Page 55 of The Hat Trick

I was close.

“Right, Mandy, Merry Christmas,” I say with zero enthusiasm.

“Your dad is in his office, he wanted me to let you know once you got here.”

I nod in her direction before heading up the stairs to his office. She gives me a once over, and she’s not the first one of my dad’s wives to hit on me, though she has toned it down a bit lately. She won’t be the last, but I haven’t ever touched any of them. I will fuck puck bunnies any time, but someone my dad has stuck his dick in. No thanks.

The irony is not lost on me that I can’t stop thinking about a certain woman who is also sleeping with two of my teammates, but that’s different. I have fucking standards.

The office door is cracked so I push it open, and my dad’s eyes meet mine.

“Matthew, nice to see you, want to sit?”

I grimace but sit in the armchair in front of his desk anyway.

“Randy said you wanted to see me.”

“It’s Mandy,” he corrects.

I just shrug in response, and he sighs.

“Seems like you’re having a decent season so far,” he tries to relate to me by using hockey. He always has, but it never really works.

I became interested in the sport when I was young, a coach said I had potential and my dad ran with that, hired the best trainers and coaches so I would be the best. A professional athlete as a son is more impressive than a mini me apparently.

For me, I just liked the distraction that hockey was. I got into it shortly after my mom died, and it was a way for me to get out my emotions. It also helped me not think about it as much.

“I’m the top of my team for goals scored this season,” I tell him since he only sees that as being decent. Collee isn’t far behind me on goals scored, but I’m still at the top.

“You’re also the top of your team for time in the penalty box.” He raises an eyebrow at me, trying to see if I’ll deny it. I won’t. Some of the shit I’ve been thrown in the box for are stupid mistakes. Other things I fully deserve, especially the fights since I don’t shy away from those.

“It’s just a part of the game,” it’s what I tell him every time he brings this up. It never matters to him, but I still tell him.

“There are plenty of players who don’t fight every single game.”

“I don’t fighteverygame,” I mumble.

“Where did you go last night? I kept trying to find you, but you disappeared on me,” he changes the subject. An expert on avoiding actual confrontation with me. He just wants me to listen to what he has to say but refuses to acknowledge what I have to say.

“I left,”to fuck Chandler.

“I had more people I wanted you to meet, important people, Matthew.”

“And I’m not your show pony that exists just to talk to people for you,” I snap.

He scoffs, “It’s the least you could do for me putting you through all those training camps, personal trainers, and making sure you had everything to make it to where you are today.”

I slam my hands on his desk. “Youwanted that, not me! I loved hockey, I still do, but it was never about being the best. That was allyou.I just wanted to play the fucking game.”

“And the millions of dollars you’re making a year is so hard for you, right? You should thank me every goddamn day for the life you live.”

“Why should I thank you? For paying for me to do all those things while I was the one putting in all the work? No thanks, I’m good. I’m where I am today because of my hard work, not your fucking money.”

“That’s what you think? I raised you; your success is all thanks tome.”

I go to scream at him about how he didn’t raise me. My mom did until she died, and then I was basically an orphan, but his wife knocks on the door, and I turn to look at her. She looks between the two of us nervously.

“Dinner is ready,” she says quietly.

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