I roll my eyes as Josie and I trail after them down the hallway. “Why the hell do I even bother?” I mutter, and Jo grabs my hand, squeezing it comfortingly. She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t have to. What’s to say? I just need to accept that there’s nothing I’ll ever do that’ll earn me his respect. I just wish I didn’t care so fucking much.
Chapter 11
ALEKS
Idon’ttalkmuchmore to my dad or Brad during lunch, but that’s not unusual. Instead, I chat with Jo, my mom, and Christine while my father and brother have their own little boys’ club meeting down at the other end of the table. I feel like they should be wearing signs around their necks: “No Girls (or Gays) Allowed.”
Once we clean up from lunch, it’s game time. I swear, if I thought there was any possible way I could leave early and skip the so-called “friendly game” entirely, I would, but I know I’d never hear the end of it, so it’s probably better to tough it out.
The low, steady hum of the rink's refrigeration system echoes through the air as I sit on the bench, lacing up my skates. The artificial lighting casts a cool glow on the ice, adding to the charged atmosphere. It’s always like this before these “friendly” family games. As much as I'm not really up for this today, these games aren't nearly as bad as they used to be. When I was growing up, I dreaded them. Even though I didn’t get the star athlete genes, I’m still pretty competitive, and being the lone nonplayer in a house full of exceptional athletes isn’t a fun experience. I wrestled for years with the weight of my family’s expectations on my shoulders, knowing there was no way I’d ever be able to measure up. I’ve always loved hockey, so it was heartbreaking to know I’d never be as good as my brothers and sister, but once I figured out how much I love the strategy part of the game and figuring out the big picture, I stopped caring about these games quite as much, which allowed me to enjoy them more. But even now, those old feelings of inadequacy still find me sometimes.
Beside me, Josie adjusts her gear with focused determination. Jo is enough of a natural athlete that she can keep up with me, but of course, everyone else skates rings around both of us.
We always draw straws for teams, and this time, it ends up being me, Christine, and Mom against Dad, Brad, and Jo. Brad, ever the asshole, just can't resist stirring up some shit as we enter the face-off circle. "Watch out, little brother. Don't want to mess up that important job of yours," he taunts.
I try to ignore him, but my frustration level is already high, and I can't stop myself from glaring at him. "Just focus on the game, asshole.”
Josie skates up to me and murmurs low enough so only I can hear, "Don't let him get to you. That's what he wants."
I nod, but I'm still pissed off, so I take a deep breath, trying to focus. Naturally, I lose the face-off to Brad, who passes it to my dad, who controls it effortlessly. The two of them pass it back and forth between them, easily deking around both me and my mom as we try to defend our net. Christine manages to get in the way of a quick wrist shot by Dad, saving a goal. The competitive nature of my family is out in full fucking force today, and as the game continues, the intensity builds.
Brad intercepts a pass from Mom that was meant for me, and he quickly maneuvers around Christine, meeting my eyes with a smirk before burying the puck in the net. By this point, their team is so far ahead of us we stop keeping score. It’s got Christine riled up because these games aren’t supposed to be ultra-competitive, but Brad is really fucking with the vibe today.
A few minutes later, I’m back in the face-off circle again, this time against my dad. I'm determined to prove myself, and this time, I win the face-off. Instead of passing, I weave between Brad and Josie, taking my shot without hesitation and squeaking it into the net as Brad hurls himself on the ice in a vain attempt to block it.
"Jesus, Bradley, calm the fuck down," Dad says to him, eyebrows raised. "Your coach will have my balls if you get hurt during a family game of shinny."
Brad doesn’t say anything, just seems to double down on his shitty attitude. He's always been edgier and even more competitive than my other siblings, but today's attitude is too much, even for him. I have no idea what's going on with him, but clearly, something is under his skin.
Even Dad can see something's up with him, and he pulls Brad aside a few minutes later, talking to him quietly.
"The fuck is going on with Thing 2 today?" Josie asks me quietly, using the silly nickname she has for Mike and Brad. Brad is Thing 2 because he's a few minutes younger than Mike.
"No idea," I answer. "But at least it's got my Dad's mind off me." Jo and I watch as Dad tries reasoning with my brother, but it seems like it's not helping much today. It's like he's on some kind of mission to ruin the game for the family. His face is flushed with anger, and I can just about see the steam coming out of his ears as he listens to our dad, who's probably ripping him a new one. Dad's not particularly known for his soft touch when it comes to coaching—or anything else, really—which is why he was strongly encouragednotto pursue coaching after he retired. He's too much of a pit bull for a job that occasionally requires a soft touch.
After their conversation, we resume playing, although we're all a little distracted now that it's clear something's bugging Brad. A few minutes later, I get a chance when I intercept a pass meant for Josie from my dad. Determination fueling me, I dodge past my brother's attempt to haul me down, which would have really pissed Dad off if he'd been successful. As I reach the net, I get that slightly surreal feeling I always do when I'm about to score a goal. I hear the sound of my skates on the ice, and I'm conscious of my heart beating in my chest. With a swift flick of my wrist, I send the puck across the ice like a bullet. Brad again dives for it, trying to make the save, but it finds its mark in the corner of the net.
"Yeah!" I shout, clutching my fist and raising my stick in the air. Mom and Chrissy come over to exchange high fives, but when I glance over, I see Brad is still lying on the ice. He's rolled onto his back, and he's just lying there, staring up at the ceiling. Dad gets a worried look on his face, and he and my mom skate over to where Brad's lying. Josie and I follow right behind them.
"Bradley, you alright, son?" Dad calls before he reaches him. Brad responds by sitting up and shaking his head.
"You know what, guys? I'm just not fuckin' into this today. Sorry, Dad."
My dad's brow creases with concern. "It's fine, son. Why don't we call it for today if your heart's not in it."
My own eyebrows shoot up into my hairline. Normally my dad is pretty fanatical about playing these games through to the end, so he must be pretty worried about whatever's going on with Brad if he's willing to call the game early. I exchange a glance with Christine as Dad helps Brad up and we head toward the benches.
My parents both hang back with Brad as Josie, Christine, and I take our skates off and head back to the main house.
"Do you know what's up with him?" I ask my sister when the three of us get back to the kitchen.
"I think his game is in the toilet, and he's really stressed about it. The Jaguars suck again this year, and I think maybe he's starting to realize he's closer to the end of his career than the beginning. He hasn't got one goddamn clue about what he's going to do after hockey, and he's freaking out. "
"Really?" I ask. "What makes you think that's what it is?"
"He was asking me earlier about how I knew it was time to retire," she says, grabbing an orange out of the fruit bowl on the counter. "I almost laughed at him since it's not exactly the same thing. It's not like I was making any money on the national team, so as soon as it stopped being something I looked forward to and I was over thirty, I knew it was time. For guys like Brad and Mike, it's a different calculation." She shrugs. "I think that's why he came here to talk to Dad before their game tomorrow."
"Oh. Do you think he's considering retiring before the season ends?" I ask, and she shrugs again.
