Not because this is an away game and being at a different rink always puts me on edge. Not because the team is nervous. Not even because my parents will be in there.
It’s because the afternoon has taken an even worse turn. Just when I was coming to terms with my parents’ visit, they sprung on me that Lance and Josh are coming as well. So that’s two more people I need to deal with, two more people who will be in my business.
The weight in my chest presses harder with each breath. Closing my eyes, I drop my head back against the seat. It wasn’t enough for my parents that I got them discounted rooms at the Pine Island bed and breakfast—courtesy of Sophie, whose bestfriend owns the place. The only thing that prompted was a lecture on how I should be investing in real estate on Pine Island, buying a house instead of renting an apartment, and if I did that then there would be room for my family to stay in when they visit.
Yep. Same old, same old.
The only bright light I have to look forward to is Devin. She’s meeting me outside the locker room after the game. Even though I gave her an out, she’s determined to hang out with me and my family tonight. It’s a show of solidarity, and I couldn’t be more grateful, though I hate that it feels like she’s sacrificing herself for me.
Sighing, I open my eyes and unbuckle my seatbelt. Time to get out there. Focus on tonight’s game and nothing else. That’s always been a skill of mine, and tonight I can use it to do more than help my team win. If I’m lucky, I’ll be able to forget my family is even in the stands.
The second I walk into the rink, though, it’s clear that won’t be happening. Voices echo off the high ceiling, mixing with the smell of popcorn and hot chocolate. A crowd is already filling the bleachers, a disproportionate amount of people clumped together in the middle. Folks are clustered around Lance and Josh, thrilled to be breathing the same air as the two pro football players. My parents are feeding the fire, using fans’ phones to take pictures of them with my brothers. Eyes follow me as I pass—some recognizing me, others just curious about who I am in relation to the NFL stars.
Ducking my head, I make a beeline to the locker room. Focus on the game. Focus on the game.
I can’t have a panic attack tonight. Not during the game. Not in front of my parents. They’ve never seen it happen, and it would only solidify their opinion that I’m weak.
I focus on my breathing... Slow inhale of four counts... Hold... Slow exhale of four counts. Digging in my bag, I pull outa granola bar and take a bite. The taste of it brings me back into my body. I’m no longer crawling out of my skin. I’m here. I’m real. I can do this.
A mix of anxiety and testosterone fills the locker room. It’s a good thing Jeff has a pep talk prepared, because English is failing me today. The best I can do is clap everyone on the back and tell them they’ve got this.
Taking my spot next to the rink, I find Devin. She gives me a thumbs up, and I smile back, relaxation washing over me. I just need to get through this game then dinner with my family afterward. Following that, it’ll be me and Devin alone again.
The ref’s whistle blows one minute into the game. He points at my team, declaring a foul for interference.
The crowd responds with cheers and boos, and my dad stands. “Watch the rules! Come on, you guys!”
My face burns. So Lonnie Paxton is still the loudest person at any game. Why am I not surprised?
The foul does nothing for morale, despite Jeff’s and my attempts to boost it. Our side makes one rookie mistake after another—Marcus overshoots a pass, Chen loses control in the neutral zone, Eduardo fumbles a perfect setup. Jeff skates between players, trying to salvage what he can while I stand frozen, my dad’s voice cutting through everything else.
“What kind of puck control is that?” He shouts at Eduardo through cupped hands. “Soft hands! Soft hands!”
Yelling at the opposing team would be one thing, but he’s trying to coach my team—like Jeff and I aren’t even here. The irony of it is that he doesn’t even like hockey, yet here he is, acting like a professional who knows it inside and out.
My hands curl into fists, and my feet are marching over to my dad before I even know what they’re doing. “Cut it out,” I snap at him. “Stop yelling at my players.”
His eyebrows knit together in anger. “Oh, come on, Oliver! Iwouldn’t have to yell at them if you’d done what you’re paid to do and taught them to play hockey.”
My nails dig into my palms, and it’s only the watchful eyes of other people that stop me from yelling back at him. Taking a slow breath, I answer through tight teeth. “Keep it down. This is a high school game.”
I leave before he can respond, and it’s not five more minutes before his voice is booming across the stadium again. One of our players fumbles and loses the puck, and my dad goes right up to the plexiglass. “What! This is embarrassing! You kids been training with kindergarteners?”
The ref blows his whistle, but this time it’s not at any player. He skates over to my dad, hooking his finger in a way that can only mean one thing. You’re out of here.
It’s something I’ve seen happen to my father at multiple games, and it never gets less cringy. He also doesn’t seem to learn, and this time he doesn’t go easily. It takes a linesman coming over and getting in his face before he finally exits the stadium, my mom and brothers yelling the whole while about how unjust it all is.
I want to shrink into my hoodie and disappear. It doesn’t matter that I haven’t introduced them as my family to anyone. Everyone who knows who my brothers are—and that’s probably most people at this game—either already knows I’m related to them or will learn about it eventually.
The whole thing has me steaming, my head foggy and distracted. Our plays keep getting worse and worse, despite Jeff’s and my attempts to coach the team through it all. Before the final buzzer even sounds, we know it’s over. There’s no coming back.
And we’re right. We lose six to one. It’s a disaster.
The team slinks into the locker room, where more than a few players slam down sticks and one of them brushes away angry tears.
“You all did good tonight.” I raise my voice. “I’m proud of you.”
The words don’t make a dent in the bad mood, and I get it. I’d be beating myself up right now, too. I still stand by what I’ve told them from the start, though. The outcome of the game isn’t what matters; it’ll never be life or death.
