Page 49 of Suck My Puck

“But you loved it, right? Just like you do now?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer at first. He blinks, and a faraway look appears in his gaze. “Yeah. I did love it. I still love it. There are parts that I don’t like though.”

“Of course. Everything has its downsides,” I say gently.

“That’s definitely true with professional hockey.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Especially when you have a hockey coach for a dad.”

I shift on my side so that I’m facing him now. “Your dad is a hockey coach?”

“Yeah, he coached me in college.”

“What was that like?”

He lets out a sad-sounding chuckle. “It sucked. He was pretty hard on me.”

“Oh…” I think back to when we were eating banana splits in his car earlier. He mentioned that his dad would take him out for banana splits after hockey games when he was little. It sounded so cute and wholesome. I figured his dad was a sweet guy.

“I’m sorry,” I say after a moment. “That must have been so hard, to be treated that way by your dad.”

“Yeah. He’s a perfectionist. And a hardass. He wasn’t always like that though.”

Braden looks up at the sky again. “When I was little, it was a different story. He was fun and joked around a lot. But then I started getting noticed by coaches and scouts when I played hockey in high school. And that’s wheneverything changed. It was like a switch flipped. He went from fun-loving dad to unrelenting hockey coach. I hated it. It was like he saw the potential I had to go pro and channeled all his energy into making that happen.”

He clears his throat and is quiet for a long moment. “I mean, part of me understands. Hockey was his life. He used to play when he was younger, but he never made it pro. Of course he’d want his kid to be a professional hockey player, to carry on his dream. But he took it to the next level.”

“What did he do?” I ask as gently as I can. I don’t want him to feel like I’m pushing him to talk. But I want to support him if he wants to open up, just like he did for me earlier tonight when I told him about my ex.

Braden huffs out a breath. “He always rode my ass. Always wanted me to be better, faster, stronger. No matter how well I played, it was never good enough. He always pointed out what I could do better. From a coaching standpoint, it made sense. I was a top player in high school and college, but I wasn’t a superstar. I was good enough to get recruited and play in college. I was good enough to get drafted into the pros. But I had to work my ass off for it. Some guys have phenomenal natural talent. I don’t. I’m someone who’s a solid player when I train hard. But I’m nothing amazing. I mean, I was drafted in the last round. I wasn’t a lucrative prospect.”

“Braden.” I grab his hand in mine. He glances down at our joined hands for a second before looking up at me. “Don’t downplay yourself like that. You’re an incredible goalie. One of the best in the league.”

“Iwasincredible. I’m not this season.”

A hard look flashes in his whisper-blue eyes. It makes my chest ache.

“You kicked ass tonight,” I say.

“After a string of shitty performances.”

“Braden, it’s the start of the season. You can’t expect to be perfect every single time you play.”

“Not perfect, but I need to be really fucking close to it if I want to keep playing for my team.”

I stare at him, blown away by the curtness of his responses. It’s like he has them loaded up and ready to go.

No one should talk about themselves in such a negative way. Unless they were conditioned to do it.

I think about what Braden said about his dad. How he said his dad never thought he was good enough. How he always pointed out his flaws.

“Did your dad say this kind of stuff to you?” I ask.

This throat bobs as he swallows. “When I got drafted into the pros, his first words to me were, ‘You’re not good enough. Not even close,’” he says in a detached tone.

My mouth falls open out of sheer shock. What kind of father would say that to his son? Most dads would be thrilled to see their kid grow up and become a professional athlete. Instead of celebrating that special moment with him, Braden’s dad chose to tear him down.

Emotion rushes through me. I gently cradle his face in my hands and scoot closer to him. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “A dad should never, ever say that to his son.”

Recognition flashes in his gaze, like he’s just now realizing that.

---