Page 92 of Arctic Titans of Northwood U: Volume 2

Chapter Fifteen

SEBASTIAN

Since kissing Tyler on the street corner and heading in the opposite direction, my life was a blur of conversation and frustration. It had only been a few hours, but the mandatory stress injections were handed out on my first evening home. We’d gone through the underwhelming report card, the rainbow-themed hockey team, and my terrible life choices regarding my future. And the dinner hadn’t even been served yet.

My brothers were both present, as was my sister, Eryn, when Dad sat down at the head of the table and folded his arms on its edge. His thinning hair was paler than the dark brown I remembered from my childhood, but his bushy eyebrows were just as intimidating as ever.

I hated that fear was so clearly present in all I was feeling. Fear of awkward silences, fear of intimate questions, and fear of slipping in front of them.

This was as traditional a household as it could be. Dad looked at Eryn with a gentle smile. “Why don’t you help your mother in the kitchen, darling?” he suggested, his voice deep but rounded at the edges for his little girl.

Eryn, who was far from little, being a high school senior this year, nodded. “Of course, Dad.”

The first wave of probing comments about hockey and its purpose in the world had only been an overture.

Dad wore his little smile as the silence wrapped itself around all our throats. I wondered how my brothers managed to have dinner here every week in these conditions. Then I remembered that they were the same as my parents. They liked it when it was quiet. They sat stiffly in their chairs, their faces hard.

I wondered if Michael was as somber with his patients. He looked like he was about to deliver some bad news. “It’s a shame,” he said. “About your grades.”

My stomach felt hollow and my throat strangled. Here we go again. “They’re not terrible.”

Silence.

Dad drew a deep breath slowly and held it, pondering. “‘Not terrible’ is not the golden standard.”

Becoming a general practitioner isn’t the golden standard, either, I thought. Instead, I shrugged. “That report card is the last thing my potential agents will look at.”

Michael scoffed. I wasn’t surprised. “See, the keyword there is ‘potential.’”

I swallowed a sigh. “There’s still time,” I said. “Sure, some players get their agents sooner, others get them later. We’re headed into the final stretch. We have games across the tri-state area lined up.”

Michael shook his head slowly.

Dad poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher on the table. He lifted the glass, looked at the rim for a short while, then pressed it against his lips. He drank slowly, set the glass on the table, and observed me. “Who gets their agents sooner? Good Christian kids or those…” His teeth clamped together with anger.

You are obsessed, I thought. Even so, my guts tied into knots. “That’s irrelevant.”

“You’re so naive, Seby,” Michael said.

Dad lifted his hand to silence me just as I opened my mouth. “Michael is right, Son. You telling that to yourself won’t make it true. They have connections. They have the support of the public that’s turned away from God. Who knows what they do to get the exposure and contacts? Who knows what they give in order to get those agents you covet.” He leaned a little toward me. “Have you received any improper propositions, Sebastian?”

It was my turn to grind my teeth. The corners of my lips curved down a little as my heart fractured.

“You have, haven’t you?” Dad said gently, almost like he wanted me to say that it was true.

“Of course not,” I squeezed sourly. He had so little experience in anything beyond this town and the parish and the holy goddamn books.

Dad gritted his teeth. “Son, there is no shame in it for you. The virtuous…”

“Dinner’s ready,” Mom said as she entered the dining room with Eryn following. They carried the food in their hands and the huge bowl of mashed potatoes Eryn was hauling seemed too big for her thin arms. My chair scraped against the hardwood floor, and I got to my feet, taking the bowl from my sister.

She shot me a grateful and playful look, both merged into one and returned to the kitchen. I followed, murmuring I could bring out the rest.

As we rounded the corner and I scanned the kitchen, Eryn whispered, “Are you ready to run away screaming yet?”

“You know it,” I said in a tight voice, relaxing a little. “Is it always like this?”

Eryn shrugged. “Sort of. They know best, right?” The sarcasm drenched her tone.