Page 214 of The Fall
“Yeah, we flew in this morning.” I brace myself. We said no hockey talk. Is this when he breaks and has to say something, on the day I’m facing down my nightmares?
“How are you feeling about being back?”
“It’s…” I could lie. Brush this off. Say it’s fine. “It’s harder than I expected.”
Blair shifts on the bed behind me. I glance over; his gaze is on me. He doesn’t speak; he brushes his fingers against the small of my back.
“I can imagine,” my father says, surprising me again. “That place holds a lot of difficult memories for you.”
My grip tightens around the phone. “Yeah,” I say quietly. “It does.”
For a second neither of us speaks. Dad’s voice returns, softer now. “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone tonight.”
“I’m up in my head.” I breathe in, hold it, and blow out. Blair’s hand glides up my spine. “They still hate me here.”
“Forget them.” He echoes Blair, and Hayes, and everyone else on my team who have reminded me that Vancouver’s opinion is less than worthless these days when I’m one of the top-ten points leaders in the league. “You’ve got good people around you now.”
I nod even though he can’t see it. “This is the best team I’ve ever had.”
“I can see that when I watch you play.”
“You watch my games?”
“Every one. You look happy, Torey. Really happy.”
Happy. He’s not saying I’m playing better or that I’m producing more. He’s saying I look happy.
My eyes dart to the clock on the nightstand and I do the math quickly. “Dad, isn’t it, like, three in the morning in Singapore?”
“It is, but I wanted to call.” A rustle comes through the line as he shifts. “It doesn’t matter what time it is or where I am, I’m always thinking of you.” He breathes in. “I wanted to check in today. I know this game is going to be tough. But I wanted you to know, I’m proud of you, Torey. Not only for how you’re playing, though that’s been remarkable. I’m proud of how you’ve handled everything. The trade, the new team, what you’re doing on your own. You seem a lot happier.”
“I am.”
“Good. That’sallthat matters.”
All those years of believing I was never enough, or that love was something I had to earn through perfect plays and flawless games, and here he is, calling to check on me. “Thanks, Dad,” I choke out. “That means… more than you know.”
“I’ll be cheering for you.”
“I’ll try to score one for you,” I say automatically.
He laughs softly. “No. Have fun, okay? That’s all I want. Have fun, be happy, don’t let the past get to you. Whatever happened there, in Vancouver… that’s not you anymore.”
For a moment, I can almost believe that who I was isn’t welded to who I am now. “Okay,” I whisper. “I’ll try.” My eyes sting; I blink hard and swallow, holding the phone closer to my ear as if it might keep this version of Dad a little longer.
“Good. I love you, son.”
“I love you, too.” My voice cracks. “Thanks for calling.”
A pause, soft static across continents. “Anytime,” he says.
We say goodbye, and the call ends. I stare at the phone screen until it fades to black. Blair’s hand is still moving against my back. I sink back into him, letting his heart set a new rhythm for mine.
“I heard some of that.” Blair’s lips brush my hairline.
“He called to check on me. He was worried about me being back here.”
“That’s good, right?”
