Page 16 of Sidelined Love

As I glide, my mind begins to wander away from my father and the shitty relationship I have with him to Hailey. Her image appears in my mind, and for the life of me, I can't understand why. She and I have only seen each other a couple of times, but I can't get her out of my head.

There's something about her that unnerves me, but I can't figure out what or how she's doing it. This is all while she seemingly couldn’t care less if I combusted into flames right in front of her. Yet the intrigue is still there, and that’s both exciting and frustrating.

I round the net and come to a sharp halt, spraying ice in an arc. I exhale and look up at the empty stands. In a few days, they'll once again be filled with roaring fans, and there is nothing like the feeling of knowing all of those people are there to watch you kick ass.

But for now, it's me and no one else.

A puck lies abandoned at center ice. I skate over to it and give it a half-hearted tap with my stick. It slides across the ice before I chase after it and line it up for a shot. I slap it hard toward the goal.

It hits the post with a loud ping, bouncing back toward me. I have to admit, I'm happy that miss happened now and not during a game.

I pause for a second to line up another shot, and a voice slices through the air, ruining my focus.

“Jamison! Are you planning to make a day of it?” Coach Johnson's voice booms across the rink, forcing me from my thoughts. “Don't you have a class to head to or something?”

I look up at the clock and then at Coach Johnson. I didn't realize how much time had passed. “Uh yeah. I'm coming now, Coach!” I say back. I'm slightly embarrassed Coach found me deep in my own thoughts, but at least he doesn't know what I was thinking about.

I know I should probably get off the ice as quickly as possible, but I can't resist the urge to give the puck another hard smack. This time, it's a release of pent-up frustration and anger, directed at my father.

The sound of it hitting the boards reverberates through the rink, matching the intensity of my emotions. I dash over to pick up the puck and quickly skate toward the exit where Coach Johnson is waiting for me.

Once I’m off the ice, I quickly put my skate guards on and gather my things. I meet Coach Johnson near the doorway to the way to the locker rooms, where he is leaning against the doorframe with arms crossed. The look on his face is impossible to read, but that’s not unusual for him.

“Everything good, Jamison?” Coach Johnson asks. His gaze is focused on me as if he’s trying to peer into my soul. “You seem a bit off.”

I nod, even though I’m feeling anything but okay. “I’m fine, Coach. I only wanted another moment to skate, you know?”

He thinks about my response for a moment longer than is comfortable before he unfolds his arms. “Okay. We can’t have you losing focus if we can prevent it. You’re one of our best players. But also keep in mind hockey isn’t everything. Having balance is important. Try finding another hobby or something to give you a small break to come back refreshed.”

“I know and that’s a good idea,” I reply. I’m not sure if he believes me, but at least he doesn’t ask any other questions.

Coach Johnson’s hand lands on my shoulder pad before he steps to the side to walk into his office. “Get to class then.”

“Will do. I’ll see you later.” I continue walking to the door that leads to our locker room.

“And Jamison?” He pauses when I look back at him. “If there's anything you need to talk about… you know where to find me.”

“Thanks.” I give him a short nod and continue on my way to my locker.

“Damn it,” I mutter to myself. I don't know why I'm surprised he seemed to catch on to my lie when he's been coaching for decades at this point, but I am. Then again, maybe it is wishful thinking on my part.

I shrug off the conversation with Coach Johnson as I reach my locker. It's as if I'm working on autopilot while I'm opening the lock. It's a little eerie to be in here by myself. I'm used to being around my teammates, but their chatter and noises have now been replaced by the quiet hum of overhead fluorescent lights and the distant roar of a Zamboni cleaning the ice for the next practice.

I strip off my gear, each piece hitting the bench closest to me with a thud. My skates are the last to come off and I make sure to set them down gently before tucking them away in my bag.

Once I'm showered and back in the clothes I arrived here in, I stuff everything else into my duffel bag. I shove the bag onto my shoulder before heading outside.

The air is crisp outside, reminding me that I should have brought a hoodie with me. It is the one thing I'm definitely going to grab when I get home. The walk back to my apartment is a short one, and as I'm walking through my front door, my phonebuzzes in my pocket. I snatch the phone from its resting place and glance at the phone screen: Dad.

I hesitate for a moment. I've been avoiding his calls for a while and maybe now is the time to answer to get him off my back for a bit. Because if I don't, he'll keep calling until he reaches me. Then it might escalate into something bigger. I let out a heavy sigh before swiping to answer the call and put it on speaker.

“Hey, Dad,” I say, trying to sound upbeat as I toss my bag on the floor and close my front door.

“Levi, how are you?” my dad replies. His voice is stern but not unkind, but there is time for him to shift to that. “I wanted to check in and see how you're handling everything with the season starting up again.”

I wander into my kitchen and grab a glass from the cabinet. “I'm doing alright; just finished up practice actually.”

“Good, good,” he says. There's a pause and I can picture him nodding on the other end. “Now listen, your coach mentioned he wants to see more leadership from you this year. As captain, you have to set the example.”

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