Sidelined Love: A Hockey Romance (The Crestwood University Series Book 1)
Sidelined Love: Chapter 6

Later that day, I jerk my head to the left as an ear-piercing sound forces me to slow down. The shrill pitch of Coach Aaron Johnson’s whistle pierces through the air, signaling the end of another grueling practice session.

“Good work today, team!” he screams and claps his hands twice. “See you at our next practice.”

With the loud blast of the whistle still ringing in my ears, I linger behind as my teammates begin to make their way off the ice. Skating over to Coach Johnson, I wait for him to acknowledge me before I start to speak. “Coach, do you mind if I stay out a little longer? Just want a few extra minutes on the ice.”

He gives me a look, scanning my face as if he’s trying to figure out the best solution to a problem, before he nods. “Alright. But don’t overdo it. Remember, we’ve got a big game this weekend. We need you.”

“Thanks. I won’t be out here very long,” I say.

As I turn back to the ice, Asher skates up beside me. “Everything good?”

“Yeah, I just need to clear my head,” I reply. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

Asher gives me a supportive clap on the shoulder before joining the rest of the team heading off the ice.

As the heavy metal door leading to the locker room closes, the sound echoes throughout the empty rink. There is a finality to it all that goes beyond it announcing that my coach and teammates have left.

It brings a sense of peace and relief as I have a moment to myself. No more pressure or distractions, just me and the ice.

Finally.

The only thing I can hear is the sound of my skates moving against the ice. Skating is second nature to me. My body moves with ease; every turn, every motion perfected through years of hard work and dedication. It’s almost as easy to do this as it is for me to breathe. There’s nothing that beats the feel of the wind as it whips across my face as I fly around the rink.

The emptiness of the rink is both haunting and liberating. Being away from Coach, who is normally watching my every move, and my teammates, who are looking for me to also be the leader they deserve, I find a rare moment of peace. Right now, I can just be, and that is perfectly alright with me.

I push myself to move faster, letting the chill of the rink fill my lungs. The cool air feels wonderful to the frustration that’s been present within me. Every time I step out onto the ice with the team, the weight of my father’s expectations and his desire for me to be the best rests on my shoulders, weighing me down. When I’m out here alone, it’s as if I can shake off him and the critics that are watching my every move, effectively silencing them.

However, they can’t be silent forever. I’m willing to bet my father is calling me right now to check in on how everything went because he knows what time practice ends. That’s one headache I don’t want to deal with right now.

Instead, I close my eyes for a second, trusting my body to know the ice like the back of my hand. Some will consider it a dangerous move, but I don’t care. The thrill of it sends adrenaline coursing through my veins, but it’s not the same as what I feel every time I step out on the ice to play a game.

But it doesn’t matter right now. I open my eyes as I complete another lap around the rink.

As I glide, my mind begins to wander away from my father and the shitty relationship I have with him to Hailey. Her image appears in my mind, and for the life of me, I can’t understand why. She and I have only seen each other a couple of times, but I can’t get her out of my head.

There’s something about her that unnerves me, but I can’t figure out what or how she’s doing it. This is all while she seemingly couldn’t care less if I combusted into flames right in front of her. Yet the intrigue is still there, and that’s both exciting and frustrating.

I round the net and come to a sharp halt, spraying ice in an arc. I exhale and look up at the empty stands. In a few days, they’ll once again be filled with roaring fans, and there is nothing like the feeling of knowing all of those people are there to watch you kick ass.

But for now, it’s me and no one else.

A puck lies abandoned at center ice. I skate over to it and give it a half-hearted tap with my stick. It slides across the ice before I chase after it and line it up for a shot. I slap it hard toward the goal.

It hits the post with a loud ping, bouncing back toward me. I have to admit, I’m happy that miss happened now and not during a game.

I pause for a second to line up another shot, and a voice slices through the air, ruining my focus.

“Jamison! Are you planning to make a day of it?” Coach Johnson’s voice booms across the rink, forcing me from my thoughts. “Don’t you have a class to head to or something?”

I look up at the clock and then at Coach Johnson. I didn’t realize how much time had passed. “Uh yeah. I’m coming now, Coach!” I say back. I’m slightly embarrassed Coach found me deep in my own thoughts, but at least he doesn’t know what I was thinking about.

I know I should probably get off the ice as quickly as possible, but I can’t resist the urge to give the puck another hard smack. This time, it’s a release of pent-up frustration and anger, directed at my father.

The sound of it hitting the boards reverberates through the rink, matching the intensity of my emotions. I dash over to pick up the puck and quickly skate toward the exit where Coach Johnson is waiting for me.

Once I’m off the ice, I quickly put my skate guards on and gather my things. I meet Coach Johnson near the doorway to the way to the locker rooms, where he is leaning against the doorframe with arms crossed. The look on his face is impossible to read, but that’s not unusual for him.

“Everything good, Jamison?” Coach Johnson asks. His gaze is focused on me as if he’s trying to peer into my soul. “You seem a bit off.”

I nod, even though I’m feeling anything but okay. “I’m fine, Coach. I only wanted another moment to skate, you know?”

He thinks about my response for a moment longer than is comfortable before he unfolds his arms. “Okay. We can’t have you losing focus if we can prevent it. You’re one of our best players. But also keep in mind hockey isn’t everything. Having balance is important. Try finding another hobby or something to give you a small break to come back refreshed.”

“I know and that’s a good idea,” I reply. I’m not sure if he believes me, but at least he doesn’t ask any other questions.

Coach Johnson’s hand lands on my shoulder pad before he steps to the side to walk into his office. “Get to class then.”

“Will do. I’ll see you later.” I continue walking to the door that leads to our locker room.

“And Jamison?” He pauses when I look back at him. “If there’s anything you need to talk about… you know where to find me.”

“Thanks.” I give him a short nod and continue on my way to my locker. Sᴇaʀch Thᴇ FɪndNovᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“Damn it,” I mutter to myself. I don’t know why I’m surprised he seemed to catch on to my lie when he’s been coaching for decades at this point, but I am. Then again, maybe it is wishful thinking on my part.

I shrug off the conversation with Coach Johnson as I reach my locker. It’s as if I’m working on autopilot while I’m opening the lock. It’s a little eerie to be in here by myself. I’m used to being around my teammates, but their chatter and noises have now been replaced by the quiet hum of overhead fluorescent lights and the distant roar of a Zamboni cleaning the ice for the next practice.

I strip off my gear, each piece hitting the bench closest to me with a thud. My skates are the last to come off and I make sure to set them down gently before tucking them away in my bag.

Once I’m showered and back in the clothes I arrived here in, I stuff everything else into my duffel bag. I shove the bag onto my shoulder before heading outside.

The air is crisp outside, reminding me that I should have brought a hoodie with me. It is the one thing I’m definitely going to grab when I get home. The walk back to my apartment is a short one, and as I’m walking through my front door, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I snatch the phone from its resting place and glance at the phone screen: Dad.

I hesitate for a moment. I’ve been avoiding his calls for a while and maybe now is the time to answer to get him off my back for a bit. Because if I don’t, he’ll keep calling until he reaches me. Then it might escalate into something bigger. I let out a heavy sigh before swiping to answer the call and put it on speaker.

“Hey, Dad,” I say, trying to sound upbeat as I toss my bag on the floor and close my front door.

“Levi, how are you?” my dad replies. His voice is stern but not unkind, but there is time for him to shift to that. “I wanted to check in and see how you’re handling everything with the season starting up again.”

I wander into my kitchen and grab a glass from the cabinet. “I’m doing alright; just finished up practice actually.”

“Good, good,” he says. There’s a pause and I can picture him nodding on the other end. “Now listen, your coach mentioned he wants to see more leadership from you this year. As captain, you have to set the example.”

I clench my jaw, filling my glass with water from the fridge. Of course Coach Johnson called my dad. They’ve been friendly for years, but I wouldn’t call them friends.

“I know, Dad. And I’m ready for it, I promise.” I take a long drink to calm down, hoping he’ll leave it at that.

“Are you really though? Because if you’re not, you’ll miss out on crucial opportunities,” he continues to press. “This is your time to step up and show everyone you’re the best of the best. It’s what Caleb would have done and was on the way to doing.”

And there it is. Any time hockey comes up, he finds a way to loop it back to my older brother, Caleb. Hockey prodigy, killed in a car accident three years ago. I grip the edge of the counter until my knuckles turn white.

“I know, Dad. But I’m not Caleb.” My voice comes out strained, barely above a whisper. Deep down, I know where every call from my father about hockey is going to lead, but it’s still like a knife to the heart when Caleb is brought up. I wish for once he could see me as me, not an inferior replacement for the son he lost.

An uncomfortable silence passes between us before he responds. “You have the potential, Levi. You always have. But you need to push harder. That’s what I’ve always tried to instill in you.”

He’s telling the truth about that. With how many hours he works, Caleb, Mom, and I barely saw him unless it was him finding a way to attend one of our hockey games. I can’t even remember the last time we went on a family vacation with all of us. Definitely not since Caleb died.

I shake my head in an attempt to remove the memories. “I understand and realize it more than you know.” It is time to end this, or he’ll further ruin my mindset. “Listen, I should get going because I have class, but I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“That’s fine. We can talk about some of your strategies for the year and⁠—”

“Bye, Dad,” I say as I end the call, happy to have remained slightly unscathed.

It’s as if he never hears anything I say, but that’s the norm. He loves to push me to live up to the expectations that were set for my brother, and then he gets disappointed when I don’t meet them although they are unrealistic anyway. It’s exhausting, time consuming, and is just another thing I don’t need to have shoved into my face constantly.

I finish my water and set the empty glass in the sink with more force than necessary. The glass clatters loudly against the metal basin and I shake my head as the sound rings in my ears for a couple of seconds.

Walking into my bedroom, I grab the hoodie I should have brought with me this morning before going back into the kitchen. I check the time and curse to myself. I have to be out of my apartment in a couple of minutes in order to arrive at class on time.

I run a hand through my hair as I try to ignore the feelings I have as a result of the conversation with my father. I know my dad means well in his own way. He wants me to be the best version of myself. But constantly comparing me to Caleb only makes me feel inadequate.

Growing up, Caleb was the golden child because he was talented, driven, and charming. Everyone loved him, especially my dad. They were always so close, bonding over hockey at the rink. Caleb was also my role model and the reason I got into hockey. I love hockey, but it was definitely Caleb’s thing before it was mine. I started playing to have something in common with him and to seek my father’s approval.

When Caleb died, it gutted our family. My parents were never the same. While the light in Mom’s eyes dimmed, my father became more invested in me and my hockey playing. He started pushing me harder as if he was trying to keep Caleb’s memory alive through me. And that, to me, is unfair.

I grab my backpack and sling it over my shoulder. I quickly make sure I have everything I need for the classes I have today and leave my apartment, forcing myself to leave the thoughts I have about my home life there as well.

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