I nod again, turning to leave.
“Keep up the good work, Xavier.” His voice carries a warning against my spine. It’s clear that while tonight was good, better than good even, it wasn’t enough.
It’s never enough. We’re always chasing, the next goal, the next compliment, the next trophy.
“Yes, sir.”
The medic puts two paper stitches across my throbbing, swollen lip before I hit the locker room. My adrenaline has gone. My jersey clings to my skin, cold and damp, and the locker room lights feel too bright. The ache in my ribs settles into something meaner, reminding me it wasn’t gone, just distracted by the game.
I heave out a sigh, exhaustion claiming my limbs and making it hard to even tug my shirt over my head. No amount of skating tonight was enough to outrun the sting of rejection. I rub at my chest, the image of my heart protected by hockey pads doesn’t escape me.
My heart’s not protected from anything, especially not a Dominican hockey god with sexy brown eyes, a cleft palate scar I want to trace with my tongue, and a mouth that made me whisper sinful things in the dark.
“Nope. We’re putting this away.” The words are out of my mouth before I realize I’ve said the quiet part out loud.
“Putting what away?” Oliver nudges me. “The puck? You sure as shit did that tonight, man.” He gives me an impressed smile that I can’t return. I’m not feeling it, for one, but I’ll rip my stitches if I do, so I just sit in my quickly cooling sweat-soaked clothes until everyone’s gone. And then I pull out my phone, type that delicious dark devil a piece of my mind before deleting it to have a come to Jesus meeting with myself. Because I’m done chasing.
No, really.
I’m done.
CHAPTER 19
Artemis
Iwant to stab my dessert fork in my eye just so I can get out of this awkward situation. What the fuck am I even doing here?
The meaty smell permeating the air and the familiar scent of Mamá’s favorite perfume isn’t enough to mask the fucking cinnamon clinging to every molecule of oxygen in the building.
Damnit.
It’s one thing faking happy families in front of the cameras. We can stand close, in each other’s spaces, flash a wide smile for photographers, laugh together and pretend that everything is fine. But behind closed doors, it’s not fucking fine. It’s not fine at all.
We can’t even fake it anymore.
And the more my father simply breathes the same air as the rest of us, the more difficult it is not to open my mouth and tell him I’m about to destroy his company by rebranding everything he’s ever worked for.
Cabrón.
He’s currently lecturing Mamá about something in the restaurant.Herrestaurant. It has nothing to do with him, and yet, he’s addressing her like she’s a fucking idiot. This isn’t her first rodeo. She’s built that place from the ground up and made it the success it is.
Sometimes, I just wish she’d stand up to him a little more. My stomach dips. It must be so hard to just turn your back on someone who has been such a big part of your life for more than three decades.
She’s wringing a napkin in her lap. Is she thinking about wringing my father’s neck the same way I am? Her smile is painful, a carefully practiced mask that, unfortunately, too many women have to wear.
Abuela pats my hand like she can sense my tension, her rings are cool against my skin. Not sure what gave it away, the white knuckles, or how I’m gripping my silverware like I might use it as a weapon, but she saves me from opening my mouth and giving him a piece of my mind by opening hers instead.
“Alonso?”
His head snaps to face his mother-in-law, my formidable grandmother, and my siblings suck in a collective breath. Ares scrapes his plate with his fork like some kind of perfectly timed record scratch.
Scott makes eye contact and widens his as if to say, ‘should we take cover?’ He’s not thrilled with the shrug I give him in answer because his eyes go bigger still.
“Do you really want to continue talking to my daughter in this way?” She runs her finger around the rim of her wine glass, peering into my father’s black soul, brow quirked in challenge.
He opens his mouth to reply, but she holds up a finger to silence him. “Don’t be un maldito idiota.”
The entire table goes still. The only sound I can hear is my thumping heart, and the crack in my jaw from forcing myself to stay quiet.
