“Fucking bummer, man.” Cody reaches out and slaps my shoulder. “What happens when you’re back on your feet?” He chuckles. “Get it?” He laughs again. “Will you head back to New York?”
“Uh.” No. The answer is no. The fact of the matter is, I could go back and play on the taxi squad. That’s basically a practice squad that travels with the team and are the backup players if someone on the actual team gets hurt. After that, I’d go down to the AHL or New York’s third-tier team that plays in Maine.
My dad was thrilled with the outcome of our trip to New York. Me? Not so much. Sure, I had a great place to stay in the Big Apple, but I hated the routine of getting up at the ass crack of dawn to work out with the team. I ate with them, attended meetings with the other taxis, and then played. After that, we worked with their strength and conditioning team. Then, when I got home, it was all about catching up with school. Couple all of that with the fact I missed Emma. Even though I was angry with her about the money comment, I still missed her. Seeing her when I walked into the apartment last night was the best surprise of my life. But the second I saw her, I remembered.
Sitting on one of the kitchen stools, I pull my phone out and see twenty new text messages from my folks. Glancing at my mom’s first, she’s asking things like: Are you home? Do you have your foot elevated? Did they prescribe anything for pain or swelling? Remember alternating between ice and heat is best.
That sort of thing.
I click on my father’s texts and read shit like: That’s it. I’m done. I can’t believe the shit you just pulled. Ownership says they don’t have time to deal with you. Neither do I. Pack your shit. I’m selling the house.
I knew it was coming. How I’m going to break it to Cody, that’s another story.
“Dude. What happened with you and Emma?”
“I fucked up.” I’m not sure how else to describe it.
“You blew her off, man. That’s not like you.” He snorts. “Well, yes, it is, but with puck bunnies, not your girlfriend.”
“I know.” I nod, staring at my phone. Part of me wants to argue my point with my dad so we can stay in this house. The other part is relieved. How awesome would it benotto be under my father’s thumb? To be on my own. To live in a place like Emma’s. I’d have to get a job, for sure. I’ve got a scholarship that covers my classes, or I did before I left. I’ll have to see if that’s still on the table. I’d probably have to give up my car too. That’s okay. The transit system in Madison is above average. I could save for something like Carley drives.
“Are you listening to me?”
I look up at my best friend as he slides a sandwich in front of me. Picking it up, I take a big bite and moan. “Good,” I say with a mouth full of bread and turkey.
“Are you going to tell me what the fuck’s going on with you or do I have to beat it out of you?”
Setting the food down, I chew, swallow, and tell him everything. The truth. And it goes better than I expected. Turns out, Cody’s tired of living under my father’s thumb too. “Hopefully he gives us a few weeks to find a place to live.”
“I’m sure we have a little time.”
Picking up my phone, I send a text to my father––one I should’ve sent years ago.
Me:Let me know when we need to be out of the house.
I half expect him to respond with something liketomorrow, but I get nothing. Not one message with an answer to my question. I’m not sure what it means, but I’m guessing we don’t have a lot of time. “We’d better be out by the end of the month.”
“Right on, man. Right on.” Cody raises his fist for me to bump. “We can look for a kick-ass pad closer to campus. Then, my friend, we can walk home from the bars.”
Cody’s right. “True.” Also a good idea since I won’t have a car anymore.
