So that’s how I ended up in Rixton, Tennessee.
I hadn’t come here chasing closure or forgiveness. I wasn’t expecting some dramatic confrontation you’d see straight out of a movie. I wasn’t naive enough to think this would end with a hug and tears, and everything would magically make sense.
I just needed to see him.
To meet the man who could walk away from one life and pour everything into others like I never existed.
I grabbed my duffel bag from the trunk and headed inside. The motel was small and dingy, with outdated carpet. The air conditioner hummed faintly as it struggled to keep up.
It wasn’t much, but it would do for now.
I dropped my bag by the door and let myself breathe for the first time since arriving in town.
This was real.
I didn’t know how long I could make what little money I had last, but I knew one thing for sure. I wasn’t leaving until I had answers.
I crossed the room to the small window overlooking the street and watched the rain start to fall outside. Somewhere in this town, my father lived his life without a single care or thought in his mind about me.
Somewhere nearby, he coached players who looked up to him.
I didn’t know when or how I’d approach him.
But I would.
Because I didn’t uproot my entire life again to keep running. I’d done enough of that with my mom growing up.
For the first time, I was standing alone in a town that didn’t know me yet, and I let the truth settle deep in my bones.
I wasn’t here to beg. I was here to face the man who taught everyone else how to fight, and I’d see if he could finally look the daughter he left behind in the eyes.
***
The first week I was in town was turning into one dead end after another. Most of the apartments in town were already taken by other college students who were better prepared for their move.
I yawn as I check out of the motel, my shoulder stiff from the firm mattress. The front desk attendant slides my debit cardacross the counter toward me, and I return the gesture with a polite smile I don’t feel.
I could afford to stay here a few more nights if I needed to, but I don’t want to push my luck. Extended stay or not, this place looks and feels like it might start charging me in tetanus shots before long.
Before I leave, I duck into the small kitchenette set up with a free breakfast station and grab a cup of coffee. Calling it coffee feels a bit generous. It’s watery and a tad stale, but it’s hot, and that counts for something.
I take one grimacing sip and step outside, hauling my suitcase behind me. I load my stuff into the trunk of my run-down Toyota. It rained overnight, so the air is cooler this morning, and it helps more than the coffee to wake me up.
Sleep didn’t come easily last night. My brain refused to shut off, spinning out of control with worst-case scenarios and what-ifs until the sun started creeping in through the thin curtains.
My plans for the day included checking out a studio apartment I saw available near campus. I was a little hesitant, considering the listing said it was above the local pub, but it’s within my price range and available immediately. I’m not in a position to be picky.
But first, I have somewhere else to be.
I follow the signs through campus to the ice arena. It was a quick internet search to figure out which one they used for practice. Some of their practices were open to the public, so I was able to easily figure out their schedule. I park farther than needed, my heart thudding a little harder with every step as I walk toward the entrance.
The lobby is quiet, echoing faintly, and no one stops me as I slip inside. I keep my head down, hands shoved into my jacket pockets, as I head toward the rink.
Cold air wraps around me as soon as I step inside. I climb the concrete stairs slowly, my hand brushing the railing until I reach the top row of the stands. Championship banners hang from the rafters, each one a reminder of what my father has built with this team and this school.
And there he is.
My father.
