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noah

“You played great, Noah. You all did.”

I smile but keep my eyes on the road. The warmth of Savannah’s hand seeps through where she rests it on my thigh.

I drive with both hands on the wheel because I will never take for granted that she trusts me enough to drive her.

Her black-painted fingernails hold on tight, but it doesn’t feel like a nervous grip.

It feels more like a possessive way to lay claim to me.

Her hold on me keeps me here, present with her, and not on the fact that we lost.

The parking lot is fairly full. I park and turn off the engine, but make no other plans to move. The hand that was resting on my thigh moves up to my shoulder and then to the nape of my neck. My shoulders drop and I lean over the center console, reaching my hand up to her cheek.

“Come here.”

She smiles before leaning over and kissing me.

It’s soft and slow, like we don't have anywhere else to be but right here.

Her lips part and she sighs softly against my mouth, telling me without words that she needed this just as much as I did.

Kissing her has always been about more than just the physical touch of our lips.

It feels like in every kiss, she shares a part of her soul with me, and I love her soul. I love her soul because I love her.

We break apart and she licks her lips with a full dimpled smile. “Ready?”

I hold her hand, bringing the back of it to my lips. “Ready.”

Dinner with my parents tonight was supposed to be a chance for Savannah to meet them.

Unfortunately, as we enter the restaurant and I catch a glimpse of my dad’s pinched face, I know this isn’t going to go according to plan.

I tighten my hold on Savannah’s hand, leading the way to my parents’ regular corner booth.

I trace my thumb over her knuckles and she squeezes my hand back in solidarity.

I’ve lost track of who’s trying to be there for who in this situation.

I think we’re just walking into this together.

Thankfully, my mom’s warm smile is here to balance out my dad’s murderous expression.

“Hi, Savannah. I’ve been so excited to meet you.” My mom stands, opening her arms to Savannah. She hesitates briefly, but I think she can sense my mom’s genuine excitement because she returns her smile and they exchange a gentle hug.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Kingston.”

“Please, call me Victoria.”

“Dad.” I acknowledge the man who hasn’t moved as I slide into the booth.

I look from him to my mom, whose smile is now more forced than before. I reach for Savannah’s hand under the table and squeeze.

I feel the weight of what’s not being said between my dad and me right now.

I’ve heard it enough times before that I can hear it clear as day.

He’s screaming so loud in his head that I can feel it seeping out across the table.

The woman sitting to my left right now is the only reason he isn’t pointing a pissed- off finger in my face and shouting about what a failure I was tonight.

I can’t even argue with him if he starts on one of his tirades. I was a failure tonight, and I’d welcome the punishment he had in store for me because I deserve it.

“How are your courses going? Noah said you two met in a class you share?” My mom asks, looking between the two of us.

“Yeah, entertainment journalism. My aunt actually teaches the course.”

“I would have thought you two met through your father.” My dad finally speaks up.

“Dad,” I warn him, and my mom puts a hand on the table in front of him.

“Uh, no.” Savannah shakes her head with pursed lips. “Actually, he had no idea who my father was until weeks after we met.” She says father with the same sarcastic bite my dad used, and I realize she’s not intimidated by him in the slightest.

Joshua Kingston doesn’t give a single fuck about the words he says or who they might hurt.

I’ve always taken them because I thought, at the end of the day, it was okay—because he wants the same things I want.

My goals are his goals. That hasn’t changed.

We both want to see me thrive—and in the NHL.

We both want me to be on a team, holding the Stanley Cup over my head.

It was our dream, one we dreamed together.

Millions of people want it, but not all of them are willing to put in the sacrifice and the work it takes to get there.

I always thought it was just tough love, but when I see his eyes on Savannah like that—dark and borderline evil, his jaw tight and clenching—my reaction isn’t the same as when he aims that look my way.

“Um, so… Savannah, what are you going to school for?” My mom’s high pitched voice interrupts their stare off, and I think it helps deflate some of the tension .

“Sports journalism,” she says.

My dad doesn’t realize he just caught a break and since he can’t let it go, he just huffs.

“Oh, wonderful.” My mom beams as she reaches for her wine glass. “Noah, Lana sends her love. She was going to come with us tonight, but she texted at the last minute and said she wasn’t feeling well.”

“That’s a bummer. I would have liked to meet her,” Savannah says. “And she missed a great game.”

I wince slightly, like it’s an automatic response.

“Pfft. What game were you watching?” My dad mutters as he fixes the napkin in his lap.

“Joshua.” My mom pleads.

“We did have a good game, the other team just had a better one.” I try to diffuse the situation, but I should have known my dad wouldn’t let this go.

“If you think that’s good, I’ve got news for you.

Do you think anyone is going to look at you if you keep losing like this?

And scoring only one goal? It's trash. You played a trash game and you should be ashamed.” His voice begins to rise and people around the restaurant start to pay attention.

“And don’t think I don’t realize when all this started.

” His vicious focus turns to the woman beside me now.

“I’m willing to bet you ran to Daddy, begging him to introduce you to the captain of his team. ”

“ENOUGH!” Silverware clatters, but my rage is too hot to care. “Outside. Now.”

I don’t look back as I storm through the restaurant, pushing through the front doors with my dad calmly on my heels.

“I know you're mad.” The bitterness in his voice has softened and I blow out a breath, dropping my head back to the star-covered sky.

“You had no right,” I say, turning around to face him. “You can’t talk to people like that, Dad. I’m used to it, but—” It dawns on me now that I shouldn’t be. If I wont tolerate him talking to Savannah like that, why the fuck do I tolerate it for myself?

“Look, Noah.” He shrugs with his hands in his pockets.

“I’m not scared to hurt your feelings or tell you like it is.

I’m not one of your little yes-men, your buddies that kiss your ass and tell you how great you are.

I’m here to make sure you get everything you want, and you can be mad at me along the way, but you know, deep down, that everything I do is for you. ”

I press both palms into my eyes. The tension and the frustration that I’ve been suppressing all comes to dull thud at the front of my head. When I drop my hands and look back at him, his eyes hold no emotion.

“Drop her.”

I physically feel my head rear back, and I’m positive I heard him wrong. “What?”

“You need to drop her.”

A frustrated sigh escapes me, and I shake my head. “Dad?—”

“I’m serious.” He cuts me off. “You either drop her, or I’m dropping you.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re giving up everything I’ve worked for—for a piece of pussy,” he seethes.

There’s a dead calm in his eyes when he looks at me.

“You’re going to stop seeing her, because if you don’t, everything is going to go away: the Range Rover, the rent for your house, your groceries.

” He’s ticking off his fingers, and there's a lethal stillness about him. “You might have a scholarship taking care of your classes, but keeping up with hockey and your schoolwork enough to continue to earn that scholarship will be difficult when you’re living on the streets.”

I gnaw on the corner of my bottom lip until I feel blood.

All I can do it nod my head in disbelief as I rack up every fucked up thing he’s ever done or said to me over the years.

A montage of the tactics he’s used to ‘make me better’ float by like a parade of memories, along with all the ways I’ve justified them.

I've spent years defending this man, adamant that he does everything with my best interests at heart.

The really fucked up part is that I still truly believe he did do all of it for my benefit.

“You know I would do anything you want me to, anything at all: hockey, the NHL, all of it. It’s always been our dream.”

What he's done is wrong, but I truly believe his actions were always out of love—even if it was twisted by his own fears. After the way the league turned on him, he’s entitled to that.

But I can’t unsee it now. I would never treat one of my teammates the way he treats me, and I could never threaten or manipulate someone I love this way.

I won’t allow him to do it do me, and I sure as fuck wont let him do it to Savannah.

I run my hand over my mouth, taking a step closer to him, and he doesn’t move.

“So, if you want to take it all away, take it.” I close the distance between us, meeting his eyes, and stab a finger against his chest. “But if you ever fucking disrespect her again, if you say another word about her, or even so much as think one single thought about her, I swear to god I’ll make you regret it. ”

His jaw ticks, and I shake my head in disgust before leaving him alone in the parking lot.