Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Oliver
Arriving at the rink, I turn the car off and just sit there. My hands grip the steering wheel until my knuckles go white. Through the windshield, the parking lot lights cast harsh shadows across the asphalt. It’s time to go in.
And I really, really don’t want to.
Not because this is an away game and being at a different rink always puts me on edge. Not because the team is nervous. Not even because my parents will be in there.
It’s because the afternoon has taken an even worse turn. Just when I was coming to terms with my parents’ visit, they sprung on me that Lance and Josh are coming as well. So that’s two more people I need to deal with, two more people who will be in my business.
The weight in my chest presses harder with each breath.
Closing my eyes, I drop my head back against the seat.
It wasn’t enough for my parents that I got them discounted rooms at the Pine Island bed and breakfast—courtesy of Sophie, whose best friend owns the place.
The only thing that prompted was a lecture on how I should be investing in real estate on Pine Island, buying a house instead of renting an apartment, and if I did that then there would be room for my family to stay in when they visit.
Yep. Same old, same old.
The only bright light I have to look forward to is Devin.
She’s meeting me outside the locker room after the game.
Even though I gave her an out, she’s determined to hang out with me and my family tonight.
It’s a show of solidarity, and I couldn’t be more grateful, though I hate that it feels like she’s sacrificing herself for me.
Sighing, I open my eyes and unbuckle my seatbelt. Time to get out there. Focus on tonight’s game and nothing else. That’s always been a skill of mine, and tonight I can use it to do more than help my team win. If I’m lucky, I’ll be able to forget my family is even in the stands.
The second I walk into the rink, though, it’s clear that won’t be happening.
Voices echo off the high ceiling, mixing with the smell of popcorn and hot chocolate.
A crowd is already filling the bleachers, a disproportionate amount of people clumped together in the middle.
Folks are clustered around Lance and Josh, thrilled to be breathing the same air as the two pro football players.
My parents are feeding the fire, using fans’ phones to take pictures of them with my brothers.
Eyes follow me as I pass—some recognizing me, others just curious about who I am in relation to the NFL stars.
Ducking my head, I make a beeline to the locker room. Focus on the game. Focus on the game.
I can’t have a panic attack tonight. Not during the game. Not in front of my parents. They’ve never seen it happen, and it would only solidify their opinion that I’m weak.
I focus on my breathing... Slow inhale of four counts... Hold... Slow exhale of four counts. Digging in my bag, I pull out a granola bar and take a bite. The taste of it brings me back into my body. I’m no longer crawling out of my skin. I’m here. I’m real. I can do this.
A mix of anxiety and testosterone fills the locker room. It’s a good thing Jeff has a pep talk prepared, because English is failing me today. The best I can do is clap everyone on the back and tell them they’ve got this.
Taking my spot next to the rink, I find Devin. She gives me a thumbs up, and I smile back, relaxation washing over me. I just need to get through this game then dinner with my family afterward. Following that, it’ll be me and Devin alone again.
The ref’s whistle blows one minute into the game. He points at my team, declaring a foul for interference.
The crowd responds with cheers and boos, and my dad stands. “Watch the rules! Come on, you guys!”
My face burns. So Lonnie Paxton is still the loudest person at any game. Why am I not surprised?
The foul does nothing for morale, despite Jeff’s and my attempts to boost it.
Our side makes one rookie mistake after another—Marcus overshoots a pass, Chen loses control in the neutral zone, Eduardo fumbles a perfect setup.
Jeff skates between players, trying to salvage what he can while I stand frozen, my dad’s voice cutting through everything else.
“What kind of puck control is that?” He shouts at Eduardo through cupped hands. “Soft hands! Soft hands!”
Yelling at the opposing team would be one thing, but he’s trying to coach my team—like Jeff and I aren’t even here. The irony of it is that he doesn’t even like hockey, yet here he is, acting like a professional who knows it inside and out.
My hands curl into fists, and my feet are marching over to my dad before I even know what they’re doing. “Cut it out,” I snap at him. “Stop yelling at my players.”
His eyebrows knit together in anger. “Oh, come on, Oliver! I wouldn’t have to yell at them if you’d done what you’re paid to do and taught them to play hockey.”
My nails dig into my palms, and it’s only the watchful eyes of other people that stop me from yelling back at him. Taking a slow breath, I answer through tight teeth. “Keep it down. This is a high school game.”
I leave before he can respond, and it’s not five more minutes before his voice is booming across the stadium again. One of our players fumbles and loses the puck, and my dad goes right up to the plexiglass. “What! This is embarrassing! You kids been training with kindergarteners?”
The ref blows his whistle, but this time it’s not at any player. He skates over to my dad, hooking his finger in a way that can only mean one thing. You’re out of here.
It’s something I’ve seen happen to my father at multiple games, and it never gets less cringy.
He also doesn’t seem to learn, and this time he doesn’t go easily.
It takes a linesman coming over and getting in his face before he finally exits the stadium, my mom and brothers yelling the whole while about how unjust it all is.
I want to shrink into my hoodie and disappear. It doesn’t matter that I haven’t introduced them as my family to anyone. Everyone who knows who my brothers are—and that’s probably most people at this game—either already knows I’m related to them or will learn about it eventually.
The whole thing has me steaming, my head foggy and distracted. Our plays keep getting worse and worse, despite Jeff’s and my attempts to coach the team through it all. Before the final buzzer even sounds, we know it’s over. There’s no coming back.
And we’re right. We lose six to one. It’s a disaster.
The team slinks into the locker room, where more than a few players slam down sticks and one of them brushes away angry tears.
“You all did good tonight.” I raise my voice. “I’m proud of you.”
The words don’t make a dent in the bad mood, and I get it. I’d be beating myself up right now, too. I still stand by what I’ve told them from the start, though. The outcome of the game isn’t what matters; it’ll never be life or death.
Jeff gives them a meaningful spiel, stepping in where I’m inadequate. My phone buzzes in my pocket a couple of times, but I ignore it. If it’s my family, they can wait. All night if they have to.
“Good job tonight,” I tell everyone once more as we’re heading out of the locker room. “Next week is a fresh start, okay? Take it easy tonight, and we’ll come back better than before on Monday.”
Outside of the locker room, I search for Devin, spotting her at the doors to the main entrance. She’s not alone. My parents and two brothers form a semi-circle around her, her back to the wall. This far away, I can’t hear what they’re saying, but Devin’s lips are drawn thin, her face pink.
“Shit,” I mutter, stalking over to them.
With each step, my fury mounts, the pieces of conversation I pick up only stoking the flames.
“You and Oliver... so happy after you broke up,” my mom says.
“You sure... rebound?” Josh laughs.
I shove Josh to the side, his laughter turning into an outraged cry as he stumbles backward. I pivot so that I’m standing in front of Devin, blocking her from my family. “Enough.”
My dad’s eyes narrow. “Nice job out there tonight, Oliver. You have a real talent for coaching.”
“Did you not hear what I just said?” I advance on him, finger pointed in his face. “Enough of your shit talking. Not to me. Not to Devin. Ever again.”
His eyes go wide, his jaw dropping open.
My mother clutches her purse tighter, and Lance’s expression shifts from amusement to shock.
It’s the first time I’ve ever spoken to him this way, and the newness of it, combined with the adrenaline rush, has me on a roll.
I wouldn’t be able to slow down if I tried.
“Y’all treat me like I’m some kind of leper,” I snap at the four of them. “All because I didn’t play football. Well, guess what? I like my life, and I don’t give a fuck what any of you think. No one does. And yeah, Devin and I are back together and it’s amazing. Know what else is great?”
“Oliver,” my mom gasps. “This—”
“Living on Pine Island,” I hiss. “Being away from you. It’s the best choice I ever made, because you’re not here.
Now Devin and I are going to walk out of here, and if you want to ever talk to me again, some shit needs to change.
I’m done being your punching bags. I don’t exist for you to take your insecurities out on. Call me when you’re ready to grow up.”
With that, I take Devin’s hand. This time, I don’t have to shove either brother to the side. They step out of my way, looking just as flabbergasted as my parents. I’ve expressed everything I need to, and it’s time to get out of here before I really lose control and say something that I’ll regret.
“I’m sorry,” I rasp as Devin and I walk down the hallway. I can’t even look at her. I hate her seeing me this way, angry and on the verge of a total meltdown.
“It’s okay.” She squeezes my hand.
It’s not until we’re outside that I finally stop. The cold air stings my lungs as I release her hand and sag against the wall, gulping it in.
“Hey.” She puts her palms on my shoulders, the warmth of them seeping through my hoodie. The gentle but steady touch helps to clear the angry fog swirling around me.
I shake my head at the ground. “That was—”
“Excellent.” She grins. “I’m proud of you.”
I guffaw. “I dunno.”
“I know how I feel.” Her fingers trail down my cheek, soft against the harshness of everything that just happened. “And they needed to hear that.”
Straightening up, I sigh. She’s right. Maybe tonight will be the catalyst for real change in my relationship with my family. That or the start of a complete fallout.
Either way, I said my piece. The next move is theirs.