“She has it all, okay? The looks, the dance team, the guys. During the divorce, she and our dad had all these rituals andtheir thingstogether, and while I understood we all dealt with it differently, I just,” she paused, and a little red colored her cheeks. “She has no reason to intentionally hurt me, but she does over and over and then expects me to want to see her? It’s bullshit. And my dad will say things like, if you could find time in your schedule to see your sister, she’s on the dance team and is way busier.”
“Ah,” I said, hating how my chest tightened at her confession. A flash of annoyance at her dad—my temporary boss—had me clenching a fist against my leg. While her specific situation didn’t apply to me, the feeling of abandonment was familiar. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” she said, herN-energyback in full force. “I know I need to talk to her, but it’s hard.”
“For sure it is.”
We got possession back, fucking finally. Cal had the puck, and Erikson was wide open on the left. Defenders came at Cal, forcing him to pass, but he didn’t. He maneuvered around them, took a shot, andmissed.Erikson’s face was hidden by the helmet, but I could feel the annoyance radiating off him.
He shook his head and skated hard at Cal, swinging his arm up to point at his chest. Oh, words were exchanged. Cal shouted back. I couldn’t even fathom what I’d do if a freshmen punk yelled at a captain on the ice. Hot damn.
“This isn’t good, nope,” I said, putting my hand on her shoulder again. “I swear I’m listening and we’re going to analyze this sister thing to death, but this is bad.”
“We don’t have to analyze it, Michael,” she said, a little pouty edge to her voice. I moved my hand from her shoulder to her knee, my motives not really clear. To reassure her? To touch her? I patted her a few times and lingered too long before I let go.
She remained silent.
Coach barked orders to the guys on the ice, and when Cal and Erikson skated toward the bench, Coach pointed at Cal’s chest. If I had to guess, Cal was getting an ass ripping. Guys like him always wanted to be a hero.
I swore Cal looked up and met my gaze with a hint of red evil in his eyes. Okay, not like a real cartoon character, but a little bit. I waved back and winked. If the punk was going to blame me for his shitty attitude, this was going to be fun as hell.
The smug feeling left when Coach followed Cal’s stare. He flexed the muscles in his jaw and glared at me for two seconds before going back to the game. My stomach sank, and worry ate me inside out. I’d disappointed adults before. I was a wild teenager who was popular and played hockey. I’d been an idiot, but letting Coach down wasn’t something I wanted to do.
Especially since I was in a weird transition phase of not quite knowing what my life looked like after school. It was always hockey, then taking care of Ryann, and school. Ryann was on her own, I didn’t play hockey anymore, and it was my final year of school.
My neck burned as my mind went to the worst-case scenario. Maybe I’d be dismissed. Which, I wasn’t sure that could happen because the contract we signed explained what grounds for dismissal were, and it wasn’t over calling out bad behavior.
Okay, so if I wasn’t let go, I could’ve broken his trust. I did overstep. I ran a palm over my face, and a small, delicate hand touched my forearm.
“Hey,” she said, pulling me from the mental gymnastics routine where I tried to reassure myself I wasn’t fired.
“Hm?”
“It’ll be fine.”
“You don’t know that.” My knee bounced again. The final minute played out, and we won by one goal. It was a sloppy win, but I’d take that over a tie any day. Naomi wrote some stuff on her paper, and I stood, ready to face whatever came my way.
That was one lesson my parents taught me before they left this earth. Being a man was about owning up to your mistakes, not just celebrating the wins.
My entire body buzzed with dread, like I knew I was about to fail a test but went to class anyway because I had to. Everyone loaded the equipment on the bus, and Naomi leaned against the window. I had two options. Wait for him to talk to me or approach him first.
He laughed at something the assistant coach said as he walked up the bus stairs, but his smile faded as he looked at me.
I cleared my throat and stood. “Coach, could we have a word?”
“Sure thing.” He scooted over in the seat, his face neutral. No frowning, no pinch of annoyance between his eyes.
“Congrats on the win,” I said, wiping my sweaty palms on my thighs. “Sloppy, but a win is a win.”
“We were sloppy.”
“Look, I want to apologize for overstepping before the game. I understand how sacred it is between teammates in the locker room. Now, I won’t apologize for calling out bad behavior, but I’m working here under your advisement, and I was out of line.”
Coach stared at me with the same unreadable expression. Not a hint of a smile, nor a frown. He blinked, ran a hand over his face, and nodded. “Lesson for you, kid. What would you do to shift the culture right now? We won, but half the guys are still pissed.”
“Mandatory team get together. Clean up trash on a road or volunteer at a school. Retirement home. I’ve found that if you can count on a teammate in a situation that has nothing to do with hockey, you trust them more on the ice.” I smiled at a memory from years ago where we spent an entire day reading to preschoolers.
I had marker written on every part of my shirt, but I’d chatted with a senior that day while I was a freshman, and our friendship started because of the volunteer time. “Forgive my question, Coach, but why are your captains letting Cal act like that?”
