Shift change was on Sunday. Dad was going to overnights. I used to think he was so badass, out there solving crime and catching bad guys. Except for the part that he was never around, never paid attention to me, never came to any of my hockey or lacrosse games. My mother left, and he was as good as gone himself.
I was getting ready for bed while Dad was getting ready for work.
"You gonna come to my game tomorrow?" I asked as he pulled a can of Coke out of the fridge and tossed it in his bag. It was basically a lost cause. He rarely ever bothered to show, even when he said he was going to.
"I'll try. They're putting guys on a lot of doubles lately, if I get stuck on a double I won't make it in time." He was always the first guy to jump at overtime. Not because we needed the money, but because he felt it made him noble to sacrifice other things for work. And then he'd always say shit like, "Matt, somebody needs to pay for all those powerskating lessons and new skates."
"Right," I said. I left the kitchen in a hurry, made my way upstairs to my room.
"Night, Matt," he called from the foyer before he left. Some people might think it's strange to leave a 16 year old kid at home alone all night, but it didn't seem to bother him. I was rattled. Couldn't sleep. I decided to let off some steam. I hauled my net onto the driveway and started firing tennis balls.
Slapshots. Angry ones full of rage. Everything was going so shit. Chantelle thinks I'm her fucking little brother, my dad doesn't care about me, even the pucksluts aren't making me feel better. One named Amy or Anna or something video chatted with me today, showed me her tits and everything. I just pretended to care.
BAM. A tennis ball hit the garage with force. BAM. Another one missed the net. I took another slapshot, whacking my stick so hard against the driveway, I was surprised it didn't crack.
Chan's outside light flicked on the timer. I looked at my phone. Midnight. A moment later, her car rolled up. The exhaust was louder than her music this time.
"Well, looks like my light timer works," she said, getting out of the car. "I hate coming home to a dark, lonely house." She said what I was feeling. My heart ached in a way I couldn't explain. "And what the heck are you doing outside by yourself at midnight on a school night?"
"Rattled," I said, emphatically taking another whack at a tennis ball that went top corner.
She set her gear down on her porch and walked over. "Can I?" she asked, reaching for my hockey stick.
"You can play hockey?" I asked.
"No, not at all," she admitted with a laugh. "I'm terrible at it, why do you think I just take photos of it?"
She gripped the stick all wrong and I had to laugh.
"That's not how you do it," I said, indicating towards her grip on the stick. Without thinking, I grabbed
her hands and began placing them in the correct place on the stick. She smelled so fucking good. I jumped back as I felt my dick getting hard. Fuck.
She took a shot and missed. The ball rolled down the driveway back to her, and she whacked at it, but it didn't go very far.
"Look where you want the ball to go," I said. She eyed the net and took another shot. It landed in the net and she beamed.
"You're a good teacher," she said, passing the stick back to me. My chest hurt. "So, you want to tell me why you're so rattled?"
"It's stupid," I said, firing the ball back into the other top corner. I toe dragged the ball, back-handed it and did a little celly. She seemed amused, so I started stick-handling the ball around her. I may have got a bit distracted staring at her boobs.
"It's not stupid. Is it anything I can help with?"
"Unless you can magically make sure my dad doesn't work a double tomorrow, not really," I replied, looking at the ball.
"Well, no, I can't do that," she admitted. "Does he do that a lot?"
"I just really wanted him to come to my game tomorrow, and he never can."
"What time is the game at?" she asked.
"It's at 3:30, but he won't finish his shift until 3, then he'll have to drive home, he works in an inner city division."
"Well, I don't have to be at work until 6, I could stop by your game. Maybe I'll take some photos. I know I'm not your dad, but like you said, it's nice to have somebody rooting for you, right?"
My heart stopped. She wanted to come to my game? To watch me play. I stared at her.
"Unless you don't want me to?" she asked, looking concerned.
"That's really nice of you," I managed to muster out. "It's at my school, the one up the road there." I pointed to the west.
"I'm sure I can find it." She gave me an encouraging smile and nod of her head. "I've actually never shot a lacrosse game before."
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Monty After Dark
قصص المراهقينMatt Monteleone's life seems perfect ... on paper. He's a great athlete, good looking and popular. The girls at school all want him and the guys all want to be him. But he hides a dark secret: he's completely alone. After his mother left when he wa...
