The Cocky Hockey Captain

Chapter 17 ● Fathers At Odds

I picked up my bag, which I'd dropped on top of the brown slush on the street. We walked in silence and the more our steps accumulated in the snow, one after the other, the more shallow I begun to breathe. He was going to make me wait for the blowup until we got to the hotel, most likely behind closed doors. The only real regret I had was that I couldn't say a few last words to my brother, whom I loved very much. Something along the lines of this is all your fault for letting my dad and I live together. He and dad couldn't have possibly expected that this would all turn out okay, hockey team or not. St. Andrews school for boys or not.

Once we walked into the hotel the old man who had the night shift sent a nod my way.

"I heard you were pretty tough in tonight's game."

Dad and he looked at me, pointedly but for different ways.

"Thank you," I said. "Have a good night."

"You too, kid. Don't forget to ice yourself."

I sighed, wondering what was up with everybody in this town and icing. Wasn't it already cold enough?

I shook my head. Canadians.

Meanwhile dad bid the man a good night as well and steered me toward my room. He waited until I produced the key from my duffel bag and followed after me. I dumped the bag and my coat on the floor and sat on the bed. He took a deep breath and I cringed, ready for the inevitably high volume that was going to come out of his mouth.

Instead just a sigh came out. He dragged his hand down his face, pulling at the skin until it almost looked like it was melting off his jaw. I just stared at him with eyes wide open. I was not going to say a single peep. I'd let him scream bloody murder at me, pretend I was contrite and then carry on tomorrow morning. That was how we usually operated. He couldn't deal with me for extended periods of time and neither could I. I'd bet he was counting the days until I left for whichever college he wanted to see me off to, just so that he wouldn't have to give me one of these speeches again.

"I'm cutting off the internet from your cellphone," he announced. His voice was tired, just like the rest of him. "I'll let you keep it because I need to be able to call or text you, but you won't have any data any longer."

I broke the rule I'd just set for myself of staying silent. "But-"

He raised the palm of his hand and continued. "I don't want you see you hanging out with that kid anymore."

I shot up to my feet. "He's my friend!"

"Well, his father's not my friend, or yours, or his own son's, for that matter." He took a deep breath and exhaled it through his mouth. "That was Peter Hyde, the president of the local union. I'm trying to negotiate the layoff of a further 53 workers and he's having none of it. We've almost come to blows about three times already."

I snapped my jaw shut and fell back on the bed, crumpling under the news like a wet tissue. I felt my face scrunch up and my vision blur.

"You can't keep doing this to me," I told him, hoping that I cut him through the bone. "You can't keep tearing away at any root I make anywhere."

I could tell that it succeeded with the way he flinched. Good. I was out for blood.

"You brought me to a small town in the middle of nowhere where everybody hates you. And guess what?" I asked, hating that my words faltered as I tried to hold back the sudden onslaught of tears and resentment that was corroding me from the inside. And it was all because of him. "I made friends on my own. I found people who were willing to accept me despite you being my dad, and now you want to cut me off from what little happiness I was able to find?"

"Damn it, Carlota. What happens when they find out you're actually a girl?"

It sank in my like an ice cube down my throat. I blinked back the tears and looked at the worry lines in my dad's face.

"Are you asking because you're worried for me... or for what people will think of you?" I asked him.

An eternity seemed to pass before he was able to reply.

"For both of us."

I knew it was the sane answer. He was going to be in trouble for lying to everybody. His business associates might even start wondering what else he was lying about. And yet I thought that this one time he'd give me what I wanted, that he'd tell me that it was because he was worried for me.

That was our problem. We were both too alike, each one focused on ourselves.

"Anyway," he said, looking anywhere but at me at this point. "I was looking for you earlier to tell you some news. The house is finally ready and we'll finally be able to move in this weekend. I didn't find you in your room to tell you and Fred over at the front told me you were playing tonight. Imagine my surprise."

I refused to engage at this point. I stared to a point of the door off to his right.

He continued, as though nothing was amiss. As though we weren't both trembling with barely contained anger or as though my disappointment was not radiating off of me in heat waves.

"I had to find out through a stranger what my own daughter was up to."

I snorted. "Son, remember?"

There was a beat of silence before he said, "I tolerated your boxing because I thought some self defense would be good for you. But what good is hockey for you?"

I folded my arms, still focused on that point at the door.

"Camaraderie? Support? Something I'm sorely lacking, you see."

"You're going to get hurt, Carlota." I heard his sigh and it flew over my head. "I just saw the boys you were with. They're a lot bigger than you and they're boys. And boys can't be trusted. I won't allow you to keep playing that reckless sport."

I acknowledged him then, with a half smile. "They say keep your enemies closer, which coincidentally is the reason why you and I are in the same town."

That made him clench his jaws.

"Yo soy tu padre. You will not speak to me this way," he screamed with so much vehemence that the veins in his neck bulged. "And you will do as I say!"

There was the angry tone I'd been expecting all along, finally. It gave me some satisfaction that I finally drew it out of him. Unfortunately this was as much feeling as my dad ever showed me and God, how I wished there was something better out there.

I wished I had a father who loved me openly and freely.

I wished my mother hadn't died.

Tears were streaming unbidden down my face at this point. I turned my face up in defiance and through gritted teeth I threw him a vicious threat, "If you think you'll be happy by forcing me to do what you want, you have another thing coming."

mkay folks, the villain's been revealed. and it's NOT your first guess.

who is your SECOND guess? hit me with your theories, though i'll confirm nothing and will just sit in my quiet corner with a cup of tea.