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I shoot up in bed, disoriented, unnerved. I’m covered in sweat, my sheets are twisted around my legs, the comforter thrown off, and my bedside lamp lies on its side, casting eerie shadows over the walls. I look down at my hands, expecting to see blood and bone, but they’re fine.
“Fuck.” I’m breathing heavy, feeling light-headed and like I’m going to vomit. I struggle to free myself from my sheets and stumble to the bathroom. I don’t even have a chance to close the door before I’m retching into the toilet. I heave until all that’s left is bile. A glass of water appears in my peripheral vision, and I take it. I swish and spit a few times before I take a tentative sip.
My dad flushes the toilet for me, and I drop to the floor in front of the bowl, glad I’m not a disgusting pig who leaves the bathroom a wreck. I drop my head between my knees, trying to find some calm. I don’t close my eyes, though. I don’t want those images back.
His hand comes to rest on my shoulder. “Take a few deep breaths.”
I do as he says, tracing the pattern in the tile floor with my eyes, trying to shake the dream, and wishing Clover were here, but at the same time glad she didn’t witness this.
She’d tell me I need to talk to someone.
She’d be right too.
“You all right?” Dad asks after a minute—or longer. I’m not sure.
“Yeah, just a bad dream,” I mumble.
“Sounded like a lot more than a bad dream.” He clears his throat. “Talk to me. What’s going on? I feel like I’m on the outside, and I’m not used to that when it comes to you.”
I raise my head and hate the expression on his face, the concern, but more prevalent is the hurt. I realize this isn’t fair to either of us. I’ve spent my life nodding in agreement, following the path that’s been set out for me, because it felt like the easier thing to do.
“I don’t know if I want this.”
“Want what?” he says.
I shift so my back is to the wall. He sits on the edge of the tub, hands clasped, elbows resting on his knees.
I take a deep breath and say the words I’ve been choking on for a while now. “I don’t know if I want to play professional hockey.”
“You’ve got contract talk jitters. Those are completely normal.”
I shake my head. “No, Dad, I don’t think that’s it.”
“You’ve been playing your whole life,” he says gently. “This is what you’ve worked so hard for.”
“I don’t know that I should have been a first-round pick. I’m not as good a player as you.”
“Nashville saw your potential. Give yourself some time at training camp to get comfortable. You’ll get your feet under you. The skill is there. And you have the discipline.”
He’s not wrong about the discipline. I have that. But the skill set? That’s been a struggle. I see it every day when I’m on the ice with my team, Kody especially. So, I go with blatant honesty, because I feel like I have nothing left to lose—except years of my life doing something I’m not sure will make me happy.
“Even if I have the discipline and skill, I don’t know that I can spend my entire career on the ice trying to live up to your legacy, Dad.”
His expression softens, and I see it, how hard this is for him too. “I don’t expect that from you. Your career is yours. I’m not asking you to follow in my footsteps like that.”
“I don’t want to disappoint you.” I stare down at my hands, wishing I had something to do with them other than inspect my hangnail.
“Son, look at me.” He waits until I drag my eyes away from the floor. “You could never disappoint me. What’s going on in your head? Does this have to do with the woman you’re seeing?”
“No, it doesn’t have to do with Clover.” I shake my head. “Actually, yes, it does, but not in the way you think.” I drop my hand and meet his imploring gaze. “She’s not trying to sway me one way or the other. If anything, me playing professional hockey would be better for us. Then at least I’d look legit.” I sigh. “She’s been a great sounding board. We’ve talked it all through. She knows you not as Alex Waters the hockey legend, but as my dad. She’s not subjected to the chatter of me following the same path.” I run my hands over my thighs. “I’ve been having a lot of nightmares—tonight was probably the worst yet—and they’ve been ramping up the closer we get to training camp. I can already see what this is going to look like. My stats aren’t like Kody’s. I know you’ve been keeping it positive, but I don’t know if I’m NHL ready, or if I’m ever going to be. If I didn’t have a dad who was a hockey legend, that might be okay, but the reality is, you’ve had an incredible career, and no matter what, I’m always going to feel like I’m in your shadow—not because you’ve done anything to make it that way, but that’s just the way it is. It’s different with Kody. He’s a natural. He’s better than his dad, and that’s saying something. Because Rook was and still is an amazing player.” I hold up my hand to stop Dad from interrupting. “And maybe I could be as good as you. Maybe I could even be better, but I don’t think Iwantto be.”
I run a hand through my damp hair and shake my head. “You know, I’ve spent so much time avoiding relationships because I was terrified to ever feel the way you do about Mom. And I sure as hell never wanted to feel about someone the way Kody feels about Lavender. That guy stewed in his own misery for more than half a decade because he was afraid he would screw her up.” I blow out a breath. “And I really had no intention of falling in love with anyone, let alone my fucking professor, but I just see the world differently. I think I always have. And I see that for all the good this career has done for you and our family, there’s another side to it. Some people can handle it all, and maybe I could, but I don’t want to.”
My dad is silent for a long while before he finally asks, “If not a career in hockey, what do you want?”
I pull a square of toilet paper free, start folding it, and give voice to the thoughts that have been rolling around in my head for a while now. “Just a normal life. I don’t deal well with the excess. I think . . . I just want to be a regular guy. I like my job at the gym, and they’ve been asking me if I want to move into management. I can see maybe wanting to open my own self-defense studio down the line. I can see myself going back to school and getting a degree in sports psychology, because it fits what I love. And I’d love to work with you, teaching kids how to play hockey—get ’em ready for the kind of future you always wanted for me.” I set the crane on the edge of the tub and lift my gaze, afraid I’m going to see his disappointment and crack.
Dad rubs his bottom lip. It’s a habit everyone in our family has, I realize. His expression doesn’t hold the emotion I worried it would. Instead, he looks sad. “I only wanted that future for you because I thought it was somethingyouwanted. I don’t want you to feel like youhaveto follow this path. But I want to make sure, if you’re going to say no, that you’re doing it for the right reasons.”
