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Groaning, I tilted my head back and glared at the ceiling. “He drank the fucking alcohol. I didn’t plug his nose and pour it down his throat.”
This time when Dad slapped me, I stepped away from him because it wasn’t friendly like the last ones. I rubbed my cheek, and my right hand curled into a fist.
He pointed a finger in my face. “If you fuck around and sink this season, you’re out the door. On your own. I do not give a fuck what happens to you. You’re my son, and I’ve given you every opportunity I never had. It’s up to you to fucking take it.”
“We don’t need Wy.” Stomping my foot made me feel like a teenager, but I also felt better doing it.
Dad lunged forward and grabbed my shoulders. “I had to drag you every step of the way to get you here. Do not fuck it up.” His eyes were wide enough that I felt half crazy looking into them.
“I worked hard,” I said, and even to myself I sounded stupid. Tears burned in my eyes and I blinked them away.
Dad pursed his lips. “And it wasn’t good enough. Wystan is on fire. That boy skates literal circles around you, and he does it without your fucking whining.”
“I haven’t whined in years!” I was shouting now, which wasn’t good. Dad never got out of hand to the point that I was truly afraid of him, but he would start taking things away if I wasn’t careful, and the last thing I needed was to figure out how to get to practices without my car. It would be doable—but also a pain in the ass.
“And yet, here we are,” he said, pushing me away. I stumbled back and nearly fell over a chair but caught my balance. An expression crossed his face, and I thought he was about to say he was sorry because I didn’t think he ever really meant to get physical with me, but I just waved my hands at him. I didn’t care what he did right now because this whole conversation was fucked.
Dad let out a choked sound. “If I hear one word from anyone—” He sliced his hand across his neck. “—about you having bullshit with Wystan, you will regret it. Get out of my sight.”
There was no arguing with Dad. I wanted to fucking scream. Blackness ate at the edges of my vision and it was difficult to breathe. I spun away and slammed out of his office door, tugging it shut hard enough behind me that thecrackechoed through the entire house. Wy lounged there with his arms crossed. The concern etched on his face pissed me off even more.
Embarrassment scrabbled across my skin, digging in like vicious bugs, and I scratched my fingernails along my arms for a few seconds, trying to get the sensation to go away as I stormed to my room. I slung my door closed, but Wy caught it and didn’t let it slam. I thought about screaming at him to get out, but I was so fucking furious I couldn’t make my mouth work correctly. I flopped onto my bed on my back.
He closed the door softly, and I wanted to punch that bullshit, fake caring expression right off his face. I didn’t even think Dad cared about me—he cared about hockey, sure, and he cared about being the father of a winner, but me? Atlas Frosteson? He didn’t give a shit about me.
“Are you okay?” Wy asked, coming to stand near the bed.
I raised my middle finger in his direction and let it hang there before my arm dropped to the bed.
Wy shuffled closer and rested his hands on his hips, looking at me exactly the way his mom had scowled at some dog shit in the yard the other day that our neighbor had ever so kindly left. She refused to pick up after her Maltese, Miss Peaches.
Wy dipped his chin to his chest and stared at me. “Joe was really fucking harsh. You’re a good player.” He gave me a crooked grin that was maybe a little cute, and that only increased my desire to pound his face in.
“Only good?”
He shrugged. “You’re as good as I am. We just have different strengths.”
Slowly, I sat up and clutched the comforter in both hands until my knuckles ached. “Oh, you’re being really fucking generous.”
Wy’s shoulders went back and he cradled his head for a second before he crossed his arms. “I’m trying to be nice and make you feel better.”
“Why?” I asked, getting to my feet.
He tilted his chin in my direction. “Because anyone would feel like shit after that.”
I took a step toward him, and it felt good when he mirrored me, keeping distance between us. “And you had to fucking stick around and listen. Did you enjoy it? Did it make you laugh to hear him say how much better than me you are?”
A pink stain spread across his cheeks and he scratched the back of his head. “I was concerned about you. It sounded like.... Should I be worried about my mom with your dad?” he murmured. “Is he violent?”
I snorted. “No, he would never touch a woman.” I rolled my eyes and stalked toward him, and he backed up until he was against the wall beside the door. “Why are you in here, Birdy?” He tried to slide to the door, and I grabbed his arm.
Wy stared up at me and his pink tongue slid across his full bottom lip as he ogled my mouth, and my gut heated.
“Oh, you loved it,” I murmured. Why, though? I’d wanted to force him to shut up and take something from me when I’d kissed him, but it had been biting and rough. Mean. Nothing like I’d ever shared with anyone else. Whythe fuckwould he come looking for more of that?
“What?” he snapped, staring at the door as if he wanted to bolt to safety, but he didn’t make a move to leave.
“You know what I’m talking about.” All my anger morphed into something else, something hotter, as I used my bulk to press him against the wall. If he really wanted free, he could make this a struggle and probably had a good chance of knocking me on my ass, but he didn’t do anything, barely breathed. His blue eyes were wide. My heart jerked because they were pretty.
