Chapter 2 #3
“Do I have to?” He groans. “Because he’s been a little snappy lately and I don’t know if you know this but we share an apartment, Coach. I have to be careful about what I say otherwise I don’t know if I’ll be waking up in the morning.”
Dad crosses his arms, a deadpan, stoic look on his face. “Alright, Callahan. I’ll let you pick. Go find Nole or sit on the sidelines next season.”
Lucas puts his hands up in mock defense. “Alright fine, but just know…” He sighs, resting his hand on his chest, right over his heart. “I’ll miss you guys.”
I roll my eyes to disguise the fact that I’m finding it very hard not to smile. Dad points his thumb behind him, silently telling Lucas to get to it.
Lucas steals a quick glance at me before stepping behind my dad and walking the opposite way. But before he steps through the door of the shower room, he blows me a kiss and winks. I flip him off.
By the time Dad turns his head to see what I’m looking at, Lucas is already gone.
I don’t even mean to stare at the spot Lucas was once in but Dad clears his throat, reminding me that he’s standing in front of me, watching me like he’s trying to decode something.
And that’s when I realize that I’m smiling but because there’s absolutely nothing for my father to figure out, I direct my smile toward him.
“See?” I link my arm around his, trying to change the subject. “You were stressed for no reason. I knew you guys would win.”
I guide him into his office, the door finally clicking shut behind us. Sarah and Bethany are sprawled out on the couch in the corner of the room, laughing at something on Sarah’s phone.
“Yeah, barely,” Dad scoffs. “I had Nole in the penalty box most of the time for throwing punches instead of playing and Moose couldn’t block a shot to save his life.”
Bethany gasps, her attention quickly pulled from Sarah’s phone. “I’m sure he was trying his best.”
With Dad being all too used to the dramatics of the female mind, he lazily waves at my friends before sitting down at his desk, the chair squeaking slightly as he leans back.
“Bethany,” Dad says. “As soon as you can tell me the difference between a body fake and a side fake, I’ll take your word on Moose’s performance.”
Bethany opens her mouth to speak but she quickly realizes that Dad has a point so she resorts to leaning back on the couch, arms crossed and a pout on her lips.
I chuckle and hop up onto the corner of Dad’s desk, much to his dismay. He doesn’t say anything though, knowing that telling me to get off will just end up in me lying down on his desk.
We’ve played this game before.
“So…” He clears his throat and I know it’s not just from shouting out plays all evening. This is his ‘wanting to talk but having no clue where to start’ tone.
I lean back on the palm of my hand, gesturing with the other for him to continue.
He begins looking through stacks of papers on his slightly messy desk, as if there’s something important he needs to know right now.
“You and Callahan pretty close?” Dad finally asks.
“Yeah,” I snort. “In the same way a predator catches its prey. Not by choice.”
Sarah and Bethany both laugh. They stop and look at one another before they both slap each other’s arms and legs, as if they’re scolding one another for doing the same exact thing.
Dad and I choose to ignore them.
“Relax, Dad.” I move around the picture frames with photos of me and Amiyah when we were kids, as if they need to be straightened. “Nothing is happening with Lucas. He’s just a thorn in my side.”
His back straightens, now no longer interested in whatever paper he was pretending to read. “Need me to handle it?”
“No. Lucas Callahan is all talk and no bite. He’s harmless.”
“You sure? ’Cause I’ll bench him, maybe even make him run extra suicides during practice.” He arches his eyebrow and although the thought of my fifty-five year old father threatening a twenty year old is rather amusing, I shake my head.
“You and I both know that’s never going to happen but thanks for the offer, Dad.”
“Yeah, Mr. Stryker, you don’t have to worry about a thing,” Sarah says. “She cusses the guy out any chance she gets. It’s a reflex at this point.”
Bethany nods.
“See?” I offer Dad a gentler smile. “You raised me to be able to handle myself. So let me do that, okay?”
He sighs, cracking his knuckles. “Your old man just worries.”
“I know but you don’t have to. I’m fine. Amiyah is fine. We’re good, Dad. Promise.”
He gets that look again. Like he wants to say something but he also doesn’t want to upset me and unlike Mom, he doesn’t continue to pry.
Just another difference between the two that makes me wonder why they got married in the first place. No wonder they got a divorce all those years ago.
Dad reaches into his desk drawer, pulling his keys out with a jingle. “Ladies?” he asks. “How about some dinner?”
“Hell yeah.” Sarah and Bethany quickly stand from the couch, walking toward the door, ahead of me and Dad.
“Didn’t you tell Lucas to go find Nole?” I arch my eyebrow.
Dad shrugs his jacket on, a mischievous grin on his face that I don’t see too often nowadays. “I can yell at Nole tomorrow.”
I nod, content with that answer and go to set the picture frame I have in my hands back onto the desk when I notice that, unlike all the pictures being of when Amiyah and I were kids, the one I’m holding is more recent.
Just a little over a year ago, actually. One of my last shows before my accident.
Romeo and Juliet.
In the picture, I’m standing hand in hand with other dancers in the show. My white gown with gold trimming shines under the stage lights.
My blonde hair is pulled back into a perfectly done ballet bun, flower pins decorating the hairstyle. The smile I’m wearing in the picture makes my stomach drop and a lump begins to form in my throat.
No. Not here. Not now.
I quickly set the picture down like its touch stings before I hop off the desk, only to turn and find Dad watching me carefully. Sarah and Bethany remain oblivious, continuing to talk Dad’s ear off about where we’re going to eat.
I pick my shoulders back up and plaster on the best smile I can muster up, once again linking my arm with his. “Come on, old man. Before your blood sugar gets low.”
He scoffs but lets me drag him out of his office and toward the dimly lit parking lot. Thankfully for the rest of the night, he doesn’t ask about Lucas or Amiyah or school. Or even about me.
It’s a good thing too because I don’t think I have it in me to have yet another conversation about my life without finally admitting that I no longer know what I’m doing.
I’ve just been letting the waves of life toss me back and forth, not bothering to fight against the current. There’d be no point. There’s nothing for me on the shore anyway.