Page 28 of Rookie Moves

Colby bristles. “That’s shit. He sounds like an ass.”

“I know I shouldn’t say it because he’s my dad and all, but he kinda is.”

“What would you do if you had the choice?”

I lower my gaze to the bedsheet and trace my finger over the very faint patterned lines.

Doing something other than working for my dad hasn’t been an option. I didn’t even get a choice in what major I picked, so I’ve never allowed myself the chance to think about what I would like to do because it seemed pointless. Like I would be setting my heart on something, knowing full well it would end in disappointment because it was never going to happen.

“Is it bad that I have no idea?” I confess, almost in a whisper.

“Maybe that’s something I can help you with.”

Furrowing my brows, I glance back up to him. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you’re helping me not head off into the NHL as a bumbling virgin, so maybe I can help you figure out what you want to do with your life after graduation. We shouldn’t let other people dictate how our future looks, even if it is being forced by someone who is supposed to love you. Sometimes we have to be brave and take back control of our own destiny.”

My face prickles with heat, like I’m standing too close to an open flame, and my throat suddenly feels tight.

I’ve always known in the back of my mind that the choices that have been made for me aren’t ones I would pick for myself. I’ve secretly been envious watching my friends and teammates get excited about the next chapter in their life as graduation looms closer, when all I’ve been feeling is dread.

But it’s Colby’s observation that has the emotion burning through my veins like a hot spike.

An emotion that feels a lot like fear, because I’m pretty certain he’s right, and I don’t know if I’m brave enough to do that.

CHAPTER SEVEN

COLBY

The energy in the locker room is tense as we suit up to take the ice for the semifinals. Earlier this afternoon, we watched Denver defeat Cornell in overtime, and now it’s our turn to face Western Michigan.

Am I nervous? I mean, I’d be lying if I said no, but it doesn’t feel like the typical bout of pre-game nerves.

This time, it’s for something entirely different.

I haven’t been able to shake off what Tyler said last night about not having a choice in his future, and with the realization that this weekend might be his last tournament if we lose, I’m feeling more pressure than usual to make sure we make it to the Frozen Four.

The pressure is all self-inflicted, of course, but I feel like I owe this to him with everything he’s doing for me.

I’m struggling to get it out of my brain though. I can’t comprehend not having a parent who encourages you to fulfill your dreams. My parents have always been my biggest supporters. From the 5:00 a.m. practices to the seven-hour drives for a tournament, they have only been encouraging and positive, even after the games where I played like dog shit. They’ve never once tried to talk me out of pursuing my goal of playing pro hockey, and the fact that Tyler’s parents haven’t even given him the chance to consider what he would like to do with his life doesn’t sit well with me.

Would Tyler want to try and find a way to stay in hockey in some respect? It’s too late for him to enter the draft, but I know there are plenty of players who have made it to the NHL undrafted or landed a decent contract in the AHL. Or he could go to Europe if he wanted.

My stomach twists at the thought of him living in Sweden or Germany, or even Austria.

That’s so far away.

But if that’s where he wanted to go, I’ll do whatever I can to help him get there. Unless there’s something outside of hockey he would be interested in. Except… I don’t know what his interests are outside of hockey.

Guilt washes over me, and I pull on my skate laces a little harder than necessary. I’ve known him for seven months now, and I don’t even know what his hobbies are. I don’t know what kind of music he listens to or what his favorite movie is. Sure, no one knows mine, but that’s because I choose to be quiet and a little more reserved in order to protect myself.

But Tyler… he’s more of an open book than I am, and yet, I’d come dead last if there was a quiz.

Does that make me a shit friend? I’ve never really had any real friends to know what the norm is about knowing your friends’ interests, but the tight pull in my gut tells me I am.

He’s more than a friend.

Nope. That can’t happen. No matter how much I’d like it to.