AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Hey… O?” she says softly after a while.
“Yeah?”
“Would you change anything?”
“What do you mean?”
“Like, if a fairy waved a wand or something and was like, ‘Hey you can choose to do this again all the same, or you could do something totally different,’ would you do all this again? Like… were they worth it? Him and the little girl?”
It’s such an unexpected question. Quinn never deals in hypotheticals like that. She thinks they’re silly. But as I think about it, every moment from walking into Reese’s office for the first time, to kissing him, to loving his daughter to… loving him…
I sniffle.
“No. I wouldn’t change a thing.”
She hums, nodding. Her cheek presses to the top of my head.
“I feel the same way about Daniel,” she whispers. “So maybe all these shitty feelings of ours might mean something important someday.”
57
REESE
There are a few solid contenders for the worst day of my life.
The day my mother died is an obvious favorite.
Then there’s the day my father found a notebook I’d kept where I wrote about my dreams of becoming a hockey player. He tore it up in front of me, then made me feed the scraps of pages to the fireplace one by one.
The day that Olivia left has all the makings of a strong contender.
And now, today can be added to that list of moments that have fucking ruined me.
It wasn’t enough for Coach to bench me. He benched me—and also made me stay in the locker room to watch the game. You’re a distraction out there, Dalton, he’d said in that tired sigh he’s reserved exclusively for me. We need this win, and you aren’t helping with that right now.
He’s erased me entirely from the team. The only thing that would finalize it would be ripping up my contract in front of me just like Dad did.
It’s best I don’t give him the idea, or he damn well might.
This shit is torture. Midway through the second period, we haven’t scored and we’re getting our asses handed to us repeatedly. I know it’s because I’m not out there. The most important game of the season, and I’m not even on the ice to help us win. Bastian took over my place as the first-line center but he’s not doing a damn thing.
I yell at the TV every time we fumble the puck away or blow our coverages. I want to throw something at it, but if I add destruction of team property to my long list of sins, I know I’ll be out on my ass in the cold. So instead, I clench my fists in my lap, and watch with gritted teeth.
But goddamn, it’s bad.
Missed goals.
Guys getting bowled over like traffic cones.
And shot after shot finding the back of our net.
If you weren’t such a pussy, if you just fought for your place like a man, if you hadn’t gotten so hung up over a goddamn girl, you wouldn’t be in this situation.
The voice in my head sounds so much like my father’s. Words slurred. Drunk. I can practically smell the alcohol wafting by.
I force away the memory. I’m not dealing with that shit here. Not when there’s so much else at stake.
The period mercifully comes to an end, and the team spills into the locker room. There’s a dejected air about the place. Their shoulders stay hunched over, their faces sunk low. It’s pathetic to look at and anger boils up in me.
