I’ve never seen my dad look genuinely disappointed before, and I didn’t even realize that until now. Because now, for the first time in my life, my dad is truly disappointed in me. And it feels way worse than I thought it would. I really shouldn’t have come home.
“I’m gonna head back to Brooklyn,” I announce when the silence in the kitchen is deafening. “I’m gonna have to pack up the loft and list it so I might as well start now.”
“Con, wait!” Dad says firmly. I stop walking around the massive kitchen island but I don’t turn back to face him. I can’t keep staring at that look on his face. “Can we talk about how you handled this? Why did you refuse to play? Why did you avoid me and go day drinking with Mac? None of that is going to fix this.”
"I never thought it would," I reply, still staring out at the great room attached to the kitchen instead of at him. "But that's the thing, Dad, nothing can fix this.”
“A good fucking lawyer can fix this,” Callie says from where she is leaning against the counter by the stove. “What they did, how they did it, was a violation of the league’s policies. Your union should be all over this. That Landry asshole will be fined.”
“She’s not wrong,” Dad adds. “What did your union rep say?”
“I haven’t talked to them yet,” I grumble, and I don’t have to see his face to know I’ve disappointed him again because I can hear his sigh.
When I feel a hand on my shoulder, I know it's his. He turns me to face him. I avert my eyes. I look a lot like my dad, at least that's what everyone always tells me. His hair is lighter, especially now that there's gray at the temples and the blond has faded. But we have the same hazel eyes and dimple on our left cheek. His kind of disappeared as he aged, but mine is still deep. I’m taller than him but we, according to both my mother and Callie, have the exact same stubborn spirit. Now his mouth, also similar to mine with the full bottom lip and pronounced cupid’s bow on the top, is set in a grim line. “I wouldn’t have walked out with a game left to play. That will give them something to sue about.”
“I’m not you,” I reply. “And yeah you wouldn’t have because you wouldn’t have had to. No one would ever dream of waiving Devin Garrison.”
“Conner…” Whatever he was about to say gets cut off by the ring of my cellphone. I pull it from my back pocket.
“It’s Clark,” I say, and I don’t need to explain further. I turn my back to my dad again and answer my cell. “Hi.”
“Hey. How are you?” Clark asks, concern apparent in his voice.
“I’ve been better,” I admit and make my way out of the kitchen. As I turn the corner into the great room, I run directly into both my sisters. They were huddled up together against the wall by the bookcases eavesdropping, clearly.
They both jump back and try to act casual. Liv pulls out her phone and leans a shoulder against the fireplace like she is just casually cruising Instagram or something. Mayhem scrambles past her to the center of the mantle where she immediately starts examining the family photos there like she's never seen them before. I glare at both of them, flipping them the middle finger as I storm by.
“Well, here’s the deal,” Clark starts. “I don’t think it will make you feel any better but they’re going to pretend you had the flu. So this won’t harm your value when you hit the market because you won’t look like you walked out on your team. But that means you also can’t rat Landry out to the player’s union.”
“What? No! I have to,” I bark.
“They say if you do, then they’ll claim contract violation for not showing up to the game,” Clark sounds despondent. “Then they’ll likely get away with handing you a suspension and no one will pick you up because you’ll be labeled a problem child.”
“Fuck,” I hiss.
“What? What’s he saying?” my dad asks, and I turn and shush him and storm into the dining room to get away from him. I mean shit, I am a grown adult, I should be allowed to have a private conversation. Why the fuck didn’t I move out and get my own place?
Dad doesn't follow me, which is good, but I know, no matter how annoying it is, he only wants the best for me. So I kind of feel bad as I drop down into one of the dining room chairs. Almost as bad as I felt about storming out on Mac like we weren't just about to have sex. I stare out the massive bay window, at the snowy front yard and try to fight the guilt. "Clearly my team didn't need me."
"They won one game against a team that's circling the drain just like they are. It was dumb luck, not your absence that gave them that W," Clark replies tersely. "Anyway, I still say walking out was the right choice. Just shake this off and we'll regroup on the twenty-seventh, okay? Don't worry. That contract of yours is hefty, so it's a bit unattractive, but someone out there will know you're worth the risk. Your dad is buddies with a lot of ex-players who went into management or coaching. Have him give them a call and talk you up as soon as that waiver announcement is made. Not a second before, Con, or it's a violation. Okay?"
“Yeah.” I rub my forehead. I am not going to beg my dad to help save my ass. I just… I can’t. I have made a point of not needing his help. I’m proud of that. I don’t want to give that up.
I also remember being so proud of that extension contract when I signed it twenty-two months ago. Five years and thirty million. It was the biggest contract anyone in our family had gotten. Definitely the biggest in my generation. And now it’s going to be the thing people laugh about. Can you believe the Barons gave Conner Garrison all that money and they had to dump him because he sucked so bad?
“Con, don’t spiral over this,” Clark advises. “Please, just try and enjoy Christmas. I honestly think you have a good shot at being scooped up.”
“Okay. I mean, I guess I don’t have a choice,” I say. Clark tells me to call him anytime if I need to talk and hangs up.
I don’t see how I can enjoy anything in my life until this is settled. Then I remember how much I was enjoying being with Mac. How soft her lips were. How fierce her kiss was. Yeah, I guess I could find a distraction… but I overheard her telling Tenley ‘Thanks but no thank you. I don’t want Conner to scratch my itches.’
’
“Con, what did Clark say?”
I turn around and my dad is standing there, arms crossed, looking serious and somehow older than his fifty years. Great, I’m aging my dad. “He said it’s handled. The management is telling people I was sick. But they’ll only stick to this story if I don’t report Landry to the union.”
Liv and Mayhem come walking in now, apparently done with pretending they aren’t eavesdropping on my life imploding. “I don’t know why they are dumping you instead of the goalie. Your goalie let in seven goals in the first two periods last month against Los Angeles and four in the first period last week against Washington. But they waive you? That’s fucking bullshit. Your goalie is playing like Swiss cheese.”
My little sister defending me should feel good, but it doesn’t because she’s trying too hard and it feels like she’s making excuses for me. Liv reaches over and gives my shoulder a sympathetic squeeze, which I also hate. They both used to look at me like I was their hero. You don’t console your heroes.
Dad sighs at Mayhem’s language but we’ve never been the household that curbs swearing, if used with purpose, so he doesn’t scold her. “Why does it feel like Landry’s got a vendetta?”
“Did you sleep with his daughter or something?” Callie asks, walking up to stand beside Dad.
“Mom!” Mayhem and Liv bark in unison.
“What? It’s been known to happen.” Callie shrugs and points to my dad. “Hockey players are very sexual athletes. You two wouldn’t be here if they weren’t.”
“Okay, baby,” Dad wraps an arm around Callie and pulls her to his side as he almost smiles. “You don’t need to traumatize your daughters so close to Christmas.”
“I’m going to call my therapist,” Liv announces and leaves, heading to the hall.
“Drama queen!” Callie calls after her, grinning.
“I’m going with her to see if we can get a group deal,” Mayhem adds, but before she rushes off she hugs me, hard. I wrap one arm around her back and close my eyes for a second. “Love you, Con.”
Wow. This must be serious if Mayhem is getting mushy. She lets go and darts for the hall after her older sister and a second later the house echoes with the sound of her feet up the stairs. I turn and look at my stepmom, who I adore. "To get back to the original question, I have no idea why Landry is such an asshole to me. And no, I didn't sleep with his daughter or anyone he knows. I've been really focused on trying to turn the team around and get my own game out of the toilet. I haven’t even been on a date in six months.”
“Well, maybe that’s your issue,” Callie suggests.
Dad rolls his eyes. “Don’t start.”
"I'm not going to tell him to go out and get laid," Callie says huffily like it's insulting he would even think that's how her brain works. But it's exactly how her brain works. Callie is very sex-positive and she's always told us, the kids, to be safe but curious. She made sure we were all vaccinated for HPV and had access to condoms by the time we were fifteen. She also always told us we could ask her anything. I don't think any of us have talked to her about our sex lives but there was still some comfort knowing we could, without judgment. "What I was going to say is maybe you should date. I mean, you're a lot like your dad and he is a serial monogamist. He needs the partnership and stability of a serious relationship. It makes him better on and off the ice."
"She's not wrong," Dad agrees and glances at her with this look on his face that I swear is more than love. It's always been inspiring, the way these two feel for each other. The older I got the more I realized I didn't even mind that my parents broke up because Callie was who my dad needed. She was his missing puzzle piece. He turns to me now. "Sometimes if you get the rest of your life right, hockey falls into place."
“It doesn’t matter,” I reply. “I’m being waived so my career is essentially over. I’m headed to a farm team.”
“You don’t know that for sure.”
“Dad, my contact is huge,” I argue. “I haven’t lived up to it. Who the hell is going to take the chance?” He looks at me, unblinking, his expression somber. I nod tersely. “Right. I’m going to bed.”
“It’s only eight!” Callie calls out.
“I’m tired,” I bark out and head up the stairs to my room.
I shut the door and lean against it, taking in the space I’ve spent most of my life in. I should have my own house by now. Lord knows I have the money to buy half of Silver Bay at this point, but I’m only here for such a short time—a few months in the off-season—and I like spending it with my family.
The room has been updated through the years. It's grown up just like I have. Gone are the posters of hockey players and the desk and bean bag chair. They've been replaced with a leather chair and footstool since I don't need to study anymore. And against the wall where the desk once was is a proper bookcase filled with trophies and memorabilia from my career, like the puck from my first NHL goal, the one from my first hat trick, and so on. I purposely move my eyes away from those things now, because looking at them stings, and cross the room to the king-sized bed. I grab the remote on the bedside table and punch a button so the music starts to play from my sound system.
Still holding my phone, I scroll through my contacts until I find Tenley. I pull up our texts. The last time she texted me was for my birthday months ago.
I stare out the window and debate how to approach this. But it's Tenley, so I definitely don't need to be subtle. Tenley's mom, my Aunt Jessie, is Callie's sister. Yep. My dad and his brother Jordan married sisters. And Aunt Jessie is reserved and levelheaded but her daughter Tenley inherited Callie's bluntness and lack-of-filter. So I just send the most direct text I can.
I wait. I see the bubbles that she’s typing.
More typing bubbles as I grow impatient and stare out the window. The Christmas lights are reflecting on the snow, casting green and red shadows everywhere. The lake just past the lawn is pure ice. On Christmas Day we'll all lace up. Everyone from my grandparents to my cousins will skate out there and play a game of pick-up hockey. I don't want to this year, I realize, and it used to be my favorite family holiday tradition. One of my first childhood memories is of my dad holding my mitten-clad hands as I slipped and slid on my tiny skates on Christmas Day on the homemade rink in my grandparents' backyard.
I stare at Tenley's latest text. So am I! I want to scream, but instead, I just wait for more since there are still typing bubbles. It's clear Tenley knows a little bit of what transpired before she and Callie interrupted.
My head tips back and hits the heavy oak headboard. I close my eyes. I don’t want that. But what do I want? I don’t exactly know, but I do know that I made a promise to Mac that I would go to that party with her. I want to permanently take away that look of inferiority she gets when Beckett Echolls is nearby.
Tenley sends me back an eye roll emoji. I have no idea what that’s supposed to mean but before I can ask she texts me Mac’s cell number.
She doesn’t respond.
Okay, I think as I add Mac’s number to my contacts. Now I just have to figure out what the hell to say to her.