I wouldn’t be where I am without him. He may not have had any actual pull with the NHL, but he made sure to always get me the best coaches and as much ice time as possible. Part of the reason we moved to Croatia when I was twelve was to work with one of the most sought-after coaches in the world. He and my dad happened to play together when they were young, and that allowed me the opportunity to train with him.
I wouldn’t be the player I am without my dad. I owe my entire career to him.
Something he’s never let me forget.
“I’ll keep working hard, Tata,” I say lightly. “I won’t let the new league impact how I’m viewed. I’ll keep making a name for myself.”
“See to it that you do,” he commands. “You don’t want to become a disappointment.”
With that, he says his goodbye, seemingly satisfied by the now-deflated mood I’m in.
I immediately make my way to my bar, pulling out my best bottle of whiskey. I need something strong right now.
I pour three fingers into a glass, rest my back against the wall, and slide down to the floor. The whiskey burns as I take a long pull, but I welcome the sting.
Sometimes, it feels like that’s what I deserve for being such an ungrateful son.
My dad said he doesn’t want me to become a disappointment, but with the way I feel right now, I’m pretty sure I already am.
The throbbing in my head is way too loud.
I sit myself up and get my bearings, realizing I’m still on my sofa. Must have drunkenly passed out here last night.
When I feel my head throb again, I realize it’s because of a loud pounding.
A loud pounding at my door.
Who the fuck is pounding on my door right now?
I grab my phone from where it must have fallen to the floor and groan at the bright screen.
It’s not even fucking nine in the morning yet.
I begrudgingly get my ass up and drag myself to the door before whoever is on the other side can try to bust it down again.
When I swing it open, I find my mom, stepdad, and shithead little brother.
“Cameron!” my mother yells—far too fucking loudly, of course—when she takes in my disheveled appearance. “What’s wrong?”
“What are you all doing here?” I’m not very hospitable at the moment, and I seem to be unable to hide that.
“Your mother was worried about you,” my stepdad, Forrest, states.
Bodhi shrugs with a smirk on his face. “You didn’t answer your phone for any of us last night, so I suggested we drop by to check on you.”
“Couldn’t have done that later in the day, Bode? I just fucking woke up.”
“Language, Cameron,” my mother chastises, hands on her hips as she stares me down.
Evelyn Allard used to scare the shit out of me. She’s an incredible mom, but I never wanted to be on the receiving end of her irritation.
She should consider herself lucky that I spent my teenage years with my dad in Croatia rather than around here in Boulder. I would’ve driven her fucking mad.
Even now, though, with my six-foot-five frame towering at least a foot over hers, that tone is still enough to send a little bit of fear through me.
“Sorry,” I mutter, even though I’m really not. She wouldn’t survive hearing the way I talk on the ice.
Forrest gives me a sympathetic look. He’s always had this knack for knowing when I’ve talked to my dad. He never forces me to talk about it, but he makes sure to be available to me if I need him.
