“You won’t. If I fall, I get back up, no matter what,” I snap back. “If I fall six times, I get up seven!” I say, quoting him.
“Baylor—”
“No! I didn’t work this hard to give up after one little injury.”
“He hit you so hard, you flew five feet in the air!”
“But I’m getting up, and I’ll be on the ice tomorrow, working harder to be ready,” I say back, my hands trembling with anger.
“Maybe you aren’t ready for this league,” he suggests and my glare deepens, my heart sinking. How can he say that?
“Are you serious right now? Because I got hit by some bigger dude and he knocked me out, I’m not ready?”
“Yes, it was a nasty hit that can happen again.”
“Oh my God,” I sputter, shaking my head. He’s lost his fucking mind! “I’m done talking to you.”
“Excuse me?” he snaps, his brows going into his hairline.
“You aren’t being rational here. When did it change? When did your need for me to succeed vanish? You’ve pushed me—so fucking hard—my whole damn life, and now you want to play the dad card? No. That’s not fair. Believe in me or don’t, but I’m going into the draft and I’m going to get picked up and I’m going to bring the Cup home.”
Looking at me with narrowed eyes, he shakes his head. “Why does it matter so much, Baylor? You can be anything you want, but you’re gonna risk your safety? Why?”
“It matters because you gave it all up for me. I’m doing it all for you!” I yell at him, and his jaw goes slack as he holds my gaze. My eyes flood with tears as I say softly, “I work myself to death because I want to make you proud of me.”
“Baylor, I am proud of you,” he says, matching my tone. “I completely believe you can get into the NHL, I know you can. But how many hits are you gonna take before you get there?”
“As many as it takes,” I answer sharply. “I will win.”
Letting out a roar of frustration, he pins me with a dirty look, but I don’t care. This has been my dream since the day my skates hit the ice. I’m not letting anything derail my dreams. I can’t, no matter what he says.
Shaking my head, I cross my arms, looking back at him defiantly as he asks, “So I’m supposed to throw you to the wolves, then?”
“Nothing stopped you before, so why now?”
“Because before now, I never had to see you lie lifeless on the ice, Baylor Irene!”
“I got up. I’m fine.”
Rolling his eyes, he shoves his hand through his hair before looking over at me. I know he’s frustrated, but so am I. I need his support, I need him to believe in me, and right now, I don’t think he’s doing either those things. “Dad, I’m not quitting.”
“I didn’t want you to quit hockey. I wanted you to play for the girls’ team.”
“Not happening,” I say simply. “I’m too good.”
Shaking his head, he looks down at the ground and says, “I know, but you’ll be safe.”
“I’m good, Dad, and that’s final,” I say as his eyes meet mine. “But the question is, are you going to help me get to the NHL or not?”
Looking away, he sucks in a deep breath and I fully expect him to say no, but instead he says, “You know I will.”
“Then nothing else needs to be said,” I say, tears threating to fall since I feel like all his faith in me is gone. “I’m fine. Don’t let this scare you.”
“Easier said than done, Bay.”
Shrugging my shoulders, I don’t care if it is.
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