Chapter 7 Brody
SEVEN
brODY
The door to my penthouse condo slams shut. Heavy footsteps stomp down the hall. I look up from my laptop just as Olivia charges into the kitchen like a bat out of hell.
She drops her backpack on the floor and rips open the pantry, grumbling under her breath. I blink, wondering when I should intervene, and decide it’s best if I keep my mouth shut.
Fourteen years of being a parent, and I still can’t figure shit out.
Add in a teenage girl going through body changes and trying to survive high school while I’m starting the hockey season and about to be on the road the majority of the next eight and a half months? I’m out of my element.
I learned a long time ago that Olivia takes after me.
She’s stubborn. Hard-headed and fiercely determined.
The more I push her to do something, the less likely she is to do it, so I keep my mouth shut.
I press play on my laptop, watching video from last night’s game that resulted in us giving up two goals to a team significantly less talented than us.
I slow the speed on the footage and jot down some notes on the piece of paper in front of me, keeping an eye on Olivia as she pours herself a glass of orange juice and lays out a stack of crackers.
“Dad,” she says.
“Hm? What?” I pretend like I didn’t notice she was there. “Oh. Hi, sweetie. What’s up?”
“Everything fucking sucks.”
“What did I tell you about cursing?”
“You curse all the time.” She drops in the chair across the table from me and sighs. “And you turned out just fine.”
“Thanks, kid.” I shut my computer so I can give her my full attention.
I love my job. I put a lot of time into it, but being a parent—even one who is flying by the seat of his fucking pants—will always come first. Especially when my daughter seems like she’s on the verge of a crisis. “Why does everything suck?”
“Practice was horrible.”
“Did you get hurt?” I assess her knees and feet, checking for a brace or a wrapped ankle. I’m relieved to find pink leg warmers and no bandages. “I don’t see any injuries.”
“No, I didn’t get hurt.” Olivia groans and buries her face in her hands. “Coach Susannah is having a baby.”
“Uh. Okay? How does that have anything to do with your figure skating?”
“Because she’s taking a leave of absence and I won’t have a coach anymore!” Her shoulders shake, but I resist reaching out so I can give her space. “With only ten months until the Potomac Memorial Open, which is my shot at a national qualifying series, I can’t not have a coach!”
“Ten months? That’s a long way away, isn’t it?”
“Says the guy who is planning for the Stanley Cup even though it’s October.”
“Fair point.” I rub my jaw. “Okay. I’ll pay someone a shit ton of money, and they won’t be able to say no.”
“It doesn’t work like that, Dad. People don’t care that you’re a millionaire.
” She lifts her head, and I’m surprised she’s crying.
I know skating means the world to her, but this feels easily solvable.
“There are regimented schedules. Designated time we can use the ice, and I’m a solo skater.
I don’t have a partner, so I have no one to join.
Everything I’ve worked so hard for is going to shit. ”
“Language, Livvy.” I sigh. “Have you told your mother what’s going on? She’s good with these kinds of things—talking to people. Social interaction. It’s not exactly my forte.”
“I know. Everyone annoys you.” She rolls her eyes. “Mom said to talk to you because you’re the one with the checkbook and resources. But I’m telling you, we can’t buy our way into a new training schedule, Dad.”
I snort, knowing it’s exactly what Kali would say.
I love Olivia more than anything else in my life, but she’s the result of a drunken one-night stand.
The details are hazy, but the weeks leading up to the moment I invited Kali back to my place are as clear as day: the conversation with my head coach and the athletic trainer after the pain in my knee plagued me when I returned to the lineup post-surgery.
The meeting with the team’s president and general manager who assessed my performance and said I was taking up a roster spot from someone healthier than me.
Officially announcing my retirement from the NHL and the black hole I spiraled into, refusing to leave my apartment.
I saw myself as a failure. I didn’t know who I was without hockey, and I shut down. I cut out friends, family. The only time I ventured out was to go to a bar down the road from my place. I was wasted and met a woman who didn’t give a shit about my last name or the jersey I would never wear again.
One thing led to another. I panicked when Kali tracked me down on social media and told me she was pregnant. We talked about options, but at the end of the day, I knew the decision was hers.
Nine months later, Liv was born.
Kali and I tried dating. In the beginning, things were good between us.
With no hockey, I was always home, and we were happy.
Then, the disagreements started. We were exhausted all the time.
We fought about everything: her wanting to go out for dinner.
Me wanting to stay in. After six months, we decided we were much better as friends who co-parented their rambunctious as hell daughter than a couple who’d found their happily ever after.
We’re present in each other’s lives. We show up for Liv, and Kali still doesn’t care about my last name or the money I have.
She’s never asked for anything. Never threatened to take me to court, and now she’s happily married to a dude named Bryant who collects Christmas ornaments and thinks I coach lacrosse.
He’s not a big sports guy.
“Let me talk to some people at the arena who have daughters. And Liam. He takes skating lessons in the summer. Someone has to know something. I’ll make some calls.”
“Wait.” Liv giggles and wipes her eyes. “Liam figure skates?”
“Yup. Helps with improving edge control and agility.”
“I wonder if Coach Susannah has worked with him.”
“No way. She’s too nice to put up with him.” I scoop my phone off the table and stand, grateful for the break in work. “Let me see what I can do, kid. Hope is not lost.”
“Thanks, Dad. You’re the best.”
Olivia smiles up at me. There’s a pang in my chest when I look at her, and I’m hit with the terrible realization that she’s not four years old anymore.
She’s a young adult going after her dreams, and I remember what I was like at her age: relentless.
Spending every waking hour on the ice honing my skills so I would be the best college recruit the country had ever seen.
I know what my parents sacrificed to make that happen.
The hours they put in shuttling me to and from practice, which somehow led me here, but I wouldn’t change a thing.
It’s why I’m going to scour this city from high to low until I find the best coach for my daughter.
I don’t care what I have to offer them. If it makes Olivia happy, I’ll do it.
“Start on your homework. I know you have an algebra test tomorrow,” I say, heading for my bedroom.
“It got canceled,” she yells after me.
“Study anyway,” I call back, shutting my door and sitting on my bed.
I know what I have to do, but I’m not excited about it.
I’ve always kept my interactions with players to a minimum.
I don’t spend time with them off the ice.
I don’t text them like they’re my best friends, but in the time that’s passed since Riley’s accident, I’ve let myself be more accessible to them.
I’ve eased up on shutting them down so quickly when they ask me to hang out away from practice and games because they’re my family. And family is really fucking important, especially after going through a tragedy that nearly ripped us apart.
Riley is doing well. There are good days and there are bad days, but overall, we’re treading toward more good days. He spent some time last season coaching, and the kid has a talent for paying attention to detail.
I’m still holding out hope he’ll be able to play again one day. It would be a goddamn dream to see him put on a jersey back on.
I drum my fingers against my phone and groan, typing out a text to the team.
Me
Have a favor to ask. Does anyone know any figure skating coaches? Sullivan, who is the person you’re with in the offseason?
Richardson
No fucking WAY. Did Coach create a group chat? This is the best day of my LIFE.
Me
This is for research purposes only. When I get the answer I need, I’m blocking all of your numbers so I can’t be added to anything else.
Miller
I knew he liked us off the ice. One day apart, and he can’t bear the thought of us not being around.
Hayes
Hey, Coach. I know Lucy just started lessons, so I’ll check with Madeline and see who she’s with. Is this for a beginner? A rookie you’re trying to book some more time on the ice for?
Me
It’s for my daughter, who is very talented and has dreams of making the Olympics. Her coach is taking a leave of absence, and she’s panicking.
Richardson
Dude. G-Money. Your sister is a figure skater. Does she coach kids?
I stare at Ethan’s message and promptly throw my phone into the pillows. It buzzes twice, answering a question I want nothing to do with, and I’m about to change my goddamn number.
Reaching out to Hannah Everett is not part of the plan.
The last time I saw her, I was six seconds away from fucking her before I stormed out of her apartment and never looked back.
I’ve purposely avoided every team gathering where she might be in attendance.
Friends and Family night at the rink where everyone’s parents, significant others, kids, and partners joined for food and fun? I said I was sick.
The party the guys put together to celebrate Riley’s one-year anniversary of surviving his accident? I didn’t have to pretend I had food poisoning when I overheard Grant mention she wouldn’t be there.
It’s better this way. There aren’t complicated feelings or getting involved with someone who has a life completely opposite from mine.
If she even wanted to be involved with me after the way I left that night.
There’s no way in hell she would.
I wake up. I coach hockey. I review game footage and make lineup changes. Eat a meal or two and hang out with my kid. After all of that, I go to sleep, and I do not fucking think about the blonde-haired, long-legged woman with a ribbon in her hair who seems to haunt me.
Yeah fucking right.
My phone vibrates again, and I know it’s not going to stop anytime soon. I reach over, scowling at the messages that have come in.
Everett
Oh, yeah. Hannah skates, and she’s damn good.
She told me she’s been going through some things lately. I bet she wouldn’t mind the extra cash. I’ll text her.
I reread Grant’s message and want to scream.
What the hell is she going through? Is she okay? Is she safe?
More importantly, why the fuck do I care?
Richardson
Tell her I think she’s hot and I’ll make her feel better.
Everett
Shut the fuck up, Ethan. I’ll kick your ass if you touch her.
Richardson
Who says I haven’t already?
Sullivan
Congratulations, Coach. You’ve unleashed a monster. I’m blaming you when I play like shit at morning skate.
And, yeah. I work with Belinda Powers in the summer, but she’s busy. Been coaching an NCAA girl taking a gap year who’s the best skater I’ve seen in decades.
Miller
Rude. I’m right here.
Sullivan
You’re old and slow.
Miller
Goddamn, Goalie Daddy. That wasn’t very nice.
Me
We’re finished here. Morning skate is at 9 tomorrow. Last person on the ice is doing laps.
Richardson
9?? I thought it was 11!!
Me
You all are pissing me off. Now it’s 9.
Everett
Dammit, Ethan.
Richardson
Don’t blame me!!
I delete the group chat, but I can’t get a moment of peace because a minute later, my phone rings. Grant’s name is on the screen, and my pulse jumps with anticipation.
Based on his reaction to Ethan’s comment, there’s no way he knows about me and his sister. If he did, he would’ve decked me in the face by now. I’m still on edge when I answer his call, doing a lap around my room to calm myself down.
“Hello?”
“Coach.” I can hear him grinning on the other end of the line. “What’s up?”
“You’re calling me, Everett.”
“Right.” He laughs, and there’s a muffled voice behind him asking a question I can’t make out. “I texted my sister and asked if she would ever consider coaching. Not to brag or be an obnoxious big brother, but she really is one of the best skaters in the country.”
“You didn’t need to do that,” I say.
“She said she’s interested in hearing more. I’m going to give you her number.”
“That’s not—”
“If you want your daughter to be the best, you’re going to need Hannah,” he says, and I sigh.
He’s not wrong.
After the night at her apartment, I went down the rabbit hole of watching her old skating routines.
She’s better than good. She’s fantastic.
I’ve never seen someone move so effortlessly on the ice, and my job is to literally get people to skate like that.
There’s fluidity in her movements. A lightness to the way she glides, and she’s graceful on top of all of it.
It’s the most beautiful thing in the world.
I’m not keeping track of her successes. Just… researching.
For Olivia.
“Fine,” I grumble. “Give me her number. I’ll reach out.”
“Sweet. I’ll text you in a few.” There’s a soft giggle on his end of the phone followed by a sigh. “Gotta run, Coach. See ya in the morning.”
“Everett,” I bark out, and he clears his throat.
“Yes sir?”
“Are you behaving yourself?”
“Of course I am.” He laughs, and I’m not convinced. “Later, Coach.”
We hang up, and he texts me her number. Hannah’s information is right there in the middle of my screen, and I take a deep breath.
Tomorrow, I tell myself.
I’ll message her tomorrow.