Shane goes still. Jaw tight. Shane is the boundary enforcer in this room, and even he is, for the first sixty seconds, just observing.
Neo doesn't move. He never moves without purpose. But his attention sharpens in a way I can feel from where I'm standing, and I know in my bones that Neo, or Cap as he’s affectionately called, has just made a private decision about Caleb Adams. A decision that probably ain’t good.
My stomach drops before I know why.
I grip my clipboard tightly.
I don’t even know this kid, and already I’m worried as fuck for him.
* * *
My dad blows the whistle a second time. Sharp. Final. Caleb is off the ice in under five seconds. It’s obvious that this isn’t his first rodeo, and he’s had this conversation with other coaches before; that much is obvious.
He skates off without arguing, without protesting, and without looking at any of the players on the team, especially the one he just hit…Bass.
My dad doesn’t yell, but frankly, that’s the worst version of him. I’ve known it my whole life. The yelling version of my dad is the one who loves you, or at least the guy who gives a damn. The quiet version is the version that has already made a decision, and it typically isn’t a very good one.
He walks Caleb to center ice.
He delivers the consequences right there, in front of the whole team.
Conditional status.
Behavioral monitoring.
One more incident and he’s gone. No appeal.
I watch the room react in micro-expressions. Bass exhales again. Shane's jaw tightens. Neo simply nods in what I assume is agreement. The freshmen don't move or say a word. In fact, they look petrified.
Caleb's face does nothing.
I feel for the guy, though. There seems to be some sort of disconnect. Maybe he doesn’t completely understand what just happened? I know this tone from my father, and I know what it means.
This is the tone my dad used the night my mother packed her bags. Decisive. Distant. Unwilling to soften for anyone…even her, a woman he claimed he would have killed someone for.
This is the tone that says I have already decided. This is the tone that says you are now a problem I am managing, and I’m annoyed I have to. This is the tone that, if you have ever been on the receiving end of it from this man, you don’t forget. It reeks of disappointment and disgust.
But Caleb Adams hasn't said a single word.
And then, and this is the part I don’t see coming, my dad calls my name.
Out, the fuck, loud.
In front of the entire team.
“Where’s my daughter? Hey, Jasmine, get down here, please.”
This is not what we do, and it takes me completely off guard, so I freeze. But I don’t freeze for very long, because this is my damn job, and well…my father’s the boss. If he calls me to the ice, then I need to pull my big girl panties up and do it.
Reluctantly, I step forward, my hoodie swallowing my frame, and my clipboard against my chest. My heart is pounding in the parts of my body that should not have a pulse, like my fingertips, my temples, and the soft inside of my left wrist.
I shouldn’t have had a caffeinated coffee this morning; I should have taken a damn weed gummy. My anxiety is on a level eight.
Heads turn.
Then Bass, bless his ignorant heart, actually leans over and whispers to Shane in a voice meant to be heard:
“Hold the fuck up. Coach has a daughter?"
