Page 46 of Playoff

I know that feeling.

We just have to fight it because if you let that shit fester, it can totally fuck with your game.

“You’renot.” I don’t know where my confidence is coming from but it feels important. I stare at him until he looks at me. “We arenotfucking minnows.”

“I don’t even know how you’d manage to fuck a minnow,” he deadpans.

I bark out a laugh and flip him the bird. “There you go. Now eat and stop being whiny.”

He laughs and digs into the pasta in front of him.

It’sanother rough-and-tumble game but we manage to pull off a 4-3 win by the skin of our teeth. It’s tied the entire third period, and Canyon squeaks out a goal with thirty seconds left.

Thank fuck.

Despite all my confidence with Bodi, my own performance was somewhat lackluster. I didn’t do anything wrong, but I couldn’t make anything happen out there either. The game is fast, so much faster than with the Rebels, and while I can keep up, it’s a struggle to be the fastest. The smartest. The most productive.

I watch guys like Ivan and Canyon and realize I have a lot of catching up to do.

Not just from the experience aspect, but also from the perspective of physicality. Things are definitely physical with the Rebels, but this is a different level. It’s subtle at first, so you don’t see it until you’re right in the middle. And by then it’s too late. I get a touch of that minnow-in-the-ocean feeling at the end of the game, and though there’s a jovial mood in the locker room, I don’t have time to celebrate.

The minute I get to the family lounge, my father is on my ass.

“Not your best showing, son,” he says, shaking his head. “You’re lucky you have guys like Marks and Rochenko backing you up.”

I can smell the liquor on his breath, which is never a good thing. He doesn’t drink often, but when he does, it tends to bring out the ugliest parts of him.

“Yeah, thanks, Dad. I’m aware.” I hug my mother. “Did you enjoy?—”

“Seriously, son, are you going to fuck this up?” Dad interrupts.

“Ethan, stop it,” my mother says in a firm but low voice. “Not here. If you embarrass him, he’ll never invite us back.”

Dad snorts. “We both know this is the last time we’ll see him play for the Phantoms. If I were Coach Vanek, I’d ship his ass back to Phoenix tonight.” This is drunk Dad talking, because even though sober Dad is a jerk, he always wants me to be playing in the big leagues. Drunk Dad obviously doesn’t give a shit.

“Dad.” Phoebe’s face is red. “Stop it. You’re not embarrassing Blake—you’re embarrassing yourself.”

Dad just rolls his eyes. “Go ahead—you and your mom keep mollycoddling him, just like you’ve always done. Look where it’s gotten him.”

“To the NHL,” Phoebe murmurs softly as he stalks over to a group of players who’ve just come in.

“It’s okay,” I say, sighing. “You don’t have to protect me.”

“Of course we do,” Mom says. “Your father is a proud, stubborn man, and every month when that mortgage payment comes due, he gets angry.”

“That was his choice,” I say gruffly. “I was fifteen. I had no idea you guys were doing something so monumental.”

“I know. It’s just…hard sometimes. We’re getting close to retirement and have no idea if we’ll ever be able to pay that second mortgage off without selling the house. Instead of talking to you about it, he insults you and occasionally drinks too much. He’s just… well, he is who he is. He’s too old to change.”

“But I’m not too old to cut him out of my life,” I say through gritted teeth. It’s really hard not to lose my shit right now, but I’m trying to be an adult.

“Son, come over here!” Dad calls to me. He’s standing with Canyon, Gabe, and Connor, who all had stellar games. “Come listen to how you play NHL hockey.”

Several heads in the room turn, and my face has to be burning.

Mother. Fucker.

“Your son doesn’t need any pointers from us,” Canyon says, eyeing my dad warily. “He does just fine on his own.”

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