“Dad once told me that I can’t have both,” I say. “I can’t play hockey and also have a family. Not without making everyone miserable.” Mom narrows her eyes. “He said that, did he?” She huffs out a disgruntled laugh. “The big idiot.” “It was true, though, wasn’t it?” I say, pushing back. “He couldn’t do both. Even when he wasn’t playing, he couldn’t leave the game alone.” “Nathan, your father was a drunk,” Mom says. “It wasn’t hockey that made him a bad father. It was alcohol.
