In the locker room, Coach speaks to us briefly after the game. Everyone is rowdy and in a great mood, a stark contrast to the last few games.
“Hey, drinks at the hockey house tonight to celebrate?” my teammate, Bretton, asks.
“Nah.” I shake my head as I tie up my laces.
“You sure?” Trevor pipes up.
“Yeah.” My eyes elsewhere, just like my thoughts.
I’m the last one out of the locker room again, although I don’t loiter nearly as long as last time. I’m tempted to stay to see if Ella would come inside the locker room again, but I can always go to her and check to see if she needs help cleaning up or anything.
I throw my bag over my shoulder, push open the door, and turn.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” a familiar voice says, but it’s anything but sweet. “Geez, what were you doing in there? Most of your teammates left over twenty minutes ago.”
“Dad,” I say, trying to keep the edge out of my voice. “What are you doing here?”
“What? I can’t watch my own boy play hockey?”
“Just surprised to see you here,” I respond, although I shouldn’t have been.
My dad lives and breathes hockey. He also loves micromanaging me and my prospective career, especially since he never had the skills to make it big.
“Heard you’ve been playing badly. This wouldn’t have happened if you played for Chestnut Hill.”
And there it is. The reason for the visit: to rub in my face what a failure I am. That if I had listened to him and gone to his alma mater, I wouldn’t be struggling with this shitty play.
“I played great tonight,” I shrug, not keeping the cockiness out of my voice. “Ended with a hat trick.”
“Because I was here.”
I let out a choked laugh. He can’t be serious with this crap, right? Before I can manage a response, he continues. “Bill wants you to enter the transfer portal.”
This again.
My dad was livid when I chose the free ride with more playtime at Bristol Bay University over his choice. I thought it would be over after that, but nope. Now he’s on me to transfer, to change my mind.
It’s not just his alma mater either. It’s any hockey program ranked higher than my current one. It doesn’t matter that we are nationally ranked, which is a special feat as a small, private university. We’re also getting better and better as a team, you know, minus the last few games, but still.
It also doesn’t matter that I can have much more playtime here than at other schools, and I’m on track to be Captain next year as a junior. Also, I’m happy.
“Dad,” my tone low and strong, silently sayingenough, but he doesn’t get the hint.
“C’mon, Dallas. Just think about it.”
I tap a finger to my clenched chin. “What teams are interested?” His eyes shine with delight. “What’s the farthest one?”
He frowns when the second question fully processes. “The farthest. Knock it off. They are all New England ones. That way, you play on the East Coast. It’s yourdream.”
“No, Dad. It’s your dream. My dream is to make my own decisions without judgment.” I shove past my father and push open the doors to the outside, feeling the change in temperatures, the briskness in the November air.
The parking lot is dark with only one lone streetlight with a dull bulb. I step forward and—bump.
“Umph,” a voice says near my ear.
“Ella?”
“Hey,” her voice is shy but sweet. “Great game tonight.”
