Chapter 6
Chapter
Six
Jaw clenched, I can’t take my eyes off the spectacle on the ice. What the hell is my dad doing here? I haven’t seen him since I moved back to Harrison, and now he’s making a big, splashy visit? That shouldn’t surprise me, I guess, but he could have at least let me know he was coming.
I grip my stick like it’s keeping me afloat and try to smile, because suddenly I’m on the Jumbotron. Great. Just great. Thanks for the attention, Dad.
Blinking, I try to focus on what the Director of Hockey Operations is saying.
“And so, thanks to his patronage and an incredibly generous donation, we are excited to announce that we are renaming the hockey arena after him!”
The audience cheers, but I’m numb. My dad didn’t play here. It’s the first time he’s ever been on that ice. He’s having the whole hockey complex named after him. My ice. My arena. Where I’ve bled and sweated and won a National Championship. And he’s never bothered to visit.
My mouth drops open, and at Cooper’s nudge, I snap it closed. I’m not sure what I’d do without him tonight, giving me cues and reminding me how normal people are supposed to behave. Nothing about my relationship with my dad has ever felt normal, though, and Cooper gets that.
I clear my throat and clap with my gloves on, hoping no one else notices that my reactions are a little less than friendly. I’m known as an intense player, always in the zone, so maybe I can blame that if anyone asks.
They wrap up their speech, my dad waves at the crowd, and then it’s time to stand for the National Anthem. A low buzzing sound fills my ears, drowning out everything else, and I stare at the American flag until the colors blur together.
Why is he doing this? Has he dropped too far out of the spotlight? Is my hockey career threatening to overshadow his?
You should have thought about that, Dad, before you pushed me to do this. Before you told me it’s the only thing I’m good for.
Although I suppose if he can use my hockey skills to keep the focus on him, he’ll be happy. That’s what he’s been after from the beginning. He told me that people would try to court me for fame and money, warned me that women only wanted one thing. How many times has he reminded me to use protection and not get trapped into alimony and child support? But at the same time, he craves the attention, can’t live without it.
I shake my head. What a messed up family.
Cooper heads out onto the ice for his faceoff, and the rest of our line follows. I scramble into place, and then the whistle blows.
Sixty minutes of hockey until I have to fake excitement about my dad in the post-game interviews.
I pass to Evan, but the puck goes wide, and the Beaver center steals it away, flying down the ice. I hurry to follow, but I can feel my dad’s eyes on me. Watching me. Judging me. Finding me lacking.
I’m a disappointment to him. That’s why he doesn’t come to any of my games. It conflicted with his broadcasting schedule, but he could have made time to see me win the National Championship last spring. And he didn’t bother.
I don’t know why he’s here tonight. He disagreed with my college choice—thought I should have gone to Michigan instead. He disagreed with my chosen major. I wanted to study finance and he thought it would distract from hockey. He won that debate and I ended up as an organizational and business management major. The “easy” version of a degree for athletes. I hate it.
He also disagreed with my choice to stay at Harrison this year and finish my senior year and graduate. Pushed all summer for me to sign with the Blackhawks and not “waste my good years” when I could get paid.
But even if my degree is dumb, I want it. And I’m not abandoning my team, not after winning everything last year.
Although fat lot of good I’m doing them. I skate towards our net, trying to get my stick on the puck, but before I do, the Beavers player pivots, passes, and they score.
The light goes off and the siren roars. Disappointment fills me. That makes it three to two, with less than one minute left.
That’s still enough time to score a goal and tie it up. We need this win.
Cooper takes his place in the face-off circle, but Bemidji gets the puck again. Adrenaline fills my tired limbs as I race down the ice, checking the player next to me. He gets a pass, and this is my chance. Desperation makes me sloppy, though, and I can’t get it from him before he shoots it off to a teammate.
The buzzer sounds, ending the game. Our second loss.
I shouldn’t do it—but it’s like a bruise I can’t resist pushing. I look up at my dad in the stands. His mouth is a straight line, his arms crossed over his chest. He doesn’t make eye contact with me.
I’m not looking forward to the debriefing I’ll get from him later. I’ll hear all about every mistake I made, every pass I could have improved. I take a deep breath and file off the ice with the rest of my team, patting Mateo on the shoulder. He takes losses hard, sometimes even harder than I do.
“Next week.” I thump his helmet. “We’ll practice hard and get in our groove.”
He nods, and the locker room is quiet as everyone showers off and gets dressed. No one makes plans to go out. I should organize something, but I don’t have it in me. I know who’s waiting for me once I exit.
Hair still wet, I throw on jeans and a gray Harrison Hockey t-shirt, then shoulder my duffle and head out.Might as well get this over with.
The minute I push the door open, I’m accosted by a group of smiling college administrators. The PR lady, I can’t remember her name, Natalie the social media girl, the Director of Hockey Operations, and my dad. They pounce as soon as I step forward.
“Hunter!” The Hockey Director, Jim Harrogate, holds out his hand for a shake. “It’s great to see you again. We’re thrilled to have the entire Thompson family on board this season.”
On board? I raise a brow as my dad throws his arm around my shoulders. It’s unnatural. He’s not touchy or demonstrative, and I don’t know how to respond. It’s clearly a show for these guys. After a squeeze, he steps back, and I breathe a tiny sigh of relief.
“Good to see you, son.” I try to keep my face impassive at this statement. Then he jerks a thumb at the PR woman. “I’ve been chatting with Ms. Barnes, and she has a great plan for us.”
Plan for us? There is no us. My heart rate trips up a notch.
She talks my ear off, words flying fast. “The father and son thing is a great angle. You’re going to help drum up so much publicity!”
“Publicity?” I echo, blinking. A bead of sweat rolls down my spine. Whatever she’s suggesting can’t be good. “Do we need that? I mean, we just won a National Championship. That’s gotta help, right?”
Ms. Barnes laughs. Mr. Harrogate steers us out of the way of the exit and into an alcove, then pats my shoulder. “I’m going to leave you in her capable hands and steal your dad away for one more second. Good luck next week.”
With that, he and my dad amble off, and Ms. Barnes turns back to me. She’s in her thirties, I think, with a curtain of light-brown hair and a gray pinstriped power suit. “Social Media is a constant beast that needs feeding. We’re always building publicity. You should check out what the Kraken are doing in Seattle and how it’s affected their fanbase. Anyway, you are our focus this year.”
“Me?” I sound like a parrot, only able to mimic what she says, but none of this makes sense. I want to focus on hockey. Playing my best game, getting noticed for that and not my last name. Being the captain these guys deserve.
“Yep.” She nods, then ticks points off on her fingers. “Senior, captain, appealing, and carrying on the family hockey legacy. We’re going to make you into a household name. And this is the girl who’s going to do it.”
She tugs Natalie closer. Her brown eyes are wide enough that the surrounding whites are visible. The column of her throat moves in a swallow. “What?”
“Hunter is your new focus, Natalie.” Ms. Barnes beams. “You’re going to be his shadow. Interviews, profiles, pictures, videos. And it will all culminate in the ceremony to rename the hockey arena. Big, splashy events with lots of coverage.”
Our gazes lock, and Natalie looks as horrified as I feel. At a glance at her boss, she fixes a shaky smile on her face. And just—no. We’re like oil and water, and she’s brought me nothing but bad luck so far. My plan was to stay as far away from her as possible. How can I survive the season—and everything with my dad—if she’s hovering around me?
“I’ll leave you two to get acquainted.” Ms. Barnes bustles off and Natalie and I stare at each other for a beat. Her fake smile is long gone, replaced with a shell-shocked gape.
Then I shake my head. It’s too much. Losing our first two games, her judgment, my dad. My pulse thunders in my ears and my heart pounds.
“I’ve gotta get out of here.” Shouldering my duffle, I push past the look of surprise on her face morphing into a glare and escape.