“They’re working hard,” Gerry sighs. “I can hear your dad yelling through the halls.”
“I’m not surprised,” I smirk. Dad gets very excited when he’s calling out plays and drills.
Gerry walks me down to the rink, and I breathe in deeply. It still smells the same. I wish I had pockets to hide the shake in my hands as I walk, but maybe I can blame it on the cold. I need to figure out my shit.
“Sit right on the bench,” Gerry directs. “Have your dad call me on the radio if you need to leave, please. I’m holding myself personally accountable for your safety while you’re here.”
My jaw drops at his words, but he’s already hurrying back out the door. He’s so freaking sincere, he definitely meant those words. I’m so used to having to walk alone at night, look over my shoulder, and worry about getting home safely.
The world is a lonely and terrifying place as a single omega. It’s something I expect I’ll always have to deal with.
No one spares me a glance as practice continues, and I allow myself to be a fly on the wall. I haven’t even watched hockey on television in years. I have to admit I miss it a little.
The players can eat dirt, but the actual sport? Fuck yes, I love it.
I wince when shots are missed, bounce in excitement when a goalie knocks a puck away from him, and grin when the team works together to make a play happen. Hockey is addicting, and I drink in every moment.
As long as no one pays attention to me, I’m perfectly happy. I don’t know when my trauma will sneak back up on me, all I can do is enjoy the peace while I can.
My dad glances in my direction, his lips splitting into a wide grin when he sees me. Walking over, he sits beside me, his arm nudging mine.
“You made it,” he says.
“I did,” I nod. “I don’t want anyone to say that I’m derailing your attention, Dad.”
Scoffing, he shakes his head. “I have competent assistant coaches, Cae. Watch.”
“No!” a voice booms out. “Run it again. Troy, I see that you’re favoring your leg. Take a break.”
“See?” Dad chuckles, smugly. “I swear, they both have eyes in the back of their heads. It’s so different from anywhere else I’ve coached.”
“Your players look solid on the ice,” I admit. “There are some that will need to tighten up on a few things. I can see where they’re going to have issues.”
“Tell me,” he murmurs.
“Dad, no,” I say, shaking my head. “I hate hockey. I’m not telling you how to run your team.”
“Hating hockey? Who let you in here?” a player lumbers off the ice, and I instantly lean closer to my father.
“Don’t tease, look, or speak to her, Troy,” Dad orders.
“Yes, sir,” he says immediately. “My apologies.”
“Did that just happen?” I whisper, shocked as the player moves as far away as possible.
“They actually listen to me,” Dad says. “That doesn’t mean I trust any of them near you. Now, you grew up on the ice, Cae. If there’s something that you’re seeing, tell me. I’ll fix it. No one is going to retaliate against you for telling me there’s a problem in my team.”
Taking a breath, I nod. My fingers cramp as I try to sit up. If I get any closer to my father, I’ll end up in his lap. Talk about embarrassing.
“Number twelve. He lists to the right when he skates,” I explain. I watch the players, and continue to tell my dad what I see with fresh eyes.
“Well I’ll be damned,” he mutters. “I’ve been working on some of these things with them, but hadn’t seen the others. Great job. I’m going to go wrap this up.”
I watch as he stands and his assistant coaches make space for him to call the shots. There’s a mutual respect between the three of them I don’t remember seeing with his previous team.
“Let’s call it!” Dad yells. “I have my notes that I’ll be passing onto the assistant coaches. Tomorrow I want to work on fixing a few things that I believe will help us win the next game. Great job tonight.”
I watch as they skate toward me, and I realize there’s nowhere to go.
