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I got out of my car and wandered over. My mind was blurring at the edges now. I relaxed fully for the first time since the dream.
“Got a lineup for me?” I asked, vaguely aware of the slur in my speech.
Sammy pursed his lips and considered it for a second before nodding. “I do, if you can be good to go right away.”
“I’m ready.”
By the time I was back in my car, the haze that had been rolling in slowly like fog off the sea, numbing my thoughts, was thick. I sat in the driver’s seat and floated. In this place, it didn’t matter that one of my best friends had moved across the country, potentially forever. It didn’t matter that the Ice Gods lineup had been broken. It didn’t matter that Eve Martino had read that damn letter from HHU’s dean and assumed the worst of me.Dumb jock. It didn’t matter that my father hated my guts or that my stepmother’s friends would love to fuck me and some already had (not by my choice). Everything that hurt no longer mattered.
I was free, at least for a while.
The race started, and I slammed the car into gear and took off. There was a particular high that came from racing under the influence. A kind of reckless apathy that appealed to my broken mind. My reflexes were dulled, my reactions compromised. I could die right here, tonight.
“Achilles’ mother bathed her son in the river Styx to make him invincible. I want you to be invincible…not like me.”
My mother’s ghostly voice stroked across my senses, making me feel guilty. She’d held on so hard to life, while I hated it and dared death to take me. She’d be so disappointed in me.
I barreled down the deserted road, turning at the last minute to avoid running into a wall. My opponent was on my heels, reacting faster, but also being more careful. His fear of dying made him slow. I had no such hindrance. I dared the universe to finally right the wrong it had made all those years ago. The day my mother had died…something inside me had died, too. It would have been better to actually die with her. Neither of us would have been alone ever again.
Fate had been waiting to catch up with me, and it was only right that I gave it as many chances as I could.
We raced down the final stretch of the quiet street. Sammy was waiting at the finish line. I wondered who he had bet on this time. Just as I pulled ahead, my tire hit a patch of oil on the road. It wasn’t uncommon in this shitty part of town. The wheel spun for a second, grappling for purchase. I pressed down harder on the accelerator. I wasn’t losing. Not tonight. The car rallied at the last second, jumping forward and shooting across the finish line first with only milliseconds to spare.
The smell of burned oil filled the air. I pulled to a stop behind Sammy and reached for my ringing cell. It was my father’s ringtone, and I had to answer it.
“Where are you?” Soren’s voice held a dangerous calm.
“Out. Why?”
“Come home. Now.” He hung up.
I stared at my phone, uneasiness breaking through my winner’s high. The pain pills stopped me from caring too much about a potential argument with my father, but even then, there was a niggling worm of worry that burrowed through my hazy mind. I knew that tone of voice. It never meant anything good.
Instead of collecting my winnings from Sammy, I put the Mustang in gear and headed home.
My father was waiting for me in his study. The book club was finished, and Colette was nowhere to be seen. I stilled as soon as Soren came into view. He was sitting behind his desk, and my hockey stick was lying in front of him, across the dark wood.What the fuck?I schooled my expression. I couldn’t let him know he’d thrown me.
I ambled in and stood at the edge of his desk.
“What is it?”
My father leaned back in his chair, one hand stroking the blade of the stick. It was a custom stick, specially designed to suit my playing style. The blade pattern and lie adjustments had elevated my game, and the damn thing had taken months to make. If I was attached to anything in this house, it was that stick, and Soren fucking knew it.
“What does hockey mean to you?”
I held my tongue. I knew better than to give my father more ammunition. Of course, it sat unspoken between us that hockey meant everything to me. It was my reason for living. Without it, I had nothing. I was nothing.You’re broken, Beck. Beyond saving.
“Because I was under the impression you liked it and wanted to play for the HHU Hellions… but now, I’m not so sure.”
“Why not?” I forced out.
“Because, if you did care about something in your waste of a life, you wouldn’t endanger it like this.” My father reached for something in a drawer and dropped it onto the desk with a muted clang.
My whole world dropped away.
My middle-school metal pencil case, spilling all my secrets.
Soren reached inside, sorting through the blister packs of pain pills, and grabbed the tiny baggie of coke. I rarely used the coke, but somehow, I didn’t think that was going to win me any points.
