I look at Connor. His face has paled. He steps away from my hold and moves towards his parents. His father is red faced and hismother looks completely oblivious to her surroundings and the battle warring between her husband and her son.
“Darling!” His mother kisses him on both cheeks. “I missed the game. Did you win?”
Connor puts his hands into his pockets and says, “We did. It was quite the shutout.”
“That’s nice, dear. I’ll go get a drink to celebrate,” she says, then stumbles towards the bar.
“Is this what the term ‘hot mess’ means?” my dad asks me quietly.
If this display wasn’t so sad, I’d find his question funny.
The situation is quickly going from bad to worse. Connor’s mother seems to be the only person in the room who doesn’t notice. I’ll give my teammates credit. They’re all trying to play it cool, but I can see them all giving Connor and his father the occasional glance. The air has gotten thick again. Lost is the lightness we were all enjoying mere minutes ago.
“Is this my opportunity to punch your boyfriend’s father?” my dad asks me.
“Maybe,” I say. “But only if I don’t do it first.”
He places his hand on my shoulder. “Leave this one to me, son. I have a lot less to lose.”
I smirk at him. “Don’t be so sure about that. This isn’t Alaska. I know nothing about bailing someone out of a European jail.”
“It’s Italy. They’ll probably serve me pasta then offer me a job.”
We both burst out laughing, which, of course, draws the attention to us.
Connor Sr walks over. His shoulders are set back and proud, but his nostrils are flaring, and his jaw is tense. In a surprising move, he holds his hand out to my father. “Who are you?”
My father takes his hand. He holds it for a second too long and I can see the tension in the tendons of his hands as he squeezes tighter than what is considered polite. “We’ve met.”
Connor Sr harshly pulls his hand away. “Have we? I can’t say I remember you.”
God, this guy is such a condescending prick. I genuinely can’t believe he’s Connor’s,myConnor’s, father. They couldn’t be any more different.
“I can understand why you don’t remember me. We only talked briefly on the phone. But you did leave an impression.”
“I tend to do that,” he says, looking smug as he pats his pockets. “Did you want an autograph or something?”
“No,” my dad says, stern, then twists his lips to the side and narrows his eyes at Connor Sr. “What was it you said to me that was so memorable?” His face relaxes into a casual smile. “I know what it was. You asked me who I thought I was sending my Alaskan trash kid to your junior hockey camp?”
“Doesn’t ring a bell.” Connor Sr stares at my father like he’s bored. My blood is running hot, but somehow my dad remains calm.
He takes a step closer to Connor Sr and uses his proximity and his size advantage to tower menacingly over him. “Interesting,” he says. “I remember telling you to kick rocks when you threatened to send him home and stop his chances of playing junior hockey. Which is exactly what I’m going to tell you to do right now, you elitist piece of shit.”
My Connor looks at me panicked. His eyes are wide and he’s chewing his bottom lip again. If it only affected me, I’d let this play out. I’d even jump in and help my dad give this man the beating he so clearly deserves. But that will only make things worse. While Connor Sr may have wanted to hurt me as a kid at camp in Ann Arbor and ruin my chances at playing in the junior hockey league, his motivations here and now are to control Connor. Making my life a headache is just a bonus to him. Calling security and having my dad arrested would be icing on his cake.
I place a hand on my dad’s shoulder. “Don’t waste your breath on him,” I say. “Let’s go watch the game. My teammate from the Blizzards, Tavish, is on the Canadian team.”
“Yes!” Bouchard says, stepping in between the two grown men engaging in a battle of wills. Connor Sr takes the opportunity togive my dad one last glare, then walks away towards his son, locking him into a conversation. Bouchard leads my father and me away. “Let’s see if Tavish has picked up any new tricks.”
I look at Connor as we walk towards the door that leads to our box seats. His eyes are downturned as he listens to whatever it is his father is saying to him quietly. He looks miserable. I wish I could grab him and pull him away. Instead, I mouth, “Come join us.” But I don’t think he will.
EIGHTEEN
Connor
Like everyone predicted, it’s looking like the final matchup will be against us and Canada. They won their semifinals game tonight and we’ve skated through our last two games with ease. As long as we beat Sweden tomorrow night, which there is no reason to believe we won’t, we’ll finally play Canada to close out the games in two days.
And then it’s over. We go home and I’m dreading it.
