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“Always, darlin.’”
“Hey, I have something else to tell you.”
My stomach churns. Starting a conversation this way never leads to anything good. “Yeah?”
“Your dad came to see me at Twisted Hearts today.”
My chest tightens. What the fuck. “Myfather? He’s in town? He didn’t even call me.”
How long is he here for? Where is he staying?
And what does he want with Petal?
Did he go to see her behind my back?
She takes a big breath and exhales with awhoosh. “Rake, he was trying to get me to leave you. Break things off. Said I’m going to ruin your career. It… it was crazy.”
Jesus fucking Christ.
I slam my fists on the steering wheel and pull over to the curb. I learned the hard way not to drive when I’m about to lose my shit. And I’m really fucking pissed right now. My chest tightens and it feels like all the air in my lungs has escaped, like when I’m hit hard during a game.
I can’t fucking believe this.
It’s like a bomb’s gone off in my head. Memories of my life fly by, like how I’ve always felt uncomfortable with how my father predestined my future before I was even born, that the only wayhe approves of me is when I’m winning, and that when I do, all he can focus on are the things I didn’t do right during the game.
Uncomfortable—that’s what I always told myself I was, on the receiving end of his behavior. But the truth is, something I never admitted to myself until now, is that I amangry. He’s a pig-headed, unhappy man, and my mother and I have had to bear the brunt of that. No more calling it uncomfortable. That’s masking the reality.
He doesn’t make meuncomfortable. He makes meangry.
I’m lucky I took to hockey like I did. I’ve always loved it, from the cold on my face to the adrenaline buzz I get from the roar of the crowd—hell, I even like being sore after a weight training session. I can’t imagine doing anything else.
But what would have become of me if I hadn’t liked hockey?
Would my father have made me as miserable as he is?
And now he has to share his misery with Petal, someone he’s never met before, deciding to show up at the goddamn bookstore where she has a part-time job.
The nerve. The gall. The fucking audacity.
As if I don’t deserve the happiness I’ve found, he’s got to find a way to fuck it up for me.
“Rake? You still there?” Petal asks.
My jaw has stiffened to the point where I have to rub it to work out a painful spasm. “Yes… yes, I’m sorry. I’m just trying to… take it all in.”
“Are you okay? You sound funny.”
“I’m angry, baby. Angry that my father would do that to you. To us. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I never suspected you’d get dragged into his bullshit.”
I moderate my breath, or at least try to. My apartment is only about a mile away, and if I can pull my shit together, I can get there and then deal. I blink hard to make sure I can see straight, and slowly pull back out into traffic.
The happy buzz I was feeling from today’s practice just went up in flames like someone set it on fire and burned it to the ground.
While I was killing it on the ice today, one of the things in the back of my mind was the upcoming game and how awesome it will be to see Petal’s beautiful face up in the stands.
And my father wants to take that away from me? How does that even happen? What kind of father does that?
I pull into the garage at home and my face twists while my eyes fill with tears. I sit in my car, unable to move, and wait for the ugliness to pass, a haunting sensation whispering that for some reason I don’t deserve the same happiness everyone else gets. That one of the people who ought to have my back absolutely does not.
