Chapter 32 #2
Unfortunately it doesn’t take a psychology degree to be able to tell that what he’s doing to them both is just as harmful to their son as it is to Maggie.
I’m glad she’s finally taking him back to court.
Hopefully she’ll at least get more child support since she has the kid ninety percent of the time instead of just fifty like they originally agreed.
“Look, Dad. I know you think relationships are a waste of time.”
“It’s not that?—”
“Yeah,” I interrupt. “It is. I know you’ve been bitter ever since you and Mom split up.
But I really think you need to stop projecting your issues with Mom onto me.
I’m not you. Mom was never the problem, except that you resented her for expecting you to help out.
Which is pretty dumb, if you ask me, since you had to do all the housework when you moved into your own place.
But that’s not the point. You don’t care about my opinion about your and Mom’s relationship, and I don’t blame you.
” He tries to interject a few times, but I keep talking, not letting him get a word in.
“I also understand why you thought I should avoid relationships when I was younger. I traveled a lot in the Juniors, lived with a host family, spent all my time in school or on the ice. Trying to date wouldn’t have worked out well for anyone.
It wouldn’t have been fair to whatever girl I was with, or, like you were always afraid of, I’d take time away from training to spend time with her. ”
He grunts, and I pause for a second to see if he has anything to say. “Oh, is it my turn to talk?” he asks.
“No. I’m not finished.” He lets out a humorless chuckle, and I keep going.
“I get all that, and I don’t fault your advice at all.
Look how far it got me. But I’m thirty-one now, Dad.
I have a career. I’ve made it. I don’t need to worry about someone keeping me from achieving my goals.
I’ve hit all the big ones. Sure, I want to win a Stanley Cup, but that isn’t entirely within my control.
All I can do is play my best every game.
And I do that. And having a girlfriend isn’t going to change that. ”
When I finish, Dad waits another beat before asking, “Are you done now?”
“Yes. And to be honest, Dad, I don’t really care if you like it or not. If you’re going to lecture me about having a girlfriend, you might as well save your breath. Be as disappointed in me as you like. It’s not going to change anything.”
He lets out another wry chuckle. “Oh, you’re all grown now and don’t need my input. I see how it is. Your career’s doing amazing, meanwhile you did an interview that made you look like a fool.”
I grind my teeth at the reminder. “That interview was set up by the team’s PR department. The direction it took caught us all off guard. The team knows as well as I do that none of what was said is true.”
“Then why haven’t you sued him for slander? The fact you’re just sitting around—well, no, that’s not accurate is it? The fact that you’re running all over town with some?—”
“Watch what you call her, Dad,” I warn, my voice low and menacing.
—“With some woman ,” he says, spitting out woman like it’s a dirty word, letting me know in no uncertain terms that he’d rather say whore or bitch.
He was a good dad when I was little—or at least I thought so—and he helped me to become the hockey player I am, and there’s no denying it.
But he hates women. Did he always? Is that why he and Mom didn’t work out?
He kept it under wraps enough at first, but then couldn’t anymore and she wouldn’t put up with it?
I hadn’t ever thought of that, but after hearing Maggie’s story of how her ex treated her, and how much worse it got after they had a kid, it makes me wonder if Dad ever liked Mom at all, or if he just saw her as a conquest, a step in the line of expected milestones—grow up, get a job, get married, buy a house, have kids.
She was just something that filled in a blank, and when she didn’t like being relegated only to that, he made her miserable to the point that she divorced him.
Honestly, who could blame her? Other than Dad, of course.
“Running around with that woman, whose name is Maggie, by the way, has helped rehab the reputation that you’re so concerned with,” I say quietly.
“Being seen as a drunken partier is what gave Brock Savage the ammunition he needed to go after me like that. It doesn’t matter that I wasn’t partying before the playoffs—ever.
It only matters that I’ve been seen doing it enough that it seems plausible.
And people who don’t know any better believed him.
Still believe him, even though the team got the interview taken down.
And I haven’t sued him yet because I’m following the advice of the team’s legal department.
I’ve been advised to keep my head down and my nose clean, so that’s what I’ve been doing.
And even though I’ve been seen out and about with Maggie, not even the team has been upset about that.
Our PR told me to keep doing what I’m doing, and to give them a heads up if I’m going to anything high profile again, like another baseball game, so they know to expect it. That’s all.”
“I still don’t like it,” he grumbles. “Women are a distraction. Just you wait. You’ll see. You’ve listened to me so far, and it’s served you well. Why do you think now’s any different?”
“Because I have teammates in happy relationships? Hell, our captain’s been married his whole career and has two little kids. He doesn’t have any scandals attached to his name, either, so I think it’s worked out well for him.”
“What makes you think everything’s as happy as it seems for him? And even if he is, there’s always an exception that proves the rule.”
“What makes you think I can’t be an exception too?
” I ask, my voice deadly quiet, daring him to contradict me.
“I already am, aren’t I? I’ve already made it to the pros.
How many kids who I grew up playing hockey with can say the same?
Hell, how many of the guys on my Juniors team made it this far and are still playing?
I can count us all on one hand and have fingers leftover.
You can feel and think whatever you like.
But I’m not going to listen to it anymore. I’m hanging up now, Dad.”
“Now just hold on—” he starts, but I don’t let him finish.
Instead, I pull the phone away from my face and hit the end button, just like I said I was going to.
He calls back immediately—because of course he does.
He can’t let me get the last word. But I send him to voicemail.
He can rant and rave in there all he wants.
I’ll get to it when I get to it. Or not.
The reality is, though, that he doesn’t get to dictate my life anymore. And I’ve never been happier about that fact.