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He was disappointed about something. Well, I knew what he was disappointed in—me—but I wasn’t quite sure why. I played flawlessly, allowed my teammates a chance to flick around the puck. I wasn’t a puck hog, and I scoredtwice.
It was becoming pretty clear lately why my mother was quick to follow me to Hempstead. She’d needed to get away from her overbearing father, who had constantly berated her about being a single mom when I was growing up.
It had been a staple statement during birthdays and holidays spent at my grandparents’ house. He’d ask about my grades, tell me to do better, and then he’d shift into chewing a piece off my mom about how I would be better with a man in the home, specifically my father.
The same father who only reached out to me when I was signed, and he reached out for money. I didn’t even bear his last name. The best thing he ever did was leave my mother when she was six months pregnant.
I didn’t get near the damn puck during my next shift. Aims, our alternate captain, was a damn bully on the ice, and he rode me the entire shift. He was on my ass as soon as my skates hit the ice.
Frustrated, I returned to the bench at shift change, and I didn’t even bother to look up at the stands. I knew my grandfather would be disappointed, or pissed off, or just annoyed. It wouldn’t improve my mood if I looked at him.
Whatwouldimprove my mood was if Jessa texted me back.
* * *
“What the hell kind of play was that?” Grandpa Stanley hollered in the parking lot.
He hadn’t bombarded me as soon as I left the dressing room, so I had naively believed I was safe.
“Jesus, Zachary, I thought you were better than this.”
“Hello to you too,” I mumbled.
“Don’t start with that crap. You call yourself a pro hockey player when you prance around the ice like a fairy princess?”
“The association calls me a pro hockey player.” I didn’t look at him, I couldn’t.
“Well, the association is wrong. Aren’t you tired of doing the same shit repeatedly? Aren’t you tired of being a failure?”
My head snapped up and I fixed my grandfather with one hell of a glare. “Aren’tyoutired of being an asshole?”
“I’m tired of thinking you’re going to be something when you’re not.”
His words felt like a slash of a skate against my heart. I already had enough doubt about my abilities in my own head, I didn’t need it from someone else too.
“Then stop coming to practices. Stop coming to games. Stop…all of this.”
Grandpa Stanley snorted. “I’ve had enough of your shitty behavior, Zachary. And your shitty skating.”
He turned swiftly and ambled his way to his truck that was parked on the opposite end of the lot from me.
I stood stiffly, feet cemented to the pavement, watching him leave. A hand against my shoulder made me jump, and I spun to glare at Rook, who was frowning.
“Jesus,” I muttered.
“That was rough.”
I shook his hand off. “That’s him on a good day.”
“Didn’t realize he came to practices too. Just thought it was games,” Rook continued.
“He started coming to practices last year.”
Rook nodded slowly, then nudged his chin forward. “Hear from that girl?”
“Nope. I guess she doesn’t need a success story anymore.”
“Text her again. See if it even goes through. Maybe she blocked your number.”
