Hayes (A Carolina Cyclones Story)

28.

Maggie

In regards to hard things my mom used to always tell me "the best path is through". I think the sentiment is applicable to Hayes right now. He's clearly uncomfortable with the idea of dredging up old memories but he seems determined to do it even with the times I offered him the opportunity to avoid it. As much as I may believe that telling his story will help him, it's really not my place to decide that for him. When he'd first began his story he'd seemed to drift away from his seat next to me on the couch. Like he'd truly been transported back in time and into the moments he was sharing with me.

That he felt the need to warn me of his story's conclusion gave me pause and for the briefest of moments I hesitated on if this was something I really should be coaxing out of him. He stayed steadfast in his desire to tell me however, so I didn't allow my support for him to waver.

"Once I'd been playing for a while it became clear that I wasn't just good at hockey, I had the natural talent to one day be great. Like I told you, at first this was great for my dad. I think he liked to bask in the attention that being the team's star player got him from the other parents. It also gave him a way to bring up his past playing days easily in conversation. That was the beginning of everything really."

Hayes pauses then, a shaky hand reaching forward to grab his water glass. I watch as he takes a slow sip, his adam's apple bobbing within his throat as he swallows and tenses, beginning to speak once more.

"At some point, I guess around middle school or so, it became clear that if I worked hard and maintained my current trajectory I had the potential to make it to the pros one day. Up until that point my dad had been nothing but supportive which was huge to me. My dad and I had never had the best relationship, hockey was basically all we had because that and drinking were about my dad's only hobbies."

His admittance of his dad's drinking doesn't surprise me, he's hinted at that before.

"When it sank in for my dad that I was potentially going to be better than him, go farther than he had been able to...well that's when things changed."

I glance down to my lap where Hayes and I's joined hands lay, he squeezes and a jolt of electricity shoots through my veins. He's seeking me for comfort during this and I find it endearing.

"Before, when my dad would come to practice he never really said much. He'd sit off to the side and watch and at the end when he'd help me with my bag and we'd head to his beat up truck for the drive home he might offer a comment here or an idea of something to try a little differently there. It was never cruel and it was just as often that he'd say good practice and allow us to complete the rest of the walk in silence. But when things started happening for me, when he began to see me as a threat, that's when I got to see a whole new side of my father."

"What do you mean he saw you as a threat?"

"I think in his head he liked that I was good, but he never wanted me to achieve more than he had. And when it started to look like I was going to be able to do more, well, I guess he didn't like that all that much."

"So what did he do?"

"He started showing up at every single practice. Before, he'd come to some but not all or even most to be honest, at least not for the whole time. Now he was there for the whole thing every time and no longer was he quiet and calm, a simple observer. No, now he made his presence known. Practice is supposed to be just that, practice. A safe place to try things and make mistakes to get ready for the next live game. Then though, my dad took it upon himself to become my own personal heckling section. He'd stand at the glass, his nose pressed against it waiting with baited breath for me to make a mistake, miss a pass, whiff at a puck, and then he'd lose his shit."

"God, that must've been awful for you. What were you, like, twelve?"

"Something like that at this point. Mostly it was just embarrassing. I mean, who wants to be called out for every bad thing and then never even receive acknowledgement for your successes? My confidence definitely took a hit but, I think that's what he wanted. My teammates started picking on me, you know how kids can be, but I tuned it out. I stayed focused because things were getting bad at home too and I knew hockey would potentially give me a way out. I kept that in mind, clung to the idea of it. And it..." He trails off and I reach out, placing my hand against his back which tenses in response before finally relaxing.

"My dad wasn't a dumb man." He says when he starts again and I blink, a little confused at the way he's changed tracks. "When he drank he had a temper. He blamed me for a lot of his inadequacies, or maybe blamed isn't the right word. Let's say he took out his frustrations about the failures of his own life that were caused by my achievements on me. But since he wasn't an idiot, even when drunk, he never hit me. That would be too obvious."

I can't help the sharp intake of my breath.

"He switched his forms of torture up." Hayes lets out a humorless laugh. "Sometimes he'd make me get in goal for him, I'd never played goalie a day in my life but, he'd want to show off his slapshot or whatever so he'd make me get in goal and he'd just pelt me with pucks. At first I'd try to dodge them but that just led to insults and lengthen the time he wanted to fuck with me for so eventually I'd just stand there and let him hit me until he'd finally be too exhausted. Other times he'd make me play him in one on one and he'd play dirty. He'd slash and cross check and hit from behind and basically, anything illegal was fair game for him."

"What about your mom? Your coach? Your teachers? No one said anything?"

"Yeah my mom's a sore spot for me. You'd think a mother would want to stand up for her kid, but I think mine was just glad it was me and not her that was getting wailed on. I try to limit my interaction with her these days, I just get angry. At her for betraying me like that and at myself for not being able to forgive her."

"So that's why you didn't want to call her last night?"

"Yeah, though I bet if you unlock my phone she's blown it up telling me how unsafe my job is and yada-yada-yada. I mean, why even pretend she cares? She didn't give a fuck when my own father was beating me senseless why pretend to when I get my shit rocked by another player?"

"People change, Hayes." I offer.

"No, they don't," He answers swiftly, "Not really."

"Okay, but like your coach, you said your dad always made a scene at practice. No one said anything to him?"

"I mean he was just a volunteer you know? I don't think he thought it was his place to step in, nor do I think he really knew what to do. Maybe he thought if he said anything it would only make it worse. My teacher's more of the same. Plus, it's not like they really could distinguish my practice bumps and bruises from the ones my dad was leaving on me, remember, he wasn't dumb. He hit his abuse in plain sight. They didn't know, or at least, that's what I tell myself so that I can try not to hold any more grudges than necessary. I'm not an angry guy. Or I don't want to be. Anger was my dad's destruction, that and jealousy anyways and I don't want to be like him."

"You aren't." I say confidently. Because in the time I've known him anger and jealousy are about the farthest descriptors from my mind when I think of Hayes Hansen.

"And God I hope it always stays like that."