Page 58 of Face Me Off

As I help him up, a crumpled piece of paper catches my eye. It’s half-hidden beneath where he was sitting. Curiosity nags at me, but I push it aside. Dad first.

“One step at a time,” I murmur, guiding him towards his bedroom. My mind drifts to tomorrow’s practice, to the mountain of coursework waiting for me. I shove those thoughts away. It’ll be there when I get back to campus.

Dad stumbles, nearly taking us both down. I tighten my grip and steady us. “I gotcha. We’re almost there.”

Once we reach his room, I ease him onto the bed. He mumbles another incoherent sentence as I pull off his shoes, butmy mind reverts to the crumbled paper. Was that the catalyst for his behavior? The reason he reached for the bottle of booze?

“Get some rest, Dad,” I say softly, pulling the covers over him. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

I retreat to the living room and swipe the paper off the floor. What the hell could it be?

Dropping onto the couch, I smooth the paper against the coffee table. My eyes scan the words as the air whooshes from my lungs more and more with each line.

“No fucking way,” I mutter, rereading it. And again.

The letterhead screams at me: “Grimes Estate Settlement.” Maddy’s family name hits me like a slap to the face. I hadn’t seen her since the class when I passed the test. She hadn’t seemed off that day. Yet, she did refuse to go celebrate with me. Had she known this was coming? Is this why she didn’t come to the game?

I force myself to focus on the numbers. Fifty grand. That’s it. My fist clenches, wrinkling the paper again.

A million … that’s what we asked for. The lawyer thought their offer would be at least six figures.

My mind races, calculating furiously. Tuition, Dad’s medical bills, the mortgage… Fifty grand won’t even make a dent.

I lean back, staring at the ceiling, trying to steady my breathing. “What am I gonna do?”

The house creaks as if answering my question. But there’s no easy answer here. Just the crushing weight of responsibility and the sinking feeling that my dreams are slipping further away with each passing second.

I run a hand through my hair, tugging at the roots. The pain grounds me, but barely.

Hockey scholarship or not, how the hell am I supposed to attend physical therapy school with this hanging over us?

I collapse back onto the couch, my head in my hands. I’ve been living in a dream world. The pro scouts at tonight’s game made it easy to believe in hope. But now?

“Fuck!” I slam my fist into the couch cushion. There isn’t any way I can sign with any team, let alone a team clear across the country. That was a pipe dream.

I close my eyes, trying to steady my breathing. I can’t let this break me. I’ve come too far and fought too hard. There’s gotta be a way to make this work. A way to balance everything—hockey, school, Dad, maybe even…

No. I shake my head. Can’t think about Maddy now. Focus on what matters to Dad. One step at a time, Sorenson. That’s how you win the game.

I take a deep breath, my chest expanding as I fill my lungs with the cool air of our dimly lit living room. The scent of Dad’s whiskey still lingers. It’s a harsh reminder of the reality I’m facing. My fingers clench around the crumpled letter, the paper crinkling softly in my grip.

“Get it together, Sorenson.”

I smooth out the letter on the coffee table and scan over the insulting settlement offer once again. Fifty grand. It’s like a slapshot to the gut.

My mind races with trying to find a play that’ll work. I may have to look for a job. One that would be sympathetic toward my hockey schedule. I run a hand through my hair. No business is going to cater to me. This may have to be my last year to play. Though, my attendance depends on the hockey scholarship. I’m so fucked.

The sound of Dad’s muffled snoring drifts from his bedroom. My jaw clenches. I can’t let him down. Not now, not ever.

I lean back, rubbing my hand over my neatly trimmed beard. Coach’s saying comes to mind. “When the game gets tough, that’s when you dig deep and find that extra gear.”

My eyes drift to the framed photo on the mantel—me and Dad at my first college game. His proud smile, despite the pain I know he was in that day. I can’t help but grin, remembering how he cheered louder than anyone else in the rink.

“I won’t give up on you, Dad,” I whisper, my voice barely audible. “We’re a team, you and me. Always have been.”

I glance at the letter lying on the coffee table. The familiar and heavy weight of responsibility settles on my shoulders. But I’ve carried it this far. I’m not about to drop the gloves now.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

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