Page 14 of Pucking Forbidden

I’m halfway through a lecture on contract principles, staring at the professor as he drones on about enforceability, wishing I was just about anywhere else. When was the last time I wasn’t drowning in a mixture of stress and frustration?

Suddenly, it hits me. I’m shaking. I’m flooded with thoughts of ice. The sharp scrape of blades. The burn in my legs. The way everything in my head used to go quiet the second I stepped onto the rink.

God, I miss skating.

The ache hits me out of nowhere. I shift in my seat, tapping my pen against my notebook, not writing a single thing down.

There has to be a rink somewhere in London. Obviously, there is. It’s a massive city, but between classes and assignments and trying not to spiral, I haven’t actually taken the time to find one. Haven’t made it a priority.

Which really sucks, because skating used to be my thing I made time for, no matter what. I never wanted to be a pro, but I always felt at ease on the ice. There was never any pressure when I was skating. Dad would take me skating when I was a kid until his resentment at not getting into the NHL became too much for him, and he gave it up. Grandpa always encouraged my skating, even when Dad just tolerated it.

Now I can’t even be bothered to look up a good place to go. That might not have bothered me so much before, but since I’ve been talking to Julian, hearing how much he loves being on the ice has reignited my spark for it as well.

I drag a hand down my face and glance back at the front of the room, catching exactly none of what the professor just said.

Yeah. This is going great.

That night, I call my mom. We’re close, despite the fact that she wasn’t always around when I was a kid. I was a surprise. Mom and Dad never got married. She’s way more of a free spirit than Dad. Not the type to really settle down. She works as a traveling midwife, which means she can kind of go wherever she wants. People are having babies everywhere, after all.

Still, she’s always made a point to stay in touch with me. To be there when it really mattered. In fact, I’ve always been grateful for the choice she made. She knew she couldn't offer the kind of grounded stability a child needed, and she trusted that I’d have a better shot at a "normal" life if my dad retained full custody.

Dad may not have known the first thing about raising a girl, and he certainly didn't know how to handle my emotions, but that’s where my grandmother came in. For years, she was the bridge between my father’s rigid world and my own. She was the one who filled the gaps with helpful advice and patience. Grandpa was so in love with her…their love story was like a fairy tale.

Everything changed the year she passed away. Grandpa was devastated and moved first, and then several years later Dad packed up our entire lives and moved us to Colorado as well. He traded the heat of the South for the jagged peaks of the Rockies, and in the process, I lost the only person who truly understood me.

Mom answers on the third ring, her voice bright and warm even through the phone. “Hi, darling.”

“Hi,” I murmur, curling up on the couch.

“How are you, sweet pea?” Her voice washes over me, completely devoid of the usual hurried strain most people carry. There’s the faint, ambient sound of wind chimes in the background. “How’s the new semester going?”

I hesitate before answering. “Yeah. I mean…it’s fine.”

A soft, knowing hum vibrates through the line, the auditory equivalent of her brushing a stray hair out of my face. “That didn’t have a single ounce of truth in it, Hadley.”

“Yeah, well,” I mutter, letting my head fall back against the cushions. “I just…I don’t want this. I don’t want to be here.”

“I’m so sorry, honey,” she replies, not needing further explanation. This isn’t the first time I’ve said something like this. “You know your dad just wants the best for you.”

I swallow, past the sudden lump in my throat, the frustration bubbling to the surface. “Are you sure you can’t talk to him for me? Just… call him up and convince him to let me change my major? He might actually listen to you.”

Mom lets out a low, breathy laugh. “Oh, babe. If I call your father to lecture him on how to guide your future, he’ll just do the exact opposite out of pure principle. You know how we operate.”

“Yeah, I know,” I grumble, sinking deeper into the couch cushions.

She pauses, and when she speaks again, her tone shifts to a more sympathetic one.

“Listen, babe, you always have to listen to your heart. You know I believe in that more than anyone, but also, you don’t want to struggle. Your father and I have our disagreements, God knows, but he wants you to have a secure life. That’s why he’s pushing so hard on this law school stuff. He thinks he's building you a fortress to protect you.”

“I don’t want a fortress,” I grumble, staring at my bare toes. “I’d rather be drifting around with you, learning how to actually help people, than sitting in a lecture hall learning how to negotiate a player’s likeness rights.”

“That’d be quite the cosmic detour,” she chuckles. “Don’t lose hope, okay? The universe doesn't lock you into one path. Maybe you do this major now, play his game for a little bit to get your footing, and later you can always pivot. Knowledge is never a waste, even if it’s wrapped in a corporate bow.”

My chest tightens, a heavy wave of homesickness hitting me out of nowhere. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too, sweet pea. More than you know,” she says, her voice dropping into a tender murmur. “But you’re stronger than you think. Don't let his gravity pull you under.”

I sigh. “I just wish I didn’t feel like I’m burning myself out for something I don’t even like.”