Page 39 of Puck Your Feelings

I don't have to look to know who it is. The ringtone—default, because I'm not sentimental enough to assign custom ones—tells me everything I need to know.

I check anyway.

Dad

Three missed calls. Two voicemails I haven't listened to. A text that just says:Call me.

I answer because ignoring him only makes it worse. "What?"

"Don't 'what' me." My father's voice is sharp. "I've been trying to reach you for an hour."

"I was training. You know, hockey? The thing I'm here to do?"

"Don't be smart. We need to discuss these videos."

I close my eyes. Of course. "Which videos? There are several at this point." I bite my tongue.I’mmaking it worse. "It's handled."

"Handled? Jayden, you're all over social media. ESPN's running segments."

"And? It'll die down."

"Not if you keep engaging with him." A pause. "I've been watching. You're getting distracted."

My jaw clenches. "I requested this transfer to get away from you micromanaging my life. Remember?"

"I'm not micromanaging. I'm concerned. There's a difference."

"Is there?"

I start walking again, my grip tight on my phone. I'm approaching Cabin 12. The window’s open but the lights off. Becker's probably already at dinner.

Good. I need a few minutes alone before I have to face him.

"This isn't about control," Dad continues. "It's about your career. Your reputation. You're embarrassing the family name with this circus."

"It's not my circus," I snap, my voice rising. "I'm just trying to play hockey."

"By feuding with a media wannabe?"

I stop again, this right outside the cabin.

"He's not a media wannabe. He's my teammate."

"He's a distraction. And your stats better improve this season, or this whole transfer was pointless."

"My stats are fine."

"Fine isn't good enough. Not with the Marcus name attached."

And there it is. The real issue. Not my performance. Not my happiness. The fuckingname.

"Maybe that's the problem," I say, my voice tight. "Maybe I'd rather play beer league than have you micromanage my career from your broadcast booth."

"Don't be dramatic—"

"I'm not being dramatic, dad. You micromanage every aspect of my life.Everygame,every interview,everydecision gets filtered through what you think I should be doing. I requested this transfer to get away from you!"

My heart’s pounding as I finish my spiel, and what I’m met with is silence. Whole fifteen seconds of it.