Page 52 of Pucking Forbidden

“I can do that.”

“What about working with groups?” she asks next. “It can get a little chaotic out there, especially with the younger ones.”

I consider my answer for a moment. “I’ve never worked with a group before, but I know you can’t really control everything on the ice, so it’s more about managing the energy than trying to shut it down.”

Her mouth lifts into a satisfied grin. “That’s a good way to put it.”

There’s a pause as she makes more notes, and I sit and try not to let my nerves or eagerness be too obvious, fighting against the urge to bounce my leg up and down. Every second she spends reviewing my one-page resume feels like a lifetime for her to realize I have absolutely no real-world value.

“What made you apply here?” she questions, raising her head and meeting my gaze, her expression warm.

“I love to skate and want to work with kids…” I pause, the generic answer not sitting quite right. For some reason, I think of Julian. He wouldn’t just give some cookie-cutter response. He’d be honest. Genuine. Thinking of him makes me want to be just as honest and genuine. “I missed being on the ice,” I continue at last. “I’ve been studying abroad the past few years, and only recently got back to the States. I’m still in school, but my studies aren’t satisfying me. I want to do something I’ll actually care about.”

Becky doesn’t respond right away and just gazes at me thoughtfully. Oh, fuck. Was I too honest? Did I just screw this up right before the finish line?

“You’re allowed to have more than one thing,” she comments, her tone sympathetic. “People forget that.”

The words settle in my chest, causing an ache. I just want to be allowed one thing I choose for myself.

She glances back down at her notes, then flips the page on her notepad. “Alright. Let’s talk logistics. Availability?”

I walk her through my class schedule and the times I’d be able to work. She asks a few follow-up questions about weekends, early mornings, and my flexibility if something changes.

I answer everything without overthinking, pushing any uncertainties I might feel away as best I can.

“Responsibilities would be a mix,” she explains. “Assisting with group lessons, occasionally leading beginner sessions once you’re comfortable, and helping with public skate if we’re short-staffed. Nothing too complicated, but we do expect reliability.”

“Oh, if I can do one thing, it’s being reliable,” I nod, then giggle awkwardly. Becky gives me a confused look, but it shifts in a moment.

“I figured,” she grins. “Any questions for me?”

I shake my head. “Nope, I don’t think so.”

“Great!” She pushes to her feet. “Well, I’ll be straightforward with you, Hadley. We’d love to have you.”

I blink, taken aback. “Really? Just like that?”

She chuckles. “Yep, just like that. Your experience is impressive, and if you think you can handle it, I’d like to offer you the job. What do you say?”

Excitement rushes through me, and I don’t even have to consider my response.

“Yes!”

Two days after my interview, I tell myself I can’t put off telling Dad about it any longer. I sit on my couch, staring at my phone as if it’s a live grenade. Part of me wants to keep my mouth shut, but the stress of carrying the lie is eating me alive. Every time he texts, my stomach plummets. I hate feeling like a coward, and I hate the paranoia that he’ll somehow find out on his own.

Maybe I can just feel him out. I don't have to confess everything. I can just test the waters, gauge his mood, and see if there’s a version of this where he doesn't completely lose his mind.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I tap his name on the screen and press the phone to my ear, my heart immediately hammering against my ribs.

He picks up on the second ring.

“Hadley?” He sounds a little surprised. “This is unexpected.”

“Hi, Dad,” I reply, tucking my legs up underneath me on the couch. “Do you have a minute?”

“For you? Always.” His voice is crisp, carrying that familiar, commanding undertone that makes me feel like I'm ten years old again. “I was actually just looking at your grades for your most recent exam. An A-minus, well done as always. I knew this move to be closer to me was the right decision. You’re finally focusing on what matters.”

I swallow hard, my throat tightening as the guilt and frustration collide in my chest. He thinks I’m thriving, but I’m suffocating. I grip the phone tighter, determined to rip the bandage off before I lose my nerve.