Eli
“Manners,”I repeat as I drive home. After our little talk in the library, Emma took off saying she had stuff to do. I’m not sure how to take it all. I mean, I’m used to women who want to spend every waking (and sleeping) moment with me. But Emma’s not like other girls. She seems to be the opposite, and it’s confusing.
Example. I offered to take her to dinner tonight, but she refused saying she was doing something with her roommate. When I asked if she wanted a ride home, she shook me off on that too. I can’t figure her out.
As I pull into the driveway of the house I share with Cody and one of the other guys on the team, a house my dad purchased for me, my phone chimes. Thinking it might be Emma, I reach for it and am about to hit that little green circle when I see who’s actually calling. “Dad,” I mutter. Do I want to talk to him? No. But, if I don’t, he’ll keep calling. And calling. I hit the green icon. “Hello?”
“Son,” my father, Jack Baxter, says loudly. I must be on speaker phone.
“Dad.”
“How’s practice going?”
See there? That’s all he cares about, hockey. I mean, the guy didn’t ask how I was, how school was going, nothing. He never does.
“It’s going fine. How are you and Mom doing?”
“We’re good, honey.” I hear my mom’s voice coming from somewhere in the background. See? Speaker phone. “How are classes going?”
There you go. My mom cares about other things besides hockey. She’s had to, otherwise I think we’d all go insane because all my father ever thinks about is hockey.
“They’re good. I’ve got As in all of my classes so far.”
“Wonderful.” At least she’s proud of my academics.
“Never mind that. You need to focus on your workouts. Next year’s your year, Eli.”
He means next year is my year to enter the NHL draft. Something I’m honestly not sure I want to do. Sure, I like hockey. I enjoy the sport, the competition, and the guys on the team but is that what I want to do for a living? “I’m able to focus on more than one thing at a time, Dad.”
“Bullshit,” Jack Baxter grumbles.
“Jack,” I hear my mom say in her soothing voice. The one she uses when she knows my dad is going to go off on some hockey tangent. “We talked about this.”
“Helene.” His voice sounds far away, which tells me he’s now turned to talk to her. “Eli needs to put everything he has into hockey right now. He doesn’t have time to pussyfoot around. He needs to focus. He’s going to have one chance at this. I won’t let him fuck it up.”
Focus. That’s a word I’m pretty goddamn sick of. I’ve heard it repeated so many times by my dad I could puke.
“We promised him, Jack. He wanted to go to college. We agreed as long as he continued with hockey. He kept up his end of the bargain. Now, let’s let him decide for himself.”
“He wants to program goddamn computers, Helene.” My dad’s voice gets louder, and it’s filled with contempt. “Do they evenneedprogrammers anymore? Isn’t everything done by robots now anyway? How’s he going to make a living? I’m sure as shit not going to support him forever.”
I’m rolling my eyes hard all while thinking it’s like I’m not even on the phone anymore. “Dad—” But he’s still going.
“The only reason I agreed to his college bullshit is because he’ll get exposure playing for the Badgers. Even if he ends up on an AHL team somewhere, he’s still going to make more money than he ever did programming old computers.”
“Dad.” He’s so clueless about what I want.
“Jack.”
Mom and I are both trying to get him to let it go. I’ve heard the same song and dance from him for years.
“Just do what I asked you to do, Eli,” my dad growls. “Get your fucking stats up and don’t get distracted. Distraction is the worst thing for a player of your caliber. I’ve seen better guys than you get caught up in other mundane shit and miss their chance. You’ve got tofocus.”
There’s that word again. “I’m doing it. I’m working hard. I’m focused. I swear.”Jesus.
I’m ready for this call to end when he adds, “Your mother and I are coming up for a visit soon.”
Great. “Okay. When?”
