Chapter 30
Chapter
Thirty
Dad: You better win tonight. Don’t make me look bad.
Clenching my fists, I take a deep breath and try to release the tension lacing my muscles. The smell of the arena—a combination of ice and popcorn—usually anchors me. But this isn’t a normal game.
“And now,” the PA announcer booms, “on behalf of Harrison University and the entire Griffins hockey organization, we are thrilled to welcome James Thompson to the ice!”
On the bench, I grit my teeth, and Cooper bumps his shoulder into mine. I appreciate the solidarity as my dad and other bigwigs walk out onto a red carpet runner that covers the slick surface. Flashbulbs go off as he waves, and the crowd roars.
Natalie is behind me, I’m sure, snapping pictures or taking videos. I don’t turn my head and look. She’s here to do her job, just like me.
I try to stay focused, in the zone. Hockey is life. Jonas played Moana in the locker room before filing out here, our new pre-game tradition. Hockey players are superstitious, but hey, if it helped us win the National Championship, I’m not going to mess with a good thing.
It’s not working for me, though. The announcer’s words keep screwing up my concentration.
I tune back in to hear him say with fanfare, “So we welcome you to the James Thompson Hockey Arena!”
The James Thompson Ice Hockey Arena. Not the Thompson Arena, like we might share it. Nope. It’s all his. It shouldn’t surprise me he won’t let me have this, but it stings.
He’s stealing my ice, my home. It’s always about him. I guess this shouldn’t be any different. Everyone’s interested in him, not me. But I thought Harrison was different. I came back this year for the team, but it turns out, for the right price, everything can belong to my dad.
“Hunter, come on out here!”
I blink. I should have known this was coming, but I’m not ready. Cooper pounds me on the back, though, and I don’t have a choice. I hand him my stick and hop over the boards, skating out to the group on center ice. They stay on their red carpet in their suits and fancy shoes, but I’m dressed for the game. I must look like the StayPuff Marshmallow Man, towering over everyone, bulked up in my pads. The skin on the back of my neck prickles.
I give them a tight smile, then turn and wave at the people in the stands.
There. Right behind Evan, where I knew she’d be. The tight coil inside me relaxes when I meet Natalie’s warm brown gaze.
She holds her phone up, documenting this, and mouths, “Smile,” at me. Then she makes an exaggerated funny face, sticking out her tongue and crossing her eyes. I can’t help but grin at her antics. Having her here makes it bearable.
“Son.” My dad grips my shoulder, then reaches over to shake my hand. He speaks through his charming TV smile, looking like he’s a doting father, happy to see me. “Could you try to be a little more personable? You’re as stiff as a corpse.”
“I have to go play a hockey game, Dad.” I let my exasperation bleed into my voice. “We’re not all here to gladhand and impress the crowd.”
“You should try harder to impress the crowd, though.” His blue eyes flash. “The Blackhawks scout is here tonight as a special favor to me. Don’t screw this up.”
With one last squeeze of my hand, he turns back to the adoring fans and waves. Without another glance in my direction, he walks off the ice and I head to the bench.
Great. No pressure tonight, or anything.
At the start of the third period, we trail Penn State three to two. Cooper and Jonas scored our respective goals, and they are both on fire tonight.
Me? I’m a lame duck. My passes won’t connect, I’m a step behind every play, and I can’t get out of my head. It’s a miracle Coach hasn’t taken me off this line.
It’s just a game, I tell myself. That’s what Natalie would say. Just get through it. One more period. Twenty more minutes.
But also, hockey is life. So how does that work? Can it be both just a game and life?
Maybe pretend like the audience is in their underwear? That’s what my roommates would say if they knew I was nervous.
But ugh, no, the only fan I want to picture in their underwear is Natalie. That’s a great thought, but equally distracting. Besides, it’s not the entire audience who’s in my head, but one specific member.
My dad sits behind the bench, arms crossed. His cool blue eyes survey everything, and his mouth holds a firm line. He clapped once, when we scored the first goal. Hadley, next to him, cheers her head off, and I try to focus on that.
The puck drops, and Cooper battles the Penn State center, coming out victorious. He flies down the ice, passes to Evan, who circles the net and sends it back to Cooper. He’s perfectly positioned in front of the goalie to put the biscuit in the basket, and the siren wails. The red light spins, and the crowd goes wild.
I skate over to pound him on the back, getting in a mob with the other guys as we celebrate and congratulate him. The PA announcer gives his stats, and man, he’s having a hell of a season. Happiness for my best friend wars with a bubble of jealousy. I shift my grip on my stick and shove it down.
“Hunter!” My dad’s voice cuts through the noise of the stadium. He’s moved down lower in the stands, closer to the bench, and he motions me over.
This isn’t a peewee league, with over-enthusiastic parents giving pointers. A hot flush of shame washes over me, but people in the seats notice him and point. I can’t ignore him.
Skating over, I incline my head and hope he doesn’t yell loud enough that everyone hears.
His stony eyes glare but he keeps his expression impassive. “What do you think you’re doing out there?”
What can I say to that? “I’m having an off night, I guess.”
He shakes his head and tugs me closer to speak into my ear. “You’re a disgrace to the game. Just flush our future down the toilet, while you’re at it.”
“I just—”
“No more excuses. You need to focus and start playing better.”
Relief fills me at the ref’s whistle. An excuse to skate away. Without another glance at my dad, I take my position for the faceoff.
God, I can’t wait for this nightmare to be over.
And then I remember—the dinner after the game. I’m required to attend the fancy ceremony for my dad. There’s no way I can skip. I’ll have to put on my suit and my fake smile. Grin for the cameras and other donors and pretend like this is the best night of my life. When all I really want to do is sink down in an ice bath in the locker room and not resurface for a week.
Except for seeing Natalie. That might make the night worthwhile. I picture her in a cocktail dress, black and slinky. My mouth waters at the thought of seeing her in something like that—and peeling her out of it. I’m not sure I’ll get a moment with her afterwards because she’s working. But that’s okay, I can be patient. She’s worth the wait.
I really wanted her to be my date for dinner tonight, but I understand why she can’t stand by my side in front of the team. Our relationship isn’t a secret, but I don’t want her to get in trouble.If I’m honest, I’m not ready to officially introduce her to my dad, either. They met in the hallway after the kids’ clinic, but it’s different now that we’re dating. Her family is so great, close-knit and supportive. How will she react to my dad?
The Nittany Lions get the puck after the drop, but it doesn’t take long for Evan to steal it away. He races down the ice towards the opponent’s goal. There’s a part of me that wants to stay on the periphery, to not touch the puck and jinx it for my teammates. But I feel my dad’s eyes on me. I chase after them, trying to help.
I don’t see the stick in my path. Did the Penn State player trip me on purpose? I don’t know, but it catches my blade just right and suddenly I’m flying ass over teakettle, flipped up and landing on my back. Tangled up in sticks and skates, there’s another player on top of me. I don’t have any breath in my lungs, and I can’t stop the momentum that propels us into the boards.
My leg is wrenched behind me, bent at an unnatural angle that is never supposed to happen. All I know is pain, so bad I’m going to pass out or throw up. Shoving with my hands, I finally get the guy off me, but I can’t get up, can’t move. I’ve been playing hockey my entire life, and this torture is worse than anything I’ve ever experienced.
I don’t register the collective gasp followed by silence. I’m a mass of agony, radiating out from my leg. Dizziness overwhelms me until my vision dims. Then everything goes black.