Page 5 of Pucking Never

Back in the locker room, I grab my bag and glance at the clock. it's late, but despite the time, my mind is still buzzing with plays. I head out through the arena to the private parking lot reserved for the players and staff. Before I reach my car, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and see my brother’s name flashing across the screen.Furrowing my brow in surprise, I answer the call.

“Hey Tyler,” I say. “What’s up?”

“Hey, Jensen,” he replies in a cheery tone. “Just thought I’d check in and see how things are going. The season off to a good start?”

“Yeah,” I answer, my tone heavy with suspicion. Apart from our yearly trips together, my brother usually only calls when there’s family drama or it’s near a holiday. “Things are looking solid with the team. That’s not really why you called, though, is it?”

“What?” he exclaims in a voice that’s more high-pitched than normal, a dead giveaway that he’s up to something. “Can’t I call my little brother just to see how life is treating him?”

“You could, but you never do. Just spit it out, Tyler. I’m tired and need to get home.”

Tyler sighs and confesses, “All right, all right. You got me. I told Dad I’d reach out and ask why you’re ignoring his calls.”

I roll my eyes and groan. “Christ, the old man’s getting desperate, huh? Well, you can tell him I’m tired of every one of our conversations dissolving into him criticizing my hockey career and telling me I need to focus on my future with his company, which he still thinks is going to happen despite my continued insistence that it’s not.”

"Well, you know how Dad is," Tyler says, a tinge of sympathy in his voice. "He's just worried about your life after hockey. You know, the steady job, the wife and kids, the white picket fence..."

I laugh humorlessly. "Yeah, I'm quite aware of the 'American Dream' he has in mind for me. Just wish he'd realize that this is my life, and I'm not him."

There's silence on the other end for a moment before Tyler speaks again. "Just give him a call, Reece. He means well. You know that."

"Yeah," I admit grudgingly, leaning against my car. Our father may mean well, but sometimes it feels like he’s more interested in living vicariously through us than supporting our own dreams and aspirations. It wasn’t always like this. My dad and I used to be close. My mom passed away when I was only a baby and dad had to raise Tyler and me on his own. Dad was great when we were kids. Loving and supportive, though he was still strict and expected a lot from us. He encouraged me when I initially showed an interest in hockey. It wasn’t until I actually started pursuing hockey as a career that things changed. His support dwindled and he grew colder and colder when it became clear I wasn’t going to follow the plan he’d laid out for me.

My gaze wanders over to the arena, looming large in the dim light. Its magnitude, its energy… on game nights, it feels like a living entity, as its heart throbs with cheers and cries of thousands of fans. This is where my passion lies, and where my future belongs.

“You can’t ignore him forever,” Tyler continues. “You need to stand up to him sooner or later. You know that.”

"I know, Ty. I know," I concede. "It's just...it's not that easy."

"What's not easy?" he probes, his tone gentle but laced with a challenge. "Ignoring him? Or disappointing him?"

"Both," I mutter.

"I’ve been there, Reece," he assures me, his voice softer now. "Remember when I first wanted to pursue football? Dad gave me so much grief for it —saying it wasn't steady, it wasn't reliable, but look at me now! I’ve got one of the highest-paid contracts in the NFL."

"I remember," I reply. Still, Dad was never quite as against Tyler’s football dreams as he’s always been of my hockey goals. I think he doesn’t see hockey as lucrative in the USA as football, but it’s still messed up how much of a pain in the ass he is about it. Plus, Tyler’s not putting up as much of a fight about working for dad after he retires. He doesn’t have any interest in coaching or anything like that after he’s done playing, but I do.

"You just need to remind him that you're doing what you love and you're damn good at it too," Tyler instructs. "He'll come around."

I rub my hand over my face, feeling the stubble scratch against my palm.

"Yeah, maybe you're right.”

"Of course I'm right," Tyler says with a chuckle. "Now get home. It’s past your bedtime"

I feel a smile tug at my lips.

"You’re not my coach,” I joke. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

Tyler laughs again before bidding me goodnight and hanging up. The harsh beep of my car unlocking breaks the silence of the night, and I slip inside, cranking up the heat. As I pull out of the parking lot, I push Tyler’s concerns out of my head. I appreciate that he wants to maintain peace between me and our dad, but I know it’s going to take more than yet another conversation with the old man to convince him to support my career.

I’d rather focus on the plays I discussed with Coach, and so as I continue to drive toward my apartment building, I fill my mind with Xs and Os so there’s no room left for my father’s disapproval.

Chapter Three

GRACE

“I still cannot believe you took that job! Are you really doing this? You haven’t changed your mind, have you? I mean, come on. You hate hockey!”

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