Wildcat: Chapter 19

I’m sitting in the dark of the kitchen eating a bowl of cereal when Dad comes in. He flips on the light before he sees me.

A tired smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. “You couldn’t sleep either, huh?”

I shake my head. Meeting up in the middle of the night for a snack used to be our thing, and I’m happy that after being gone for two years, we still have something that’s just ours.

He grabs a bowl and sits in the chair next to me.

“The Raisin Bran is in the pantry,” I say as he dumps my Fruity Pebbles in his bowl.

“I missed these. Your mom never bought them when you were gone.” He settles in beside me and spoons a heap of the colorful candy cereal into his mouth.

“Are you nervous about the game tomorrow?”

“Always,” he says. “They’re a talented group. Maybe the most talented I’ve ever coached.”

“Shouldn’t that make you less nervous than normal?” He never sleeps the night before the first home game. As far back as I can remember.

He laughs softly. “Probably.”

“I get it. It’s like when I’m taking pictures of something really beautiful or special and the light is perfect, I expect the quality of my photography skills to be better, too.”

“Taken anything recently I can see?”

“You mean like when I forced you to look at an hour worth of my study abroad pictures and you fell asleep?” I sent pictures while I was gone, of course, but I held back all my favorites to see their reactions in person. Dad was out after ten minutes. To be fair, there were a lot and most of them were buildings and churches. The other half had Rhyse in them.

“I’m mostly doing favors for friends and trying to come up with a portfolio before I apply for photographer positions.”

He nods his approval. “I know why I’m up burning the midnight oil, but why are you?”

“I told Mom that I dropped my classes.” She was giving me the third-degree on missing classes to travel with the team and I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Ah.” His eyes briefly widen. “That explains why she’s up there with her sleep machine on listening to the soothing sounds of the ocean.”

I’d bet a month’s salary she also has on her gel sleep mask, slipped into silk pajamas, painted her nails, and journaled before bed. My mother drowns herself in self-care when she gets stressed. I’m not hating on her methods, but they’re a sure warning sign for the rest of us to give her space to decompress when she’s going through her ritual. It makes being the one to cause it that much more miserable to see her in that state.

“She’ll come around. We both want to see you happy.”

“I am,” I say. Or I’m getting there, anyway.

The next night I ride to the first home game with Mom. Her nail game is on point and her face has the dewy glow of a day at the spa. She hasn’t mentioned school or photography, but I noticed she restocked the Fruity Pebbles.

At the arena, we get drinks and popcorn and find our seats. We’re so close to the ice, I could toss popcorn over the plexi glass onto the Wildcats bench.

Dad, as if he has some sort of sixth sense alerting him to our arrival, turns as we’re sitting down and waves. He looks handsome in a navy suit with a striped navy, white, and green tie.

“Did you pick out that suit and tie combo?” I ask as I wave back to Dad. He flashes his same old dad smile and then turns back and slips right back into Coach Miller mode.

“I told you, last year he was voted the worst dressed coach in the league. I took the necessary precautions to make sure that doesn’t happen again.”

“How did you get rid of all of the baggy polyester blends he’s been trying to bring back since he wore them in the nineties?”

She grins. The proud grin of a woman who has outsmarted her man. “I refused to take them to the dry cleaner.”

Why does it not surprise me that my dad would rather buy new suits and ensure that my mom continues to run his errands than make weekly trips to the dry cleaner himself? He’s all about efficiency.

The players are on the ice warming up. I scan, looking for Leo. He texted earlier to make sure I was still coming tonight and to invite me out after. I gave him a noncommittal, We’ll see.

I had fun with him yesterday, but he’s a star hockey player and I’m… rebuilding. Or maybe it’s just building, since I haven’t successfully made anything of myself yet.

I’m confident in me. I’m awesome. I just liked him better when I thought he was in the same stage of life as me. And before I knew he was a Wildcat.

When I find him, he’s already got that dark gaze aimed at me. One long leg is up on the wall next to the bench, stretching. Ash is next to him, his longer hair a shade lighter than Leo’s. He talks and Leo nods like he’s listening, but he keeps staring at me.

Mom nudges me. “Scar?”

“Yeah.” I snap my attention to her and my cheeks warm.

Laughing, she says, “I asked how working with your dad was going?”

I glance back at Leo. He’s no longer in the same spot, but I find him by the back of his jersey. Lohan, number fourteen. “It’s been good, actually. I missed him while I was gone.”

I talked to my mom almost every day on the phone, but rarely my dad. Mom would fill me in on what he was up to and that somehow felt good enough at the time.

“And, there’s this photographer Lindsey that works for the Wildcats. She’s incredible and she offered to talk with me and tell me about how she worked her way up without a degree.”

Mom frowns. I’ve broken the happy truce by inadvertently mentioning school.

Her mouth opens and closes. I’ve rarely rendered her speechless. Before she can find her words and get deep into lecture mode, I place a hand over hers. “I know it isn’t what you wanted, but I want to be a photographer and I think I’m pretty good at it.”

“You could still be a photographer and get a degree. Just in case.”

“Just in case what? I can’t find a job or pay my bills? I’d rather make less money and have a job I love than fall back on some career that makes me miserable.”

She sighs. That deep, disheartened sigh that mothers perfect over the years.

“I’m sorry if you’re disappointed, but I’m not. I’m going to find a job and save up so I can move out and start my own business or I might like to work for a newspaper or a real estate company. I don’t know yet, but that’s the point of taking time and doing all of these favors.”

The buzzer sounds and the players from both teams head for their respective benches.

“I don’t have it all figured out,” I confess. “But I know this is right for me.”

We stand for the national anthem. I find number fourteen on the bench facing the flag, stick in hand, swaying side to side like he’s too amped up to hold still.

Mom hums along, a quirky trait that used to embarrass me when I was younger. Tonight, I join in. She glances over and smiles, and I know everything is going to be okay with us. She might not agree with me, but she’ll still cheer me on.

We take our seats as the teams get ready for the puck drop.

“So, you aren’t pregnant then?” she asks as the first lines skate out.

“What?” I ask a little louder than I intended, causing several people nearby to cast a curious glance. Only for a second though because the action starts.

“I didn’t think so. Especially after seeing Cadence. That girl is lit up like a Christmas tree with that pregnancy glow. But I knew something was up with you. You haven’t been acting like yourself since the breakup with Rhyse.”

“I’m not pregnant,” I whisper.

“Will you at least consider finishing your degree? Not because I think you’ll fail and need a fallback plan, but as an insurance policy. A lot of companies won’t even let you through the door if you don’t have a degree in something. I’m not saying it’s right, but it’s the way it is. If you have a degree, then you’ll always know that you have options.”

It’s a more reasonable request than I was expecting, so I nod. “Yes, Mom, I will think about it.”

My uncle joins us halfway through the first period. Mom turns her chatter toward him, and I finally get to focus my full attention on the game. Or more accurately on Leo.

Either I forgot how exciting hockey can be on home ice or Leo is winning me over. He races down the ice, a determined and eager look on his face. I know another time that Leo Lohan had that same expression, and it was naked with me.

Sweat makes the ends of his hair darker and curl up at the back of his helmet. His shift ends and he comes off the ice, chest heaving. We lock eyes and for several seconds, I think I stop breathing.

Holy pucking shit. If I thought I was going to watch him play all season and be completely unaffected, I was seriously mistaken.