I stare at him, my resolve getting the better of me, crashing down. Spending time with Cooper lately has me questioning why I’ve been so mad at him all this time. The further I remove myself from the grudge I’m holding, I realize it seems petty and stupid.
But then I blink, and I can hear their laughs, the names I was called, how lonely I felt after he betrayed me. My game that night and crashing into the boards, being told I’ve done the impossible tearing my ACL, MCL, and meniscus.
“You figured it out though.” He says it more like a question.
“Took some time…and therapy.” I add that because I want him to know I had to ask for help too.
He takes a glove off, pausing before taking the other.
“Do you love it?” I ask him after another beat of silence.
This drags his attention from the ice to me.
The skylights in the roof let in enough sunlight that it helps offset the bright white of the overhead lights. A ray is hitting his brown eyes just right. They’re bright and broken. Sparkling, but it’s like the last few seconds of a sparkler before they burn out.
I scoot closer to him, still awaiting an answer.
“Yes,” he whispers as if he doesn’t want anyone to know the truth. He checks over his shoulders to make sure we are alone. “But not like I used to.”
I stay quiet, seeing that there’s more to this, hoping that it gives him the space to elaborate and get this off his chest.
“Playing’s lost its magic touch. Going out there every day, I’m not playing for me which I hate. But if I do, it feels wrong, like I’m failing my dream or the player people expect me to be.”
“And who’s that?”
Cooper pulls at the Velcro on his glove, tongue running along his bottom teeth. “My dad. Perfect. Who even knows.” He throws his head back. “Ask a different person on a different day and they’ll tell you who I am.”
“Who do you want to be?” His laugh is humorless, as if I’m joking but I’m not. I use his words from the other night with a slight modification. “There’s nothing wrong with the player that you want to be.”
Cooper stares at me. Deep brown eyes muddy, a fight in them to believe what I’m saying.
“When’s the last time you skated for yourself?” I ask.
“Winter break freshman year of college.”
He doesn’t need to recall that afternoon, but it plays in my brain like a movie—it was one of the last times I played. It was shortly after that I tweaked my knee again and needed another surgery. Jordan and I were outside on the pond in their backyard messing around. She had just committed to Lakeland University. Cooper and our dads came outside, joining us on theice. We played three-vs-two till our older sisters and moms came home from last-minute Christmas shopping.
They joined us. The nine of us switching on and off the ice, sipping on homemade hot chocolate till the sun set, painting the sky in an electric ombre. Pinks and oranges with a dark, moody purple.
It was easy that day, just like it is now, to forget about everything. Reverting to our old friendship. Bickering like an old married couple, and gifting smiles like it was a Christmas miracle.
“You didn’t win,” I remind him, “I blocked the shot.”
Cooper shakes his head, mouth fighting a smile. “It hit the inside of the post and bounced outafterhitting your stick.”
“It did not.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Dave.”
“What changed after that?” I bring us back to the present, carefully dancing on thin ice.
“After my game winning assist in the Frozen Four and receiving the Tim Taylor Award, people took more notice to me. I wasn’t just Ryn Carmichael’s son who had inherited his hockey genes. I became‘is Ryn Carmichael’s son going to be better than him?’and‘can Cooper Carmichael fill his father’s skates?’or ‘Carmichael is fast, but is that good enough to land him a spot on a team or will his last name carry him again?’”
I remember the goal. I remember when the reports and videos went viral. He’d already received attention when being recruited in high school, but this was different.
“Have you talked to your dad about this?”
“He’d be ashamed, or try to step in and say something. What am I then? The boy who needed his dad to handle his business for him? I’m handling it.”
