Page 13 of The Game She Hates

“Whatever it is, you know you can always talk to me. I know Pearl is looking for another therapist for you. I was sad to hear she didn’t change her mind about working with you,” Coach mentions, and I can’t help but wince at the mention of Pearl.

Not only does she not want to work with me, but she also doesn’t want to spend even a minute talking to me in public.

I nod, appreciating Coach’s concern. He’s always been invested in my personal life and has been aware of my family history from the start. He tries to support me whenever he can. But I wonder if his kindness stems from a sense of obligation as my coach, or if it genuinely comes from a place of care.

That’s the problem with me. I find it difficult to simply accept people’s kindness at face value. I spend more time than necessary trying to dissect their motives.

11

Zane Ortiz

The entire team gathers in Tyler’s kitchen for dinner. It’s a tradition we have—the night before every game, we share a meal as a team. It’s not just about the food; it’s a bonding ritual that helps us stay connected and accountable, particularly for the more adventurous souls among us. It’s reassuring to know that we all headed home early afterward, and we’ll all be well-rested and ready for the game.

I eye the salmon on my plate, eager to dig in and savor the delicious meal Lacey, Tyler’s wife, has prepared. Her cooking is always spot on—nutritious and bursting with flavor. Despite the chaos the team brings to her home, she doesn’t seem to mind. Unlike some of the other wives who often find us too loud, she’s always happy to have us over for dinner.

I scan the dining table and notice Trent and Gus sitting next to the only empty spot. Without hesitation, I decide to avoid Trent and head for the balcony instead. Tyler, Carson, and Fabrice are already out there, enjoying the evening breeze. I take a seat on a stool next to Tyler, surrounded by his energetic kids who are trying their best to negotiate their way out of bedtime.

Being around Tyler’s kids always brings back memories of my own childhood. Seeing their innocence and vitality, I feel a stab in my chest, remembering a time when I didn’t feel loved or cared for. My dad’s mess dragged me down, and the only relief I found was when Aunt Melissa would take me away for a few months. But then my dad would come back, claiming me for government benefits, and the cycle would repeat.

For years, I viewed kids as a burden because my dad constantly reminded me that I was nothing more than a drain on his resources. As a child, he made it clear that my opinions didn’t matter because I was incapable of grasping adult concepts. From the moment I was born, I was an unending wellspring of pain and misery in his eyes. His words left scars that ran deep, and it had shaped the belief that I never wanted to bring a child into this world to endure the same suffering.

But watching Tyler with his kids has opened my eyes to what a loving, involved father looks like. His four children adore him, and he showers them with care and attention, even calls them after every game and practice. The pride he takes in their smallest accomplishments never fails to amaze me.

My neglectful father led me to believe that all dads were inherently flawed, but Tyler has proven me wrong. Maybe one day I’ll be ready to embrace the joy of fatherhood myself and adopt a few mini hockey players of my own.

“Uncle Zane, do you want to see the giraffe Daddy painted in my room?” Tia asks, beaming with excitement. She’s almost six and Tyler’s firstborn.

I nod. “Of course. I’d love to see it,” I reply, with a hint of sarcasm toward Tyler. I didn’t peg him as the artistic type.

“Tia, darling, maybe you don’t want to show Uncle Zane because he thinks his drawings are better than Daddy’s since he’s an artist,” Tyler says.

I flash him a modest smile. I don’t consider myself an artist, but drawing was my first therapy before I stepped foot on the ice.

“No, Daddy, your drawing is the best. He needs to see the pink giraffe!” Tia insists.

A laugh escapes my lips. I quickly rise to my feet. I’m eager to see this pink giraffe.

“I want to see it, Tia.” I turn back to Tyler. “Pink? Really, Captain?” I say quietly, raising an eyebrow at him.

Tia leads me to her room, her two younger sisters following along. Each wall is covered with Tyler’s artwork, and though the art is questionable, their happiness and love for it are undeniable.

“You’re not allowed to make fun of me in my own house,” Tyler jokes as he enters the room. The girls slip out, probably in search of another audience for their dad’s artwork.

“You know, you could’ve just asked. I could’ve turned these rooms into something straight out of Disney,” I jest, flashing a grin.

“You would’ve?” Tyler asks, a skeptical edge in his voice.

“Absolutely! Why wouldn’t you think I’d be up for it?” I reply, feeling a bit offended. Tyler has only been kind to me and I thought we had a solid friendship, religion aside.

“It’s just that you like to keep to yourself a lot. I wouldn’t dream of burdening you with such a time-consuming project.”

I rub the back of my neck, feeling a bit uneasy. My teammates might assume I don’t care about them off the ice, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. “I may not show it, but I really value being part of the Glaciers. And you’re all like…” I hesitate, unable to bring myself to say “family.” The word feels foreign, given my upbringing with my dad and my struggles to accept Aunt Melissa’s love.

“Friends,” I finally settle on.

“I understand you had it rough growing up, but sometimes, God provides us with new opportunities to fill the voids from our past. You’ve undoubtedly made many of us better players through your tactics and resilience. I have no doubt that you enjoy being part of the team. But, I hope you’ll consider letting us into the parts of your life that you’ve kept closed off. You don’t have to open up to everyone, just to a few people you trust and believe will support you. Life isn’t just about hockey, and I sure know that because I’m retiring. I believe there’s something even greater waiting for me beyond the rink.” Tyler pauses, letting his words sink in, but I struggle to imagine a life where hockey isn’t my everything.

“What could be better than playing hockey professionally? I thought you were making a sacrifice for your family?”

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