Page 97 of Ruled Out

“He’s there, isn’t he?” she replies in barely a whisper. Her eyes wide.

I nod. “It’s gonna be okay, Sweetheart. I promise.”

“Jessie, I?—”

“Promise,” I tell her before I cut the call and pocket my phone.

When he uncrosses his arms, one hand finds the pocket of his dress pants, and the other reaches out and opens a door to his right.

Pushing off the wall, I stand up straight and face him. I’m a pro hockey player, and I have taken more beatings in my life than I can count, but this moment right here is intimidating.

This is the father of the girl I love. Whatever he hands out to me, I’ll take it. For her.

“You wanted to talk.” He points to the open door and steps through. “Let’s talk.”

The walk down the hallway feels like I’m making my way to some kind of death chamber, my palms cold and sweaty.

“Look, Graham,” I say the second I cross the threshold.

The door slams behind me, and in a millisecond, my back is against the wall, and his hand is around my throat. His face is bright red, anger twisting his features as he pins me in the same way he did in Mia’s bedroom.

“Give me one good fucking reason why I shouldn’t be in custody tonight,” he spits, rearing his fist back, ready to strike.

“Let go of me, and I will,” I choke out.

“I fucking knew it. I knew it when I saw her in Seattle. Just couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you, Callaghan?”

“I love her.” My words are barely a whisper.

“Love. You don’t know the meaning of it.”

Raising an arm, I push him hard in the center of the chest, and his grip loosens.

“You failed me as a kid, and you’re failing me now,” I push out.

Graham grinds his molars. “Failed you? Imadeyou. You were never hungry for it, for true success. You’ve always gone the easiest route in life. And now you have the balls to tell me thatIfailed you?!”

“Made me?!” I gasp, bringing a hand around my neck and stepping forward. “You’ve got no idea what I went through to even be here, do you?”

“Oh, I do. Half the fucking volleyball team and now my daughter!” he sneers.

Shoving my hands in the pockets of my dress pants, I look down at my loafers. A pair my best friend bought me last season.

I raise my head and look at Graham, I don’t care that he can see the tears in my eyes. “You wouldn’t see it. Because from thesecond I was born, I’ve spent my whole life hiding.” I point at my chest and step forward. “Do you know what it’s like to be hungry, Graham?”

He doesn’t respond.

“To go to practice on an empty stomach because the last beating you took caused you to throw up the last meal you had eaten. To puke up the food you’d had to steal from a fast-food joint because there was nothing in the cupboards?”

“I, um?—”

“Do you know what it’s like to pull on your hockey pads and inwardly scream at the pain? You can’t work out because of your back from sleeping on the floor night after night or the cracked ribs your father just gave you. Or maybe”—I pause and inhale a deep breath, the first tear hitting my cheek—“maybe it’s because you’re so fucking exhausted, trying to carry your mom up the stairs since your dad had left for another two days and she drank herself into the fucking abyss.”

His eyes grow wide.

“That’s right; no one really knows what it’s like. Not unless they’ve lived in those four walls.” I swallow hard, bile rising into my throat. “Do you know how many times over the past four years my dad nearly got his wish? With dark thoughts taunting me and alcohol running through my veins, I convinced myself no one would miss me. That no one wanted to hear my story. That the only thing I was good for was hockey, and even that was a fucking shit show.”

“Jessie, I?—”