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Xander shoots daggers at his father. “I’ve been a better player than you ever were for years. Always have been, always will be. I train my ass off every day, so don’t come storming in here telling me I have no drive. And drugs? Are you fucking kidding me? If you knew a damn thing about me, you’d know I don’t fuck around with shit like that.”
“Then what the hell happened?” his father cuts in again.
“I was fighting,” he says.
“What?” his mother cuts in. “You got kicked off the team for fighting? That seems a bit harsh now, doesn’t it?”
“No, Mom. It doesn’t,” Xander says with annoyance in his tone.
“Don’t you speak to your mother like that,” his father scolds, earning himself a groan from Xander. “Now, what are you talking about?” he questions, finally starting to calm down. “Fights have always been excused, especially in hockey. Everyone knows you boys like to get rowdy. I’ll go down there and speak to Coach Harris. He’s just trying to make an example out of you, the damn fool.”
Fucking hell. His dad’s mood swings are giving me whiplash. They’re worse than my stepmom’s. First, he has a problem with Xander, and now Coach Harris? How is it possible for one man to be so blind?
“Would you shut the fuck up?” Xander snaps. “I didn’t get kicked out for getting into a fucking fistfight. I’ve been fighting in an underground ring.”
Oh, shit.
His father turns bright red, and his hands ball into fists at his side. Xander immediately adjusts himself, his exceptional training kicking into gear. “Just fucking try it. I dare you,” Xander insists, practically begging his father to come at him, giving him the perfect excuse to retaliate.
His dad takes a step forward, making my hand squeeze down into the flesh of Xander’s strong shoulder. “Underground ring?” he roars. “You’re throwing away your future for shit like that?”
“How many times do I need to tell you before you will listen? I don’t want to be in the NHL. I never have. That’s your dream, not mine. My future is MMA,” Xander says, and it’s clear this is an old argument. One they’ve had a million times before.
“The hell it is. This ends now. You march your sorry ass back to that ice rink and tell Coach the fighting is finished. You’re going to beg for your position back, and I don’t care if you look like a fool doing it. You’re not throwing it all away like this. Everything we have worked for.”
“Are you serious?” Xander scoffs. “I’m not playing hockey. I’m not going to the NHL, and I’m sure are fuck not going to have this conversation again. It’s over, Dad. Hockey is over. Get it through that thick head of yours. ”
His father is beyond furious. “You ungrateful piece of shit,” he yells.
That’s it. My fuse is blown. “Hey,” I yell, as I storm down the rest of the stairs and come to a standstill in front of Xander’s father, painfully aware of the fact his hand is still balled into a fist. “Don’t you talk to him like that. If you had even the tiniest bit of decency, you would notice that your son is amazing and could easily make it in the professional circuit, probably earning twice the amount of a skater in the NHL. But you’re so damn self-absorbed that you can’t see anything past your own damn nose.”
My whole body shakes, but it instantly relaxes when Xander threads his arm around my waist and pulls me into his chest.
“It’s this little hussy, isn’t it?” his father says to Xander, ignoring my outburst. “She’s the one who has corrupted your mind, has turned you into this pathetic excuse of a man.”
In the blink of an eye, I find myself behind Xander while his fist strikes out a devastating blow. He nails his father in the jaw, and my mouth hangs open in shock. Resting my hands on Xander’s naked back, I feel the vibrations of his rage through his skin as he roars at his father. “Get the fuck out. No one talks about my girl like that.”
“You’re going to regret that,” his father scolds as he spits a mouthful of blood onto the cold tiles.
“Fucking try it, Dad. I’m done with you. I don’t need your bribery or your damn money,” he says before leaning over to the hallway stand and grabbing the keys to his truck. “Here,” he says, tossing them at his father as his mother begins sobbing. “Take that, too. I’m finished with you. With both of you.”
“You’re going to regret this,” his father repeats as he storms toward the door with his wife on his heels.
“No,” Xander says, as confident as ever. “I’m not.”
His father turns back around, just before slamming the door. “You have one week to vacate this property.”
