Defenseman No. 9 - Xavier Neal Page 0,87

loss washes over me, “I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

“Why is hockey over for you?” Mom’s investigation has a definite scientific overtone. “Are you injured? Did you pull a muscle? Are you undergoing hormonal changes that make it difficult for you to maintain balance or stamina as you once did on your skates?”

My brow pierces together in bafflement. “No.”

“Then, I repeat my first question.” She crosses her legs and folds her phone-holding hands into her lap. “Why is hockey over?”

“No one is going to want me on their team.”

“You’re making assumptions,” Dad scolds.

“I was made to change in the restroom outside of the locker room so that I couldn’t see them dress or undress, was barely allowed in between periods, wasn’t allowed to touch foot on the ice or a teammate for that matter.” The recalling returns sickness to my stomach. “I’m not making assumptions, Dad. I am using the information provided to come to an educated conclusion.”

“Perhaps,” Mom sighs, sadness evident, “but this is only one group. Who’s to say the results will repeat? The only way to know is to continue on. To try again. Try others. To not give up.”

“Unless you’re giving up because you don’t have the heart to play anymore,” Dad swiftly informs. “But, given the emotional state not playing put you in, I would say it’s safe to guess, that’s not the case.”

I don’t want to play hockey forever.

I don’t even want to play professionally.

I just wanted to finish out my college career with my crew.

I wanted to be the one out on that ice defending them from being injured.

I wanted to be the one helping show agents watching why they should be recruited.

The crew might not have a problem with having me around, but Stiles could.

The other players that make the cut could.

What happens then?

Will my crew be there to defend me, or will I be left defenseless like I was earlier?

Maybe it would be better to never find out.

“As for Crash,” Dad loudly emphasizes to regain my dropped gaze, “we’ve discussed the importance of communication in a relationship, something that is even more important when one partner is not receptive to the other’s needs. Your Mom and I are great at that shit now, but when we were first dating…” He flashes me a comical cringe. “Trying to get through to her was like trying to cut steak with a butterknife.”

It’s Mom’s turn to wince. “Tunnel vision is a real thing, you know.”

The corner of his lip curls upward. “I do know. I’ve had it for you since we met.”

She tries not to blush over the statement that is, obviously, true.

He’s had it for her.

I’ve had it for Crash.

They learned to make shit work…does that mean we can?

Does that mean we will?

“Work,” Dad answers the question that actually never leaves my lips. “Communication and work, Hugo. That’s how you get through it. You’ve both gotta be willing to work at the relationship.”

I fight against the instinct to not ask what it is I desperately need to know. “And, what happens if we’re not both willing to work at it?”

“Then it is time to put it to rest.” His clinical side clearly clashes with the parental one. “Not all relationships work out the way we want them to, Hugo. It’s often taught that this makes you a failure or that those attempts mean you have been unsuccessful, yet in actuality, as long as you are making a valiant effort to connect to other humans, to put yourself out there whether it’s romantically or platonically, you are a success. You are gaining experience and knowledge and, ultimately, what they say about knowledge being power is true. This is extremely evident in long-term relationships. And, knowing what you won’t put up with, or can’t, is quite a profound thing to understand.”

“Can you put up with fusion?” Mom playfully inquires. “I’m thinking of ordering that Japanese BBQ place that just opened up.”

I give her a small nod to which Dad insists she pulls up the menu.

They begin sharing her screen, fussing over whose finger is in whose way, while I let their words seep into place and bring up the one question that fits both issues in my life.

Do I really have the heart for it anymore?

Chapter 18

“Look Cinderella, it doesn’t matter how many slippers you try on, your Prince Charming isn’t just going to come knocking at your door, begging you to marry him,” Betty callously teases from the other couch in my apartment.