4
EMMIE
“I’m glad you stopped by. Reminds me of the time when you were ten and I would bring you to work with me,” my dad, said across from me at the tiny table we were at.
We were in the cafeteria the Buffalo Titans had in their training facility. It wasn’t really a food court though since it only had two options. One was a coffee and smoothie place that had an array of add-ons you could add to the smoothies to make them healthier—no doubt geared more toward the players.
Straight across the room from them was a place that made sandwiches, protein bowls, salads, etc. It looked like the perfect place to go after a hard workout. Pretty sure if I had shown up a few hours sooner, this room would have been packed with athletes.
Right now, it was just my father and I. A few people came and left since we sat down, but we’d pretty much had the place to ourselves.
My dad leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “Feels like a lifetime ago.”
“Yeah,” I said, bringing my coffee to my lips.
Things between my father and I were…awkward. It had been almost six months since we last saw each other. The two of us were typically too busy, with him coaching an entire football team, and me with my ice skating schedule. It was hard to find a time that worked for both of us. We did talk on the phone about once a month, but that was mostly surface-level conversation.
Our relationship was strained at best. When I was younger, I was ahugedaddy’s girl. I adored my father and never wanted to leave his side, so he’d often take me to work with him. But that was back when he was just coaching college football.
When he got the head coaching position with the Buffalo Titans that things shifted.
He was rarely home, too focused on the team. He missed almost every single ice skating competition I had, and whenever I brought it up, he would say, “You know I’m busy trying to build the team, sweetie. I’ll see the next one.”
He never did.
I spent a lot of my teenage years feeling like I was second place to his job. I knew he loved me, but I also knew he loved this team more. I learned to accept it years ago, but it still hurt when I looked out in the stands at a competition, and he wasn’t there.
I used to look up football stats so I could at least have something to talk to him about. At one point, I knew practically every player on every team, along with their coaching staff and all their records. I would have done anything to connect with my dad.
“How has skating been going?” he asked.
I took another sip of my coffee before answering. “Good. Getting ready for regionals next month.”
“Bet Marcy has you on a tight schedule.”
I snorted. “She does.”
“Is it here in Buffalo?” The way my dad asked made me pause.
“Uh…yeah, it’s at Ackles Arena.”
My dad seemed to hesitate for a moment before he leaned forward, forearms braced on the table. “I’d like to be there, if that’s okay.”
I stared at him for a full minute, his words slowly processing.Hewanted to come tomyice skating competition? A flare of hope bloomed in my chest, but I quickly tampered it down. Getting my hopes up that he would show was something I learned long ago not to do. When he didn’t show, at least I wouldn’t be completely crushed by hope.
Part of me wanted to say no. To lash out and ask why now. But the other part of me wanted him there. I wanted him to see me in my element. To show him that I was an amazing skater.
“Y-Yeah, you can come,” I said. Seeing the way his face lit up at my words had me biting my tongue, so I wouldn’t take them back. It was an expression I hadn’t seen on my father’s face in a very long time. Well, at least not directed at me. That stupid hope flared in my chest again. Maybe he’d show up this time.
“Want to take a tour of the place?” my dad asked, his voice tearing me out of my head.
“Sure.” I was more than happy to get back on solid ground. Something safe where my father was concerned.
I drank the last of my coffee as I stood. Tossing the cup in a garbage bin, I followed after my dad.
My Converse slapped against the stone floor. I wasn’t sure if it was granite or not, but it seemed to almost sparkle under the lights overhead. This might have been a practice facility, but they spared no expense for it.
As we walked, my father pointed out paintings of historic football players, explained what rooms were used for what,and shared the history of the Buffalo Titans. I tried to listen, I truly did, but as he talked, my mind went back to the encounter I had earlier in the hallway.
