I often wonder if having the same last name hurts or helps us. Until we get into the NHL, it’s hard to say for sure. But I wouldn’t want to get picked by a team because of my dad. None of us do. We all want to earn our positions on our own.
“Oh, I know,” Preston says. “Like I need a fucking reminder of the ghost of Alex Parker.”
“It pisses me off.” I shake my head, annoyed by the last time an announcer threw my father’s stats in my face. “My dad retired years ago.”
“Trying to live up to the legacy of Alex Parker ain’t easy.”
Tucker and Trent nod.
“These asshole announcers expect us to be them…” Tucker says, “… when all we’re trying to do is play as hard as we can to get NHL scouts to notice us. Sometimes, I feel like I’m living in the shadow of Tyler Kane. Our dad…” he says, pointing at Trent, “… retired over ten years ago. Get over him already.”
Tyler Kane is the general manager of the Philadelphia Flyers, and Preston’s dad is the head coach. Neither of them wanted to leave the Flyers organization after they retired.
Thankfully, my dad has kept his distance from the league. He says he enjoys being home with my mom and is her muse. She’s a famous erotic romance author, so I’m glad I’m not home. Because being her muse means…
Gross.
“Right,” I interject. “It’s fucking bullshit. My dad’s shutout against the Blackhawks in game seven has been in highlight reels since I was a kid.”
“They won the Cup, though,” Tucker says. “That game was sick.”
No one understands the complexity of our lives. Our teammates think we’re lucky or blessed to have pro hockey players in our family. But their legacies are hard acts to follow. Our fathers bred us to become hockey players. They forced us to be better than them—as if that’s possible.
“Are you coming this weekend?” Tucker asks Preston.
He cocks his head at him. “To the dance contest?”
“Yeah. All the sorority chicks are dancing for money.”
“Count me in,” Trent says.
“I’ll be there,” I add.
Preston laughs. “Like any of you would miss half-naked girls dancing on bars.”
“You bringing Coach Bryant’s daughter?” Trent asks Preston.
He bites the inside of his cheek. “Bex is meeting my mom. I doubt she’ll come to the club with me.”
“Get her there,” I interject.
Why is he acting like such a pussy about this girl? Preston would have pounced like a shark on blood if she were anyone but our coach’s daughter. But with this one, he’s taking his sweet-ass time. And if he likes Bex for real, then maybe that gives me a way in with Taylor.
“I’ll see if she wants to come,” Preston says.
“Make sure she brings Taylor with her.”
I still can’t get her sassy mouth out of my head.
Preston raises his eyebrow. He’s quick to notice that Taylor has somehow got under my skin. “You like her or something?”
I never talk about women, let alone ask about them. None of them have been memorable. The only girl who ever mattered to me left such a poor impression in my mind that I still can’t escape my past. Every time I try to have sex with a woman, the horrible reminder from high school floods my vision. And then, it’s like I’m seventeen again and can’t get it out of my fucking head.
My friends still don’t know the truth. It’s too embarrassing to share. They wouldn’t believe me even if I told them. I’ve worked too hard to maintain my fake persona.
I shrug. “She’s okay. I’d fuck her.”
Tucker snorts. “I’m sure you would.”
