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“Finish your breakfast and we’ll talk.” He reached out and was probably going to ruffle my hair like he sometimes did on occasion, but instead squeezed my shoulder as he stood back up. “I’m going to shower the plane off me.”
I focused back on my plate of eggs and ate in silence as Mom sipped on coffee near me. When I was finished, I started to go to rinse my plate, but Mom took it from me. “Just go sit in the living room while you wait. You need to be resting, Porter.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I may have grumbled it.
I went into the living room and plopped down on the couch, thankful my head wasn’t aching much anymore. I wanted to turn on the TV. However, A, I knew that my parents would tell me to turn it off, but only because B, I knew the TV would kill my head.
The lights. The needing to focus.
So instead I sat back, slouched in the deep couch, with my hands linked on my stomach and my eyes closed, waiting for Dad to come back down.
Dad began talking as he descended the stairs.
“I spoke with your claims rep this morning.”
I opened my eyes and looked over my shoulder, watching as Dad reached the bottom step and came over to sit on the coffee table in front of me.
“Surprisingly, the police report was filed quickly. Even without it, the rep stated there wasn’t any way you’d have been at fault, with the amount of damage the car did to the truck.”
I sat up from my slouch but continued to listen.
“The car came around the corner at fifty-five.”
My brows lifted on their own accord. “Shit.” That corner was twenty-five because not only did we have a blind drive, there was another across the street from us.
Dad nodded. “Yeah. That said, that means insurance is covering the damage to the truck and your medical bills.”
I shifted in my spot. So, if there weren’t out of pocket expenses, what was going to be my punishment? Mom and Dad couldn’t take away my car, it was already gone.
They could ground me, but without my car, I was essentially already grounded.
Fuck.
Hockey.
Dad said he’d take away hockey.
I stared at my dad, silently hoping and begging he wouldn’t take away the one thing I loved more than anything else, to give me that third chance, because that’s what he said. Three strikes. This was only two.
Shit, don’t take hockey.
Dad chuckled at me, shaking his head. He was laughing at me? He was taking it away. And he was freaking thrilled about it. Shit. What was I going to do with my life?
“I’m not taking away hockey, Ports. God, you’re so predictable, kid.” He reached out and squeezed my knee. “But I am going to take away more of your free time.”
OhthankGod, I mouthed on a sigh, which only served to have Dad laugh louder.
“I want you to work off what we would have paid out of pocket. Just for the truck. Ambulance rides are fucking expensive.” Dad sat back again, crossing his arms over his chest. “Nights that you’re not with the team, I want you helping coach youth hockey at the Ice Plex. Weekends you’re not playing or training, I want you at the Ice Plex. Twelve dollars an hour, until you accumulate a grand.”
“I can do that,” I rushed out.
“Ok.” Dad nodded. “Now seriously.” He looked over his shoulder, presumably looking for Mom, before taking my chin and moving my face so he could look at my eyes. “You’re ok?”
I couldn’t stop the grin from filling my face even though I tried, but I did attempt to pull back from his hand. “I’m good, Dad.”
“The bruise?” He let go of my chin. I knew he was going to want to see it the moment I mentioned it.
With a groan, I stood and turned, lifting my shirt so he could see the top of the blue and purple monstrosity.
