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I was still confused. All of these things felt like pros, not cons. At least to me.
“Kid, you’re in your mid-twenties. And somehow you’re still here. Your dad said you ditched college to come back here, just to help the place out.”
“I did.”
Rocky’s whole demeanor changed. He was still the hard-nosed realist I’d developed a love-hate relationship with, but beneath that outer shell I could see softer emotions too. There was compassion now, almost pity. It was the strangest fucking thing in the world.
“Well you shouldn’t have done that,” Rocky advised. “I’m sure your old man appreciated the help, and I know you did everything for him you possibly could. But in the end, he lost the place because it was too far gone — even with all the money I dumped into it, it was all I could do to bring it back from the brink of death. The point is, you would’ve been better off if you stayed.”
I bit back a sharp retort, and whatever else I might’ve said out of anger. In my heart though, I knew he was right. I’d spent most of my childhood away from my father, and the guilt definitely built up over time. Coming home to save the lumberyard seemed like a no-brainer at the time. My dad needed help. He was family. That’s all there was to it.
“You’re at a dead-end right now,” said Rocky. “The only one above you is me, and I’m not leaving. That means you can’t be promoted any further. There’s nowhere else to go.”
I still didn’t get what he was driving at. But between his harsh words, and the coppery smell of that blue energy drink, my stomach was in knots.
“In a few months my daughter’s husband is coming on,” Rocky continued, “and I’m going to teach him the business. He’s sort of an asshat, to be honest. And he’ll never be as good as you.”
“Then why—“
“Because he’s family,” said Rocky. “Of all people, I know you understand that. And one day, when I finally retire, this asshat who married my daughter will inherit the business. If we’re still in business by then, that is.”
“So you’re firing me?”
Rocky looked suddenly angry again. “No! Of course not!”
“Then what are you—“
“Are you even listening?” he shouted in exasperation. “I’m trying to help you to help yourself. You can leave here on your own terms and whenever you want to, but you’ll eventually leave. And I’d rather see you do it sooner than later.”
Now I did sit down, in one of the undersized chairs I remembered from childhood. My father worked so damned hard, for so many hours each day, it destroyed his marriage. He missed out time with my mother. Time with me. Even the time we had when I came back from school to help out was hectic and full of stress. There was never an end in sight. The burden of this place was just too much.
“I’m going to do a favor for you, son,” Rocky said gently. “I’m pushing you out of the nest.” He shook his head, reverently. “Your father was a good man, and I appreciate your loyalty. But this is something he should’ve done for you long ago.”
“I… I get it.”
I reached into my boss’s mini-fridge without asking and cracked open one of the strange blue drinks. It tasted like battery acid, going down. But at least it was cold.
“Find something you love, then go and do it,” said Rocky. “And you’re going to absolutely destroy it, Axel. Whatever it is. Hard workers like you are rare jewels these days.” He fell back into his usual, grumbling self.
“Hell, I’m kicking myself for even telling you this.”
~ 43 ~
ZANE
The center skated directly at me head-on, full-speed, his talented hands clasped loosely around his stick. The way he shifted his weight through every stride was deceiving. He leaned left, feigned right… then at the very last second, lined up to swat the puck right through my legs.
But it was his eyes that betrayed his true intentions.
He took the shot. I kicked right and dove left, swinging my arm upward the snatch the puck straight out of the air. It moved so fast I couldn’t even see it. But I felt the satisfying thud of the impact, deep in the netting of my glove.
“NICE.”
I could hear the assistant coach’s voice, even though he wasn’t talking to me. When I finally risked a glance back, I saw the head coach scribbling into his notebook.
Good shit.
It had been a month already, since I was called to the practice squad. A few weeks later, I was tangentially still part of the team. Other cuts had to be made, and there was still the chance I wouldn’t make it. But right now my goals against average statistic was beating the starter; a little detail that hadn’t gone unnoticed by Devin or Devon or whatever the hell his name was.
