Chapter 36
RAKE
If I leave the Aftershocks, I’m going to do it on a high note.
At this morning’s practice, I skated like my life depended on it, and Coach definitely noticed.
He’s been good to me, and I know would be sorry to see me leave.
But there are some things that are out of his hands, as much as he hates it.
I spot my dad in the bleachers, so hop off the ice and work my way to him.
He extends his hand, formal as always. “Son. Good to see you.”
“Hey Dad,” I say, going in for a hug, even though I know he’ll hate it.
“Ha, ha,” he laughs awkwardly. “It’s good to see you. Sorry I missed your last game. Things were heating up at work.”
Jesus. I’m trying to remember the last time I saw this man. Aside from spotting him in the stands at a couple games where I got him tickets, I don’t think I’ve seen him face to face in months.
He looks different. Not drastically so, but somewhat older, I suppose. The lines around his eyes are deeper, and his former salt-and-pepper hair is becoming more salt than pepper.
Shit, does that mean I look older too?
“How business?” I ask.
His face lights up. He loves his work, a construction company he founded when his own hockey career went south. “We got a couple new contracts that will take us through the end of the year. I’m feeling good about things.”
“And Mom?”
He chuckles. “Same as always. Busy with her activities. You know your mother. You should come home and visit.”
And here we go.
“Well, you know that’s hard for me during the season, Dad. That’s why I try to get you guys to come to the games. You know I’ll take care of your airfare and hotels. It won’t cost you a cent.”
He looks away, like he’s examining the ice.
I suspect what he’s really doing though, is thinking back to his own days playing.
An injury ruined his plans for a pro career pretty early on.
So, he pushed me into hockey when I was a kid, which for years gave us something big in common.
But when I started earning some real star power, he pulled back.
Mom says it makes him wistful. I think it’s more than that.
“Son, I’m here because BJ asked me to talk to you.”
A chill sweeps over me even though I’m sweating from practice. Why the hell is BJ calling my father?
“What about, Dad? What’s on your mind? Or should I say, BJ’s mind?”
This is fucked. If BJ has something to say, he should say it to my face. Not put my father up to delivering some kind of message.
Yet here we are.
“I’ve been reading the stories, Rake. You’ve gotten yourself into a fine mess here.”
Is that what he’s here for? To scold me?
But I remain respectful. “You’re right, Dad. Working on straightening all that out as we speak.”
He frowns at me. “You’re risking your position on the team, and you’re risking your career. Now I don’t completely understand what went down with this gold digger you married—”
I raise my hands. “Dad, she’s not a gold digger. I don’t know who told you that, but her family is quite well-off—”
He doesn’t want to hear it. “Son, what woman in her right mind would go to Vegas with you and agree to get married when she’s known you less than a week?”
Okay. “So, you’re saying the only way a woman would do that was if she was after my money? There’s no other possible reason?”
He shrugs. “I know what it’s like to be in your shoes. The women throw themselves at you.”
God help me. There are so many things I want to say, but I don’t dare.
“Dump the girl, Rake. You need to get your side of the street clean. Stay home, no more women, focus on hockey and nothing else.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “Dad, you really don’t know what you’re talking about. Petal is a great woman—”
“Son, you know hockey careers are short. You need to focus while you can. You do not need any distraction. This isn’t just a game, at your level. It’s your life. You’ve been given a gift and you could lose it at any minute. Look what happened to me.”
“Dad, I know you’ve always been disappointed to have lost out on the pro hockey career you really wanted—”
“Rake, when I realized my career was over, I did everything for you to succeed where I didn’t. All the money and time I sacrificed so you could have the life I didn’t. The lessons, everything I did to get you started in this career, none of it came cheap. I can’t have you throwing it away.”
“I hear you, Dad. I’m glad you’re being straight with me. But I’m going to do things a little differently than you. I’m a different person.”
He doesn’t like this and slams his hand down on the bleacher seat. “You are ungrateful,” he says, his voice rising. “Everything I did for you, all the money I spent on you—”
“Okay, Dad. I thought you did all that to help me, but now I see you were doing it for yourself. I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed you. How about I write you a check for everything I owe you? I’ve got the money. You know I do.”
And… that was the wrong thing to say. My father gets to his feet, his fists clenched, and for a moment I wonder if he’s going to punch me. He scoffs and turns, heading for the rink exit.
He’s always been an overbearing blowhard. I can remember him arguing with my coaches, the referees, and even the other parents when I was a kid playing hockey. I always thought he did that because he was so passionate about the game. And that he loved seeing his son play it.
Now I’m thinking he did it just because he was mad he wasn’t the one playing.