Shutout (Rules of the Game, #2)(84)
Tinker Bell: Question 40: Worst fear?
It’s a little too on the nose for me to comfortably answer at the moment. Worst fear? I’m going to go with disappointing everyone in an epic fashion, wasting my parents’ time and money and nuking my career before it starts. Oh, wait. That’s already happening.
Panic winds around my body like a rope, tightening its hold until it feels like my ribs might crack. It’s easier to maintain where you are than to make a comeback if you fall. I’m close to falling, if not already there.
The door reopens, and my father enters, but Mark doesn’t rejoin us.
“What’s up?” I grab my water bottle and drain the rest of it.
Dad slips off his navy suit jacket and drapes it over the back of a nearby chair, then lowers to sit in it. His expression tells me we’re in parent mode right now, ramping up my level of anxiety to a record high.
“Normally, I wouldn’t distract you during a weekend like this, but I want you to hear the news from me before it breaks.”
My mouth turns drier than the Sahara. “What news?”
“New York picked up Caleb Brown.”
I glance around the training room, because there’s a ninety-five percent chance I am actually going to vomit. “You’re kidding.”
Pushing to stand, I start doing laps. My heart is racing, my mind is going even faster.
This is happening. It’s actually happening. He’s taking my spot on the depth chart.
“Son.” He stands in my path, and I come to a halt. “I’m not trying to upset you. But it’s all over social media. I didn’t want you to see it for yourself or hear it from a friend. We can talk this out. Your career is going to be just fine.”
“How do you know that? Do you have a crystal ball? ‘Cause I could sure fucking use one.”
“Tyler.” My father claps me on the arm, then drops his hand. His shoulders rise, and he heaves the heaviest sigh I’ve ever heard. “Let’s have a chat. And not just about hockey.”
“What do you mean?” Reluctantly, I let him steer me to sit in the green plastic next to the one he was sitting in, and he reclaims the chair beside it.
“I’ve been pushing you too hard. You’ve been pushing yourself too hard. This isn’t healthy. When you were younger, you were always so driven and I wanted to encourage it, but I’ve done you a disservice in the process.”
“I’m fine,” I insist, picking up my water bottle. It’s empty. Leaning over, I steal a bottle of mixed berry EnduraFuel from the nearby minifridge. In a few swallows, I drain half and set it aside.
“You’re not, and it’s my fault. I can absolutely own that. But now that I see the trajectory this is taking, I have to intervene and try to help you as your father. Not as your agent, and not as your career advisor.” He pauses, and his dark gray eyes probe mine. “What’s going on in your personal life?”
“Nothing,” I say automatically.
Eyes on the prize. Hockey. Training. School.
My chest aches because I know those pieces aren’t enough on their own.
“Are you seeing someone?”
A vise wraps around my neck. Mark must’ve mentioned something to him.
“Yes,” I say. “No. I don’t know.”
“Tyler—”
“Look, Dad. I appreciate all the concern and I understand where you’re coming from. I even see your point. I don’t disagree with you, but I need to survive this EnduraFuel event first. Can you let me do that? My bandwidth is fully maxed. I can’t take on anything additional, even if it’s supposed to help me in the long run. Let me focus on the invitational, and I promise you we can figure out this work-life balance and mental health stuff later.”
My father studies me. “It’s a deal, but we’re not dropping this.”
“I know. I just need to get through this weekend.”
CHAPTER 31
UNSCHEDULED
SERAPHINA
I’m not vibing with these prompts for my creative writing class’s short-form fiction assignment. Invisibility potions; monsters swimming beneath ships; finding a genie in a bottle. One of the things I like about writing is that I get to pick what it’s about. Being fenced in like this makes me strangely resentful. They’re all sort of science-fiction, adventure, or thriller themed, too. Couldn’t one of them at least leave room for me to include a little romance? I suppose monster romance is a thing. Maybe I could do that…
The front door slams, and I glance up from my laptop eagerly.
Tyler steps inside a moment later, crossing the room to me. He’s dressed in head-to-toe training gear like he has been all week, not even bothering to change into street clothes. Just clean sets of training clothes in steady rotation like it’s the literal only thing on his mind.
Drawing closer, he plants a kiss on the top of my head. “Hey, Ser.”
“Hi.” I move to close the laptop, but before I can, he’s already halfway out the room. Not sure why I expected otherwise; he gave me a thorough rundown of his schedule for the week.
I’m not part of it.
He didn’t directly say that. He didn’t need to. There’s no free time left between all his off-ice coaching, team practices, studying, and extra training he’s crammed in there in advance of this hockey invitational he’s attending this weekend.