Page 4 of Breaking the Pucking Rules
After taking his bible and coffee, Dad promises to make up for missing breakfast by taking me out to dinner instead.
Not wanting to take up any more of his time, I stretch up on my toes to give him a kiss on the cheek and wish him a good day, and then I walk away from the rink without looking back.
The second I pull my car door open, something flutters into the footwell. It must have fallen out of Dad’s bible.
With a frown, I reach over and retrieve an envelope. I’m about to turn back and take it to Dad when the messy, unfamiliar writing across the front steals my attention.
Coach Watson, I know you don’t want to go, but here is your ticket. Please don’t waste it.
It’s signed by the team owner.
My heart rate begins to increase as I predict what’s hiding inside.
Climbing into my car, I look around the lot nervously. It’s deserted, but it doesn’t stop me from slumping lower in my seat as I tuck my finger under the unsealed flap. My hand shakes as I pull out the single ticket inside.
My stomach twists with anticipation.
For years, the LA Vipers’ fundraising department has organized a masquerade ball in the weeks leading up to the preseason.
Getting your hands on a ticket is likefinding unicorn shit.
Every single year, my dad is given one. And every single year, he donates to the cause but refuses to attend, saying that it’s not his thing.
I’ve begged for his ticket every year since I was seventeen, to no avail.
It’s not that he’s trying to keep me away from hockey. That would be really hard, considering I also work for the franchise. But it would be safe to say that he likes to keep me at arm’s length from the team.
That wouldn’t have been the case if I were a boy. Hanging out with all the hot hockey players would have been a requirement. I’m not sure it’s fair that just because I was born with a vagina, I’m barely allowed to hang out with them.
It was fine when I was little. I was welcomed in as if I were one of their own kids. But as I hit my teen years, as I grew boobs, Dad started limiting my visits.
The team has changed a lot since then. There are only a handful of veterans now who remember me as a kid. I guess that’s the issue.
I clutch the slip of paper tighter, feeling like the kid holding the golden ticket.
I shouldn’t.
Dad will kill me if he finds out I’ve taken it.
He’ll know, a little voice screams, but one look at the arena and I swallow it down.
Dad won’t know. Every year that ticket goes in the trash.
It’s a masquerade ball…what if no one finds out?
If I can secure a good enough mask and dye my hair, then no one has to know. Not Dad, not Gary, our GM, or any of the players.
For one night, I’ll just be a woman at a party.
A party that a certain number fifty-five will be attending…
2
KODIE
“Aw, you look handsome, Daddy,” Sutton says as I enter the living room.
Hearing her sweet voice might make me feel better about myself, but it does little to enthuse me about the night ahead.
