four
Declan
The sound of my skates against fresh ice is the only thing that helps me escape reality. The second I’m on the ice, my world no longer exists, and the only thing that matters is playing hockey.
It’s also why I’m still skating, even though practice ended hours ago. But I’ve always found I get my best skating in once everyone is gone. This might be because it doesn’t feel like training when I’m alone; I can do what I love without the pressure of failing.
I was born to play hockey.
My dad grew up on the ice and was going places, according to him. Until his sophomore year of college when he got hurt. Bad. And they said one wrong hit on the ice could kill him. So, his dream was crushed.
Until me, and suddenly his life had meaning again because hockey could becomemylife.
“You should be faster by now.” The voice stuns me, and I trip over my feet, almost falling across the ice. When I turn around, I see him standing there, hands in his pockets, still wearing his suit from work.
“How long have you been standing there?” I wonder, trying to catch my breath as he moves closer to the ice.
“Long enough.” He pauses like he’s studying me, even though I’m no longer skating.
“I was working on my shooting,” I lie. “Not agility.”
I wasn’t working on anything, to be honest. I was becoming one with the ice. I felt at home. Which is something he wouldn’t understand because, to him, the only thing that mattered was winning, not the game itself.
“I’m just saying,” he says, “before I got injured, I was skating twice as fast as you are. It’s because I knew how to train properly.”
“Dad—”
“And that I shouldn’t be drinking and partying.” He crosses his arms. “Any free time I had was spent on the ice; that’s how you make a career, Declan.”
“I don’t party, Dad.”
I’ll admit, I live with five guys who like to celebrate. They support our school and the other sports teams, which means celebrating big wins. And I drink occasionally, but we’ve never let anything affect our game.
Even if he doesn’t see it, they’re as dedicated as I am.
“I bet if we went there right now, about a hundred people would be inside.”
“Exactly, and where am I?”
He may have control over what I do and how I train, but if he thinks I’ll let him control my friends, he’s wrong.
“But you can only carry a team so far if they aren’t willing to make the same sacrifices.”
“What are you even doing here? My school isn’t on the way home from your office.”
Quite the opposite, actually. His office is between my school and our house, so he just added an extra hour to his drive by coming here.
“Is it so wrong that I wanted to see my son? I barely saw you all summer.”
“Because I was training. Something you should understand. After all, you created my schedule.”
I skate off the ice and to my bag. I grab my water and spray it into my mouth before peeling off my shirt and wiping my face.
“And you should appreciate everything I’ve done for you to get here,” he says. “All the hours I’ve put in at the office over the years so you could play.”
And there it is. The one thing he always holds over my head. How I’m so lucky to be where I am, but it wouldn’t have been possible without all of the sacrificeshemade. Forget the fact that he was the one who wanted me to follow in his footsteps before I even knew what hockey was.
“Yeah, thanks, Dad. I appreciate all you had to give up for me. All those hours at the office, they don’t go unnoticed.” I roll my eyes. “But your hard work will be for nothing if I don’t keep my grades up so—"
