“The team’s looking good.” Mom bends over to kiss my sweaty head.
“You two are brave today,” I joke, knowing I smell like musty socks.
We talk for a few minutes, but they have plans tonight and need to get going. They have a better social life than I do.
There’s yelling in the tunnel, which makes no sense. We won, and the other team and fans don’t have access to us. My parents can’t even meet me here. It’s not a total shock to recognize O’Keefe’s voice. If anyone would be mad after a win, it’d be him.
The man he’s arguing with has his back to me. “I spent years on coaches and training, and you still aren’t scoring goals. Number fifty-nine scored, and he’s a defender.”
O’Keefe pinches the bridge of his nose. “That’s his job. My job is to save goals, like the acrobatic move I made to ensure they didn’t break the tie. Did you see that?”
The man must sense someone behind him because he says something so low I can’t hear it, but O’Keefe flinches.
“I need to know where my mom is. She hasn’t returned any of my calls in over a month. That’s a long time, even for her.” His voice sounds ragged and pained, as if this admission will cost him.
I’m beside them when I realize it’s my sperm donor. It’s been years, but being so close, I nearly trip on my skate guards.
My instinct is to flee and make myself small so he doesn’t notice me. This is the opposite of how I imagined reacting when I saw him again. I planned to be locked and loaded to tear him up. He shouldn’t be here. This is supposed to be a safe place for players.
Fortunately, they’re staring at each other and don’t glance my way.
“Why would your mother want to talk to her loser of a son?” John spits out.
The malice in his voice ignites the anger I keep stuffed down. “O’Keefe,” I bark, and it echoes in the tunnel. “Coach wants to talk to you now!”
My father locks eyes with me for the first time in fifteen years but has nothing to say. Every inch of my skin itches, and there’s a roaring in my ears. I dreamed of and dreaded this day, but most importantly, I figured he’d acknowledge my existence. Stupid childhood fantasy.
“Go!” I shout at O’Keefe to get him away from the sad excuse of a man before me. He rushes the rest of the way down the tunnel. I wave over a security guard. “Darnell.” I close my hand around John’s arm, finding it smaller than I’d thought. “This man is harassing a player. Can we get him banned from the stadium?”
Darnell’s eyes get comically wide. “Do you know him?”
“John King,” I answer, and his eyebrows shoot up to his forehead. “Is there a way to ban him from other sports arenas?”
“I’ll take care of this right away, Mr. King.” His gaze cuts to my father. “But you might need a restraining order for other places. I’ll check and let you know.”
“This is preposterous! I wasn’t harassing anyone. My stepson and I were having a conversation before you interrupted.” He points his finger at me. “I’ll be calling my lawyer.”
“You do that,” I sneer. Turning away, I pat Darnell’s shoulder. “Thanks for your help. I owe you one.”
Darnell grins, and I make a mental note to grab him some premium hockey seats—at the very least. He leads John away, and I shake as I lean with my back against the wall and focus on deep breaths.
“What the fuck did you do that for?” O’Keefe storms at me, still in his gear.
“You’re welcome.” I push off the wall and start walking.
“Does Coach really want to talk to me?” he asks through clenched teeth.
“Nope.” I’m spiraling from seeing the man who I assumed abandoned me, but in reality, my mom took me. That isn’t straight in my head yet, and O’Keefe is the last person I need right now.
“I’ll never see my mother again,” he mutters. “You’ve been ruining my life for years. Why should I expect any different now?” O’Keefe barges into the locker room, swinging the door shut so it hits me.
Instead of going into the locker room, I sit in a dark film room.
Nothing makes sense.
My heart races, but it has nothing to do with the game or physical activity. I get lightheaded and know the signs of an oncoming panic attack. Peeling off my jersey and pads, I rub my sternum and regulate my breathing.
I’ve been able to avoid a full-blown panic attack for years, and I don’t plan on losing it now. Not with him in the building. I name as many words starting with A as I can think of and move on to B words. The trick is to slow my mind and let the words filter in. But they’re coming fast and furious, so I mentally think of each syllableto slow myself down.
