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Blowing out a long breath, I try to find my confidence before killing the engine and reluctantly pulling my hand from Garrett’s.
He climbs out of the car with me, and we meet at the trunk.
“Let’s do this,” I say, hoping I sound more confident than I feel.
Side by side, we walk into the building that houses the rink that I used to practice and play on as a kid.
Memories of my childhood with Kodie play out in my mind. Some of my best times were under this roof, and as anxious as I feel about being back here, it’s mixed with a level of comfort I don’t feel from any other place.
The scent of stale sweat and coldness rushes through my nose, and I can’t help but feel like I’m at home as I lead Garrett toward the stands.
I already know that Dad will be down by the bench so that he’s right there in the action. Thankfully, he isn’t one of those parents who’s always harassing the coach and trying to prove that he knows better. On the surface, he’s the perfect parent, letting his boys play and be guided by their coach. That is, until the car doors close and he unleashes everything he’s kept bottled up during the game.
I force myself not to look at the bench; instead, I focus on the miniature hockey players who are racing around the rink, warming up for their game.
Garrett and I find a seat a little higher up from the bench.
I would sit on the opposite side, but the thought of having to look at Dad the whole time puts me off, so instead, I hide behind him, because there’s no fucking way I’m sitting next to him.
As if sensing my presence, Dad turns around the second my ass hits the seat.
He doesn’t smile; he doesn’t do anything other than glare. He doesn’t even acknowledge that I’m not alone.
I guess I shouldn’t expect anything else when his messages following our last few games are sitting unread on my cell.
I’ve been fucking up; I’m more than aware of that. I don’t need him to tell me.
No sooner have our eyes met than he turns back around. This is always how it is when I come to games.
He’ll talk to me. But not until we’re done here.
“This is fucked up,” Garrett mutters beside me.
“Welcome to the family,” I mutter under my breath. “We’re all a little fucked up.”
“Well, lucky for you, I’m kinda fond of your fucked up-ness.”
I can’t help but smile, and it only widens when Huxley looks up and spots me.
He waves like crazy, ensuring everyone turns to look at us. If it were anyone other than my brothers and their team, then I’d try and hide, but they’re a bunch of kids who’ve just seen someone who is living out their dreams. I’ll give them all the time in the world.
I search the jerseys for Ryk, and my heart lurches when I find him looking somber at the center line. I give him a wave, but other than his eye contact, he doesn’t react.
Fuck.
“Is he usually so—”
“No,” I say. “I’ll normally get some kind of reaction out of him.”
“Do you think he’s okay?”
“Ryker hasn’t been okay for a while,” I admit, hating to do so.
“It must be incredibly hard after what he’s been through.”
“He needs…fuck. He needs so much. But a supportive and understanding parent would be a good start.”
Thankfully, their ref steps out onto the ice and blows a whistle. Both teams get into position and get ready for the first puck drop.
