Page 151 of The Stud

Their silence is emphasized by the increasingly aggressive nature of my throwing, something I try to taper down by switching to my non-dominant hand once more.

I went over there that night.

I went straight over there after Hot Rocket swore to me, we’d meet in her office to discuss the incident post the media frenzy that redirected her focus from ass chewing me to damage controlling what was just broadcast to our fanbase.

I knocked.

I banged.

I shouted – which Bear didnotenjoy.

I did everything I could to get her to come out, to talk to me, to get back on the same team regarding whatever was going to ensue next, yet nothing.

Pure silence.

I even waited in my car, napping, until I had to go get packed for the road.

I’ve called only to be sent straight to voicemail.

Texted and gotten nothing in return.

At this point, I’m honestly not even sure she doesn’t have my number blocked.

That would be one way to end things without having to end things.

Finally, Father speaks, “Do you recall your first truly competitive hockey team?”

“Of course.” Catching the neon green object is mindless. “The Bridgetown Bobcats. Helluva season. First time a scout ever noticed me on the ice.”

“And do you recall that you werebenchedfor almost half the season when they found out about your family situation?”

How the fuck could I ever forget?

We were out having pizza.

Some quaint place Dad had heard about at work while doing what he still does for a living – installing emergency sprinkler systems.

Coach Long had stumbled in with a few of his beer league buddies who were also other youth hockey coaches. He took one look at them, their joined hands, and the good time they were having, and made his disgust known.

It was the only thing on his face.

Pure.

Unfiltered.

Disgust.

The other coaches didn’t notice – or didn’t care – but he did.

And he made his repulsion known by turning me into a duster.

Going out of his way to keep the puck away from me.

Me away from my mates.

Finding any and every excuse he could to keep me excluded from pracky or team building activities.

For months, I rode that bench like the bloody Mongolian cavalry during the conquering of Eurasia.

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