“May twenty-second,” Sam cut in proudly. “I’m looking forward to the family-and-friends party. You know, show off that you’ve raised a doctor.”
We chuckled.
“Well,” Mom said, her tone shifting. “We’ll be arriving…um, this Wednesday.”
I blinked. “That’s…great,” I said slowly. “We’ll be ready for you.”
She let out a small, tight laugh, one that didn’t reach her usual warmth. “Well, your dad insisted we not wait.”
We talked a few more minutes about travel logistics, Florida weather, and a longer-than-necessary story about Dad versus the storage unit, but something didn’t sit right.
I set my phone down when the call ended.
“They’re not telling us something,” I said lightly.
“Yep,” Sam replied. “Definitely a weird tone. We’ll find out soon enough, Wednesday is basically tomorrow.”
My parents were free to come whenever and stay however long they wanted; that wasn’t what threw me. It was that pause, that shift in her tone, the unease between her words. Wednesday was bringing more than luggage, and my gut already knew it.
On Tuesday, I stood by the receptionist desk, staring at my calendar, willing it to rearrange itself around my life.
Wednesday, April 29: Fly to Colorado – Game 6
Wednesday, April 29: Parents Arrive – Sam not available.
I could only be involved in one of those. After last night’s home win, the pressure was high. We were up 3–2. One more win, and we’d knock Colorado out. One more loss, and it was do-or-die in Game 7. The vibe around the team was cutthroat and clear: No slack.
I’d approached Maria earlier, trying for a casual, hopeful tone. “Hey, my parents are arriving tomorrow for my sister’s graduation. Is it possible I skip this travel assignment?”
She’d blinked, then gave a polite,so-not-my-problemsmile. “Sean handles your road orientation, so you’ll need to ask him directly. I’m here to support you, but I don’t play mediator,” she’d added kindly but firmly.
Which brought me to after practice, DevPad in hand—my emotional support these days. I watched Coach Murphy at the video monitor, arms crossed, legs set in that strong, unbothered stance. Sleeves shoved high, showing off forearms that shouldn’t be distracting but absolutely were.
I waited until the players drifted off, then stepped forward.
“Coach Murphy?” I started, bracing myself.
He turned fully toward me, wearing that same steady look I was coming to recognize as so calm and focused it made silence sound louder.
My stomach dropped once, okay maybe twice. I didn’t know what to do with that kind of attention. As if he registered every detail without blinking, and the room tilted with it, gravity shifting. At this rate, my gut might end up on the floor or escape the building entirely.
“Hey, my parents are flying in tomorrow for my sister’s graduation from med school. Any chance I could sit this trip out?”
He didn’t scowl or soften; he continued to study me. “No. The rhythm has to stay consistent during the playoffs.”
I nodded. Well, that was that. My grand plan failed to “rhythm”.
“Why can’t your sister meet them?” he asked.
My eyes widened briefly. It was his first personal question.
“She’s not available. She’ll still be in the clinic.”
“Yeah, med school’s like NHL playoffs. No margin for breath.”
That almost made me smile. Subtle, but clearly a “no.” Not cute.
“Got it,” I said softly.
