He stands up. “Don’t come in here and tell me what he needs. You lied to me for months. Both of you. And now you want me to what, Mackie? What do you want from me? You want me to step aside and let some hockey player have my daughter?”
“You know he’s not just some hockey player.”
“Then what is he?”
And there it is. The question underneath all of it. Notwho is hebecause my dad knows who he is—he’s known who Zach is for two years. The question is what is he toyou? What is this thing that was worth lying for.
“He’s the man I love, Dad.” My dad stares at me and I stare back and I don’t flinch because I’ve been flinching for eight months and I’m done.
“He has no family. He has nobody. He had billet parents and teammates and coaches and none of them stayed. You stayed. You were the first person who stayed and treated him like he mattered outside of a rink. And losing that has been—you didn’t see him after Game 1.”
Dad closes his eyes and presses the heels of his hands against them.
“He’s a good person. He made a bad choice. We both did. But he loves me and I love him and that’s real. It’s been real since October.”
He drops his hands. “You said he argued. Every time you wanted to wait to tell me?”
“From the beginning. I was the one who said no. Every single time.”
He sits back down. Slower this time, like the fight went out of him between standing and sitting.
“I’m not ready,” he says. “I need you to hear that. I’m not readyto sit across a table from him and act like nothing happened. I might not be ready for a while.”
“I know.”
“But you’re my daughter and I love you and that doesn’t stop because I’m angry.”
I nod because if I try to talk right now I’m going to start crying again.
“Game 7 is tomorrow,” he says. “Are you going to be there?”
“Do you want me there?”
He looks at his hands. “Yeah,” he says. “I want you there.”
I put my hands over my face and my shoulders shake while the tears come fast. He sinks down next to me on the floor, pulling me against his side the way he used to when I was little.
“I still need time,” he says.
“I know.”
“With him. I need time with him. But I’ll get there.”
I lean my head against his shoulder. “Dad?”
“Yeah.”
“He really is a good goalie.”
“I know he’s a good goalie, Mackie. I’ve been watching him play for two years.”
I stand up and I’m halfway to the door when he calls out. “Tell him to stop the puck tomorrow.”
41
ZACH
I wakeup at five on the morning of Game 7 of the Stanley Cup Finals and I don’t move.
