of here. If I stay any longer, I know I’m going to get dragged into that room and be forced to face my dad’s
critiques in the presence of my coach. I check the time. If I stay any longer, I’m going to be late for my date.
By the time Olivia arrives at the Korean café, I’m halfway through my coffee. I’ve hardly calmed down since coming face-to-face
with my dad’s attempted ambush. If anything, the caffeine is making me more anxious, but seeing her walk in and smile at me
from across the room reminds me that I have a layer of protection from my dad. I’ll make this date last until he leaves for
the airport. I hope he has enough sense to keep up the supportive-dad ruse around Coach Carol and the rest of the Freeze’s
coaching staff while they pick apart our most recent game tape.
“Sorry I’m late. I just left a meeting with a potential new client,” Olivia says through winded breath. She swings off her
shoulder bag and drops an armful of paperwork on the table. The stack makes a thud as it touches down.
“How did it go?”
“Waste of my time,” she says, shedding her jacket. “Everyone wants data research, but no one wants to pay for it.”
Looks like I wasn’t the only one who had a bad morning. I feel some guilt over the fact that I have everything most people dream of. I should be more grateful for my life. I’ve never needed a résumé and doubt I ever will. Her disappointment sobers me up.
“I don’t know your order, so I got you an Americano, an iced Americano, a green tea, and a peach fruit-ade. If you’d prefer
a smoothie, I’ll go grab you one.”