Unlocking my door, I jump in and slam it shut. Breathing hard, I toss my bag aside and turn over the engine, watching as the man spreads his arms wide to keep Mr. Hoffman from getting any closer to me. My fingers tremble as I open my GPS app to navigate my way to the hockey stadium.
I’m freaked out and want to see my dad. Right now, I’m willing to just drive and deal with any other fears later. Pulling out into the street, I drive past Mr. Hoffman and lift my middle finger at him. Not my finest moment, but I’m having a shitty day. The man who helped me hides a smile and goes on with his day, a nameless Good Samaritan.
My heart slams against my ribs as I drive, and I disassociate from things, almost surprised when I pull up to the gate. My fingers continue to tremble as I roll down the window for the guard.
“Are you okay?” he asks, leaning down to look at me better.
“Me? I…yeah. I’m here to see my dad, Coach Freedman. He said practice is running late,” I explain.
Wetness hits my hand, and I raise it to touch my face. Shit, I’m crying. Brushing the tears away, I shrug.
“I’ll be fine soon,” I amend.
“Okay,” he says worriedly. “Drive through and go to section F. Be sure to park as close to the door as possible. It’s where the team and staff are parked. Walk up to the door and show them this badge.”
The guard hands me a badge that says Coach’s visitor, and my lips twitch in slight amusement as I pull the lanyard over my head.
“Thank you,” I sigh. “I’ll do that.”
Driving past the gate, I try to decide how to tell my dad that I lost my job. I’m sure that he’ll be on my side, but now I have to figure out what I’m going to do next. I want to work, build my portfolio, and show that I can make it on my own. I’m twenty-five years old, I can’t live at home forever.
My head hurts from stress as I park, and I close my eyes as I push the gear shift into park. Reaching out for my phone, I open my eyes and send a text to Addie.
Me
Sometimes, things are too good to be true. This job was one of them. I got fired on my first day. Fuck those people.
I don’t know what she’s doing right now, so I switch to my dad’s messages.
Me
I’m here. Should I meet you on the ice?
God, how the world comes full circle. My fingers twitch as I think about the way the ice smells, how the shush of skates sound as they tear across the surface. Fear is a mysterious thing. Even just thinking about these things can trigger it for me.
I don’t have to think about the men who hurt me, those things happen often enough in my nightmares. I’ve avoided therapy for years, not wanting to face what happened. How am I supposed to live my life if I let them take everything from me?
Adjusting the rear view mirror, I wrinkle my nose at the mess I’ve made of my makeup. I pull out a wipe from the endless amount of things I have in my car, attempting to clean it up. Ugh, that’ll have to be good enough for now.
Gritting my teeth, I pick up my bag and make sure I remember my phone and keys. Ghosts live all around me, maybe I should face mine in a city that is known for them. Getting out of the car, I slam the door shut and lock it. I’m going to freeze inside since I didn’t think to bring a sweater.
Life has a way of steering you down the path you’re meant to take, but I think whoever my guardian angel is, they may be drunk. Can I get a sober one, please?
This car is old enough that I have to manually lock it, and I stride toward the double doors on this side of the building. The stadium is bigger than the one that my father originally coached at, and I have to say that I think he may have traded up.
Everyone on his previous team turned their backs on him, which just increases my distaste for hockey players and everyone involved with this sport. Sometimes I wonder if people know what was done to me, or if it was just brushed under the rug.
Forcing myself to hold my head up high, I refuse to hunch over to hide. I have always lived my life knowing that I’m a reflection of my dad. My behavior is put under a microscope as his daughter, and I’ve always made sure that I act in a manner that will make him proud.
The door is locked when I attempt to pull it open, and a guard unlocks it, his brows drawn down sternly until he sees my badge.
“Sorry, I have to keep the place locked up tightly while the players practice. People will sneak in otherwise,” he explains, pushing the door wide for me to enter.
I would never. They’re all animals.I hold those words back, biting my tongue even as I nod.
“I’m Gerry, and I tend to work during practices. You’re here to visit your dad?” he asks.
“We’re supposed to have dinner together,” I explain. “When he realized he was running late, he pivoted and asked me to meet him here instead.”
