26. Sabrina

Chapter 26

Sabrina

That was a hell of a game! Lila had written. Nice goal!

I smiled as I wrote back, Thanks. We could've used your grit out there. They've got some forwards who need a defender to put them in their place.

Lying in the hotel bed, I read and reread my message. For a moment, I was worried that wasn't the right thing to say. I knew she was struggling with not being out here, and that she felt like she was letting the team down, but I also wanted her to know she was missed. Though we were holding our own in the playoffs, we were definitely feeling her absence both on the ice and in the locker room.

When she replied, I felt a little better: The girls from the minors are holding their own. And you all looked good out there. It sucks not being able to play, but it's fun to watch everyone.

Would be a lot more fun with you, I told her honestly. Especially before and after games.

The next game is at home. Can't promise a lot of fun, but I'll do my best. (winking emoji)

Just being able to see you will be amazing. BTW how is your knee?

Eh. Sore. Would be better if these jerks didn't make me do exercises and crap.

I laughed as I wrote out, Those bastards, doing their job to make sure you recover.

I know, right? I'm going to speak to their manager.

Giggling into the silence of my room, I rolled my eyes. I could perfectly envision her smirking as she wrote those words. You're not the easiest patient in the world, are you?

What makes you say that?

I was halfway through typing a response when the screen suddenly switched to an incoming call.

Dad.

My pleasant mood instantly evaporated, and I indulged in a muttered, "Fuck!" before I sighed and accepted the call. "Hi, Dad."

"Hey, kiddo. That was quite a game tonight."

I tensed. Lila had said as much, but I expected that from her. Dad didn't watch my games, never mind compliment them. This had to be baited. A backhanded comment, like calling someone's performance "remarkable" when he actually meant "remarkably terrible."

Instead of taking the bait, I cautiously asked, "Did you watch it?"

"I missed the first period, but I caught the last two."

My lips parted, and I had no idea what to say. My dad had… watched my game? Not just the highlights so he could pick apart my performance?

Before I could find my breath or my voice again, he added, "Your stepmother and I will be at your game on Tuesday."

I blinked. "You… You will?"

"We will. How about we take you to dinner after?"

"I…" It took a full ten seconds for me to remember how to speak. "There's—we'll be flying out right after the game."

"Ah, they don't let the grass grow, do they?"

"They never do." And he knew that. How many times in his career had he gone straight from an arena to an airport? That was pretty much life as a hockey player. And it would be my life on Tuesday night unless—

Unless we lost.

Because Tuesday was an elimination game. We were down 3-2 in the series. A win on Tuesday would force a game seven. A loss…

A loss would mean I was available to have dinner with my dad.

I swallowed. "Well, I'm sure we can do something after the playoffs are over." Which could be Tuesday. It could be Thursday. It could be two, three, four weeks away. There was no telling.

But holy shit, I was suddenly determined as hell to make sure I couldn't have dinner with him on Tuesday. The Bearcats had come too far to give up now, and my father's presence would just drive me on.

"Well," he said. "You played well tonight, Sabrina. I'm sure you will on Tuesday, too."

I was again brought up short. That didn't… It didn't sound backhanded. "I did?"

He laughed, and it actually sounded genuine. "You came away with four points. In a playoff game." He paused. "Though you could've had a hat trick if you'd shot instead of passing to Lawson."

Holy shit. He had watched.

"Oh. I…" I cleared my throat. "That goalie's blocker side is a lot weaker than her stick side. Lawson had much better odds of finding the back of the net."

He chuckled a little condescendingly, but to my surprise, he said, "Better for the team to get the goal by any means necessary, I suppose. Especially in a tight playoff game."

"Yeah. Yeah, that's what I was thinking."

"All right, well, I'll let you go. Good luck on Tuesday."

"Thanks, Dad."

We ended the call, and I stared at my phone as my stomach roiled. All my damn life, I'd wanted my father's support. I'd wanted him to come to my games and cheer for me. I'd wanted him to pay attention to how I played and see that I really was a good hockey player.

Now that he was maybe doing all that…

I didn't know how to feel.

This was something I'd wanted my whole damn life, and now that it was quite possibly here…

Fuck. Was I just being ungrateful? He'd finally seen the light and realized I was good at a sport that was worth playing. Why was I looking this gift horse in the mouth?

Sighing, I picked up my phone again and started typing a message to Lila.

Hey, sorry for the slow reply. My dad called. (skull emoji)

Uh-oh. What did he say?

I chewed the inside of my cheek. That he's coming to Tuesday's game. And he watched tonight. And he thought I was good?

Oh wow. That's new, isn't it?

Very.

Now that you mention it, the network showed an interview with him during the game. He was more positive about it than I thought he would be.

I stared at her message before thumbing back, They did what now?

Yeah. It was kind of weird, honestly. He's acting like he's supported you all along.

Which network?

She did me one better and sent a link to the interview. I tapped it and hit play.

Dad was on a Zoom call opposite the commentator, sitting in his familiar office with trophies and accolades in the background.

"This must be an incredibly proud moment for you," the commentator said. "Having a son and a daughter competing in their professional hockey leagues' postseasons."

"I'm very proud of both of them," Dad said with a bright smile. "Mark has played some of his best hockey this season. And Sabrina—well, what can I say?" He chuckled. "Those McAvoy genes are strong."

I gritted my teeth. Of course he was taking some credit for it. But… he was also acknowledging my hockey ability. This was progress.

"Now, Doran," the reporter went on, "there have been rumors that you're not supportive of the Women's Hockey Professional League. Can you speak to those, especially with your daughter's impressive season?"

Rumors. Was that what kids were calling it these days? But I supposed a reporter had to be a little careful how he approached the subject if he didn't want Dad to lose his mind or end the interview.

Dad's lips tightened, but only for a second. "Obviously there is a demand for women's hockey, and this league has been meeting that demand. The players are exceptional—can't deny that."

I actually had to pause the video and replay that bit just to make sure I heard him right. I even put on closed captioning. Had he really…

Holy shit.

Dad continued, "These girls worked very hard to get where they are, and they had to work to build a professional league at the same time." He shrugged. "My league was in place for a century before I was even drafted. We didn't need to develop it while we also played in it." He gave a soft laugh. "Trust the women to be able to multitask better than us."

My jaw went slack and I wavered a little. Good thing I was leaning against the padded headboard; even then I almost toppled off the mattress. He'd finally figured that out? Had my stepmother talked some sense into him? Had three ghosts visited him in the middle of the night or something? Because… whoa.

And why didn't I feel anything?

Shock, yes. But all the other emotions I'd have expected—they were absent. If anything, I just felt… empty? Numb? Those didn't make sense, but I couldn't figure out how else to describe it.

I closed the video and reopened the text window with Lila. Is it weird that I'm not as excited about this as I thought I'd be?

After all the shit he's said to you and how he's acted about women's hockey? Of course not.

But what if he's really changing his tune? What if he's finally supporting me for real?

Lila started and stopped typing a few times.

Then the screen lit up with a FaceTime request from her. Of course, I accepted it.

"Hey." She smiled at me on the screen, but then turned serious. "Figured this would be easier than typing it all out."

"Yeah, probably." I ran a hand through my hair and sighed. "What is wrong with me?"

"Nothing. There's nothing wrong with you." She seemed to study me. "Do you think he's sincere about it?"

I gnawed my lip. Was that the problem? "I don't know. Part of me feels kind of meh about it whether he's serious or not. Part of me really, really wants him to be serious about it. Like I'm so afraid he's going to yank the rug out from under me."

Lila's brows knitted together. "Do you think he'd try to be a dick to you like Ty was at the All-Stars?"

I considered that. "Maybe? Because they both do shit like that. Wait until I'm on some kind of pedestal, and then make sure to bring me down a peg. Especially in front of people."

Lila rolled her eyes. "Jesus."

"I know, right? And I… I mean, I do want this to be real. I really want my dad to finally accept me playing hockey and be proud of me. I'm just…"

"Afraid it's a bait-and-switch?"

I nodded.

"That's valid. It really is. He's done it enough times, anyone would be."

"Exactly. And I also…" I sighed, pressing back harder against the headboard. "Even if he is sincere, I still feel weird about it. Like it's not just because I'm afraid he's bullshitting me—there's a part of me that thinks he might actually mean it, and I don't feel as good about that as I should." I grimaced. "Does that even make sense?"

"Do feelings ever make sense?"

"Okay, that's fair."

"You've also got a lot of years of bullshit behind you," she went on. "He's built up a lot of resentment in you. Even if he does a complete one-eighty, you're not required to drop all that resentment overnight, you know?"

I pushed out a breath. "You're right. You're—yeah. That's definitely it. Maybe I'll warm up to it when I've had a chance to process things. And see if he really means it."

Lila nodded. "Give yourself time. If he's actually seen the light and come around, he should probably also apologize to you and accept that you need some time, you know?"

I wanted to laugh. My father? Apologizing for his behavior? That would be the day. But after tonight, hell—stranger things had happened. "I guess we'll see how it goes."

She smiled. "That's about all you can do."

"Yeah. It is." I rolled my shoulders, wondering when they'd started getting so tense (as if I didn't know). "Well, I should probably get some sleep. We're heading to the airport first thing in the morning."

"Good idea. But, um… before we go…" Lila flicked her eyes away and chewed her lip.

My heart jumped. "Hmm? What's up?"

"I, um…" It could've just been the light, but I thought some color bloomed in her cheeks as she looked at the camera again. "I was just thinking—do you want to go somewhere after the playoffs are over?"

Another jump in my chest, but this time a much more pleasant one. "Like where?"

"I don't know." She shrugged. "A vacation? Maybe someplace with beaches?"

"Ooh, that sounds nice. And it would be great to have some time with just you."

The blush might've been the light, but the obvious relief on her face had to be real. "It would. It's been—I love watching you play, but it's been hard, being apart all the time."

"It has. It won't be that much longer, though."

"It better be!" she said. "The team needs to get to the finals!"

I laughed. "Hey, we're still in the first round. One thing at a time."

"Pfft. To hell with that. If you win, I'll still get my name on the Cup, so win , damn it."

"Okay, okay!" I said, still laughing. "All right, let me get some sleep. When I get back, we can talk vacation plans."

Oh, her smile was so pretty. Couldn't I be home right now?

Unfortunately no, and we ended the call so we could both crash for the night. I got ready for bed, and then I lay there in the darkness, thinking about my calls with my girlfriend and my father. Thinking about the playoffs. The Cup my team and I were pursuing.

I hoped we won for a lot of reasons. Getting Lila's name on there along with mine? Oh, that was on my list.

And maybe Dad will finally be proud of me.

My mood darkened at that thought. Yes, Dad seemed to be coming around. He seemed to be changing his attitude about the WHPL. About me.

Maybe with time, I'd finally be as happy about that as I'd always thought I would be.

"Oh my God, I'm wiped." I leaned into Lila on her couch. "Playoffs are no joke."

She laughed softly and kissed my temple. "See, that's my secret—get hurt right before they start so I can just chill while you all do the work."

I snorted and gave her a playful nudge.

She chuckled again. "Hey, at least you've got a few days off."

There was that.

Playoffs were always intense. I remembered that from my dad's playing days, my youth days, and major juniors, not to mention my first season with the WHPL (not that Seattle had made it past the first round). But it always seemed new. Every time, it was like I'd never experienced this chaos and pressure before, even though it was as familiar as my gear.

We'd narrowly held on in the first round. We'd gone 3-1 against Detroit, but we managed to rally, force a game seven, and win in double overtime. Compared to that uphill comeback, the second round was a breeze—we'd swept Toronto, absolutely stomping them in two of the games. Even with my dad in the crowd for some of the games— especially with him there?—I'd played my heart out, and the Bearcats were killing it.

Since we'd only had to go to game four, we had a nice little break until the third round started. We were still practicing daily, but at least we could have some downtime and sleep in our own beds. I'd enjoy that while it lasted, because we were about to go up against Hartford, who everyone was betting on to win not only the Eastern Conference Championship, but the Cup.

No pressure, or anything.

"I still can't believe we made it this far," I mused softly. "Not just into the playoffs, but… all of this. Having our own pro league. The works."

"Yeah. It's pretty amazing, isn't it?"

"It really is." I shifted a little, trying to get comfortable without jostling her leg. "They interviewed Calgary's goalie before their game last night. She talked about how much her family had to sacrifice to get her there."

"I think that's true for a lot of us," Lila said softly. "More of us than I realized, that's for sure."

I nodded. "I don't know how some of the families do it."

"Especially the ones with goalies."

"Right?" Hockey was expensive under the best of circumstances; goalie gear rocketed right past expensive into absurd .

How many exceptional players out there had incredible potential, but were held back by the financial burden? Lila herself could've missed out on reaching this level because of that, and she had parents who'd been willing and able to sacrifice enough to keep her on the ice. Even that hadn't been enough, and she'd had to work in between hockey and school. How many other kids could be on a pro hockey trajectory if money wasn't a barrier?

I absently played with the hem of Lila's shirt. "You know what we should do?"

"Hmm?"

I shifted a little so I could look at her. "We should start an organization. One that helps girls get their hands on hockey gear." I paused. "Maybe low-income kids in general, since boys have a hard time with it too, but with a lot of outreach to girls, you know?"

Lila's eyes widened. "So like… providing gear to young players who want to give the sport a try?"

I nodded. "I mean, you told me what you were up against coming up, and I remember so many kids from my youth days who had to give it up because their families just couldn't afford the gear." There was also travel, registration, lessons—but gear seemed like a good place to start.

"That would be an awesome idea," she said softly. "Maybe we should see if some players from the men's league want to get involved."

I tilted my head. "Go on."

"Well, I mean, we're all getting paid a lot more than we were a few years ago, but none of us are raking in millions like the men. They've got all the big endorsements and the huge salaries. And the big platforms—we can't deny their support was a major reason why our league got off the ground."

"That's true." I thought about it. "You know, we could probably talk to my brother. He'd be all over something like this, and I bet his wife would want to get involved."

"Yeah?"

I nodded. "Imani is an absolute boss when it comes to running charitable organizations. She's been doing them for as long as she and Mark have been married, and I swear she's got a magic touch with them."

"Well, hell," Lila said. "I don't know the first thing about that stuff, so if she's game…" She waved her hand.

"Same," I said with a laugh. "Sometimes I think the reason I fought so hard to play hockey is I know damn well I'd fall on my face in any other job."

Lila smirked. "To be fair, you sometimes fall on your face in this one."

Rolling my eyes, I gave her a playful shove. "Shut up."

She giggled and reeled me in close.

Sighing happily, I draped my arm over her and cuddled close. "You know, I can't tell you how amazing it is to finally be with someone who encourages me to play hockey."

Lila combed her fingers through my hair. "It's hard to imagine anyone not encouraging you. You're an amazing player. You should be playing hockey."

My face burned, and I smiled. "Well, there were people in my life who definitely disagreed with you."

"Good thing their opinions don't matter." She flashed a toothy grin. "Sucks to be them."

I laughed. When I'd made myself available for the WHPL, it was half about playing hockey and half about escaping a miserably oppressive marriage.

Who knew it would land me in the arms of the last person I'd ever imagined connecting with like this?