Picture Perfect by Camille Dixon Page A

us practicing year-round. He was always thinking ahead to the next season. This year, I wished he didn’t give a damn, because I sure didn’t. No one spoke to me at practice, and no one acknowledged me. The few times I was passed the puck, I only fucked-up the shot because my nerves felt so fried. The moment the whistle blew, signaling practice was over, I was the first to bolt for the showers.
    “Hold up, Thompson. We need to talk.”
    Reluctantly, I wheeled about and faced Coach. Brayden bumped into me as he passed, earning a frown from Erik. I still hadn’t told him what happened at the restaurant, not that he’d asked. Sapphire - or Tammara, apparently - was the new black, and the only conversation topic that interested him.
    Coach waited for the others to file out, though a few lingered behind. One death glare from the coach sent them hurrying along.
    “Listen.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t how to say this because I’ve known you since Varsity in high school, and you’re generally a good player, but you’ve just been off your game lately. Your teachers tell me you’re close to failing your classes, and you know you can’t stay on the team unless you maintain a 3.0 GPA.”
    The cold lump of my heart sped up. “What are you saying?” I asked, my voice thick.
    Coach’s expression sombered. “I can’t afford to lose another season because of you. You’re off the team.”
    “What?” I started forward as he began walking away. “I can get it together. Please let me have another chance.”
    He turned around. “Listen to you. Do you even believe the words coming out of your mouth? They sound mechanical, like something you know you’re supposed to say because it’s what the others would do. But is staying on this team what you want, Devin?”
    Any space in my throat closed off. “I…”
    Heavy silence spread between us.
    “That’s what I thought.” Coach sighed. “Look, Devin, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to quit. Sometimes, we just need to close a chapter of our lives when it no longer enriches it.” He slapped a hand on my shoulder, which I barely felt. The numbness had returned. “Don’t be afraid of going against others’ wishes if it’s what’s best for you.”
    He didn’t smile. In typical Coach fashion, he only grunted and nodded before walking away, leaving me standing alone and frozen like a statue.
    The knowledge this was my last time on the ice hit me, and I wanted to throw my stick. But I didn’t. Instead, I put one foot in front of the other, forcing myself off the ice and down the hallway. With each step I gained strength. It felt good.
    Right.
    Feeling a sense of lightness I hadn’t felt before, I undressed in the now empty locker room, then showered. It was the most relaxed I’d been in months. Letting the water wash my cares away, I started humming a tune I’d heard on the radio and allowed my mind to wander where it wanted to go. Shampoo stung my eyes and I blinked, pulling myself out of a daydream. A very nice one that had dark green eyes ringed in gold and curves I could rest my hands on.
    Killing the water, I raked the towel over my hair, then wrapped it around my torso. Steam hung around the room as I walked back to my locker, almost missing the dark figure standing in the corner. I whirled, preparing to take a swing, but when I saw who it was I nearly passed out from shock.
    “Dad.”
    Lionel Thompson stepped forward, decked out in his Sunday best. Every day was Sunday in Lionel’s closet. “Hello, Son.”
    “Don’t call me that,” I spat, feeling my muscles knot again. “What are you doing here?”
    He stepped forward, oblivious to my animosity. “You haven’t been returning any of my calls.”
    “Guess there’s nothing to talk about that hasn’t already been said.” I turned, unable to stand the sight of him.
    “You always were stubborn and proud, too much to see clearly.”
    “I wonder where I get that from?” My hands