Alex (Cold Fury Hockey, #1)(87)
“Yes! Girlfriend. And it’s none of your business. I’m an adult and allowed to date.”
My dad holds his hands up in surrender, but he’s not fooling me. I can see it in his eyes. Yet it is with seeming nonchalance he says, “Your life, not mine. Got any coffee for your old man?”
I lock eyes with him, dying to know what he really wants to say but dreading it all the same. Instead, I just nod and head into my kitchen to make a pot of coffee, making a mental note to call Cameron later to let him know I’ve found our wayward father.
As I busy myself pulling out the coffee and filters, I try to take stock of my feelings. I’m mostly pissed that my night with Sutton got canceled. Even though I had been having some dark thoughts earlier, there’s no doubt that my spirit was rejuvenated the minute I opened the door and saw her. She just does good things for my soul.
I am, however, oddly relieved that my dad is here, because I can gauge that he looks to be okay. In fact, I can’t remember him ever looking healthier.
The sickest part, though, the thing that means I should be checking myself into a mental hospital just for having the thought, is the fact that there is a part of me that is wanting to get my dad’s advice about my game. It’s still been sucking donkey ass and while I’m scoring again, I’m certainly not playing to the potential of the first line. I simply haven’t been able to regain complete convergence on my game, and it seems that my thoughts are all jumbled among Sutton, my dad, my brother and hockey. I know, without a doubt, that my dad has been following my progress and I’m sure the minute I ask, he’ll have a ton of advice to give.
Yes, I know it will be destructive and negative. Yes, I know I shouldn’t listen to a damn word he says.
But God help me, I can only think that this man made me into the great player that I was up until a few weeks ago.
Up until he went into rehab and went off my radar.
Up until he stopped dispensing said advice.
I want to knee myself in the nuts for even thinking that perhaps the reason for my crappy play is because I haven’t had my dad riding me these last several weeks, but to hell with it…I’m going there. I need to know what he would say.
After pouring a cup of coffee for my dad, I grab a bottled water for myself from the fridge and head back into the living room. He’s sitting on the couch, his chin resting in his hand, and he’s staring pensively into the fire I started earlier as a romantic gesture for Sutton. Now all it seems to do is make my apartment feel sweltering.
“Here you go,” I tell my dad as I hand the cup to him. He looks up at me with a smile as he accepts it.
I head toward my loveseat that sits perpendicular to the couch, mainly for distance and so I can easily face him as we talk. “So, you don’t think you need rehab anymore?”
“Not really,” he says. “I need to get into AA as soon as possible, but I’m not sure what more I can learn there.”
“Why are you here?” I ask bluntly, because my dad and I are long past the point in our relationship where we have to tiptoe around each other.
After taking a sip of coffee, Dad sets the cup down on my end table and looks back to me. His eyes are limpid and soft, and he’s giving me a look such as I’ve never seen before. It’s almost caring—tender—and it makes my belly tighten because it is awkward.
“I, um…I needed to come see you. Face-to-face. I needed to apologize to you—”
I cut my dad off by holding a hand up. “No, you don’t,” I say quickly, because hearing my dad sound so considerate is sort of freaking me out. It’s evoking emotion inside of me that I had been conditioned by this very man to ignore, and I feel like this could be a trap. Maybe he’s doing this to see if I will prove to be the weak and delicate man he always accused me of being.
“Yes, I do,” my dad says firmly and with a tone that tells me not to interrupt again. “This is hard on me…to admit this to you, but it needs to be done. I was wrong in many things I did to you growing up. I’m an alcoholic, and my drinking led me to do things that I am so very ashamed of.”
“Dad—” I try to interrupt.
But he talks right over me. “I’m even more ashamed that some of the things I did to you…I’d probably still have done even without the alcohol lowering my inhibitions…so desperate was I to make you into a star. That is probably my greatest shame.”
I stand up abruptly from the loveseat and start pacing. This conversation is extremely uncomfortable and I want to flee.
Straight to Sutton, so she can tell me how to handle this.
My dad looks at me, his eyes slightly shining with moisture. “Alex…I need to make amends. I need you to forgive me.”
“Why?” I ask, somewhat demandingly.
“Because I don’t know if I’ll stay sober or not. It’s going to be a hard battle…so they tell me. But if I don’t…if I can’t and something happens to me, I need my conscience clean.”
My dad doesn’t wear vulnerable well, but he’s talking straight from the heart, I can tell. Part of me wants to punch him but part of me wants to hug him—for what would be the first time in my life.
Neither one seems right to me, so I say the words he wants to hear. “I forgive you, Dad.”
***
My dad and I eventually struggled through an awkward hug. We talked about him leaving rehab before completing, and the concerns I had. While he understood them, he wasn’t willing to go back. He felt he was equipped to handle his addiction, and had grand plans to join AA as soon as he got back home. Didn’t stop me, though, from hiding the alcohol when he went to take a shower.