Page 64 of Untouchable Player

‘Ha ha, my dad would love that.’

‘He would when you were bringing home gold medals.’He adds a little medal emoji.

He’s right. Why do parents have to focus on the medals and trophies and number one spots? They barely noticed my academic achievements while Harrison was winning awards named after dead hockey players, until I was named valedictorian – number one.Thenthey were proud.

I want to tell Jesse I miss him. I do miss him. But what do I really miss?

Should I text him something sexy? Tell him he gets the gold medal in blow jobs? No. Definitely not.

‘Maybe’,I reply instead, ‘have fun with your sister.’

I’m so bad at this hooking up thing.

Jesse

We catch the bus to the ice rink early so we can get out of the house before Dad wakes up and asks too many questions.

I haven’t been to this rink for a while, and when I see it, I’m flooded with memories of being a kid and coming here with my dad.

I knew from a young age that hockeywas expensive and that my parents had to make a lot of sacrifices for me to play. I didn’t learn until later that they had re-mortgaged the house at one point, and that my scholarship was the only thing allowing me to go to college (well it definitely wasn’t my brains).

When Sam comes out onto the rink in full hockey gear, my heart bleeds, because she’ll never have the same opportunities to play that I’ve had and it’s obvious she loves it more than I do.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

“Nothing, just gas.”

“Gross.”

“Come on kid,” I slap her on the back, “let’s get out there.”

We mess around with the other kids playing on the ice and I try to block the goal and let her get a few past me, though I’m not a goalie and she does actually get a few real ones in the back of the net.

After practise, we head to Wendy’s and eat our bodyweight (well, her bodyweight) in cheeseburgers and fries before heading over to the arcade where she challenges me to a dance off on the dance machines.

“No way,” I tell her, “the car games are more my style.”

“What’s wrong?” Sam asks, “scared it’ll bruise your fragile masculinity?”

“Where did you learn that?”

Sam laughs and starts clucking like a chicken.

“Fine!”

We throw our gym bags beside the machine and I put a few coins in.

Sam’s an expert obviously. She probably comes here all the time with her friends and has the highest score.

After she doles out the beat down of the century, I grab us an ice cream and we sit in the parking lot and watch pigeons fighting over a McDonald’s burger wrapper.

“So loser, got a girlfriend yet?”

I push her and, without her padding, she goes flying.

She slaps my arm, hard - it actually stings.

“No, how about you? Any little boys I have to beat the shit out of?”

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