Page 39 of Playoff

It’s late in the afternoon so I’m done with today’s practice, and we have dinner reservations. Hopefully, it’ll be a quiet evening of catching up. My dad has never gotten over the disappointment that I don’t play in the NHL, and it comes up a lot when I go home to Michigan in the off-season. We’ve had some arguments about it over the years because it hurts my feelings.

“Are we going to dinner?” Phoebe asks me. “I’m starving.”

“Yup. I made a reservation at an Italian place one of my teammates told me about. I know that’s your favorite.”

“You’re the best!” she whispers, grinning.

I help them get settled in their rooms, and then my dad lets me drive the rental car since I know where we’re going.

“I can’t believe we’re finally going to see you in the big leagues,” Dad says as we hit the road. “For a playoff game, no less!”

Yup.

He can’t resist getting in the first dig.

I’m positive it won’t be the last.

“I’m glad you could be here for it,” I reply.

“We wouldn’t miss it for the world!” Mom adds. “It’s exciting.”

“For me too,” I admit.

“You’re playing well,” Dad says. “Keep your eye on the ball and off the puck bunnies.”

I groan. “Thanks, Dad.”

“Well, you do have a type.”

I do, but that’s none of his business.

And it has nothing to do with hockey.

Not anymore anyway.

“Those days are behind me,” I say. “I’m not eighteen anymore.”

“Leopards don’t change their spots,” Dad says. “I mean, men will be men. I’m not saying you should be a monk…”

“Ethan, please.” My mom says something under her breath that I can’t hear, and my dad grunts.

“I’m not saying anything he doesn’t already know,” Dad protests. “And this is his chance to prove himself. I mean, the NHL ship has probably already sailed but at least he has a chance now if he doesn’t fuck it up.”

I grit my teeth, my hands tightening on the steering wheel.

Same shit, different day.

My dad rides me like I’m fifteen again, my mom plays peacemaker, and I already wish they were going home. He never made it past the Major Junior level, so he put all his hopes and dreams and expectations on me.

It’s fucking exhausting.

I do like having Phoebe here—I so rarely get to hang out with her anymore. Even in the summer when I’m home for a few weeks, she’s busy working and doing her own thing. She’s three years younger, and I left for boarding school at fourteen, so sometimes I feel like I barely know her, and I want to change that.

She’s my sister—the only sibling I have—and I’ve recently realized she’ll be all I have once our parents are gone. Hopefully,that won’t be for a long time, but I don’t want to wait until there’s some kind of tragedy to reach out.

“How’s work?” I ask her. She has a marketing job for a big corporate outfit in Detroit.

“It’s good. Busy but I enjoy it. And I get to travel a little, so that part is nice.”

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