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Chapter Twenty-Four

Alex

“All I’m saying is that if you’re going to stay here, Alex, the least you can do is help me out,” my mother complains, shooting me a glare.

I must have been a murderer in another life to have to deal with this sort of torture.

“Me going on these stupid blind dates is not helping you, ” I bite as I limp over to the refrigerator.

“You know, if you had a wife, or even a girlfriend, you wouldn’t need to stay with me.”

“And there it is,” I hiss as I open the refrigerator in search of something with alcohol.

I don’t care that it’s nine in the morning.

Diana Brewer could drive a monk into a drunk stupor from her bullshit.

“Just say you don’t want me here, Mom,” I quip as I find an open bottle of Prosecco with a silver spoon in the opening.

Dad swears it keeps the bubbles going after you open it, but I think he’s full of shit.

“I could stay with Austen.” I’m not sure that’s true, but she won’t like it and that’s why I say it.

I grab the bottle and pull out the spoon, just as she yanks it out of my hands, her glare just as hostile as ever.

“Don’t start with me, Alexander. You make me sound like a horrible mother. If I was so bad, you wouldn’t be here to begin with.”

“Yes, you’re so fucking welcoming,” I say as I reach for the glass pitcher of orange juice as my dad walks out from his office.

“What are you two yelling about?” he asks, his tone gruff.

“Nothing,” I say as my mother says, “Alex is being difficult.”

“What else is new?” My father gives me a stern look. “Be nice to your mother.”

Be nice? Seriously? The nerve of these assholes. I grit my teeth, but his glare is harsh and the command in his voice makes me feel like I’m sixteen all over again.

“Fine,” I bite. “I can help with you shit around the house—as long it’s not going to fuck my knee up more, but I’m not going on any of your stupid blind dates.

” I scoff. “Honestly, is there even anyone left in Ashbourne you haven’t tried to set me up with or that I haven’t already slept with? ” I raise an eyebrow .

“Manners!” Dad barks.

“Alex!” My mother’s voice escalates, and I know I’ve hit a nerve.

Seriously, I don’t understand how these pearl-clutchers birthed me. Austen, I understand. But me? If it wasn’t for the obvious genetics—I got all of Dad’s good genes, thank God—I’d truly think I was the mailman’s kid.

“I’m just saying.”

“Just talk to her, Alex. God. It’s not like I’m asking you to marry the girl tomorrow.”

No, but I bet you’d fucking love that.

I sigh heavily, knowing there’s no use arguing. If I accept it, maybe she’ll shut up and I can get on with this recovery and be out of here.

“Fine. One stupid date. But that’s it,” I say as I pour myself a glass of orange juice, but I nearly spit it out because it is full of pulp.

Gross.

“See, was that so hard?” my mother says victoriously.

I glare at her with disdain.

My father smiles as he grabs his briefcase, heading for the door and leaving my mother and me alone. The silence between us is thick with unspoken words.

“You need to settle down, Alex,” she says softly. “All this bachelor stuff needs to end. You’re thirty years old. What are you even doing with your life? You haven’t had a girlfriend since Brittany, and—”

I look away from her, not wanting to hear her recount my failures. I do enough of that on my own.

She’s right. I haven’t dated anyone seriously in nine years. The closest thing I’ve had to a relationship was my arrangement with Vance.

I don’t know if you could classify what we had as an actual relationship though, being Vance is so in the closet he’s set up a fucking home there.

Which was fine, I guess, considering I didn’t want to be out in the open with a relationship, anyway.

I wanted someone to make me forget about the hole in my heart that wouldn’t go away.

I wanted someone to quiet the noise and keep the vicious voice in check, which he did.

But I wasn’t in love with the guy. I just needed him to flip the switch.

I needed him to push me over the edge. And he was really fucking good at it.

The memories of all the times I sat there on my knees, waiting, try to resurface.

Of all the times we’d go out with the team, and I’d have to pretend everything was fine.

Of all the games and all the fights out there on the ice—including the one that landed me here.

Of Vance’s brutal fist. Of losing control…

But I don’t want to think about such things here, in this fucking house, and certainly not in front of my mother .

“I’m doing what I want,” I bite. “Because it’s my life, Mom. Not yours.”

Maybe this,” she says, sounding defeated. “Maybe this is your sign to quit hockey and do something better with your life other than—” She breathes a heavy sigh. “Maybe it’s time to grow up, Alex.”

Grow up.

I shake my head. She acts like I’m still a teenager despite the fact I’ve been on my own since I was twenty-one.

Everything I have is because of me—not them.

Sure, I got my trust when I was twenty-one, and I used a good bit to buy my house and fix it up.

Part of me wishes I could stay there, but when I asked my mother if she’d stay with me, in my house, because the doctors say I should be with someone during this process, it was a resounding no.

Aside from my house and a few investments, I haven’t spent a dime of the money I got from them.

I live off my Rioters salary. I grit my teeth, my jaw tensing.

I left Ashbourne so I could live out my dream and build a life on my terms. Is my life perfect? No. But it’s mine and I do whatever the fuck I want. If that isn’t grown up, I don't know what is.

“You know what? I’m not doing this right now,” I say, grimacing as I hobble my way towards the door. I grab my keys from the bowl on the foyer table .

“Where are you going?” she shouts.

“Not here,” I say as I unlock my car.

“If you are staying in this house, Alex, you will abide by our rules. And I need to know where you are going.”

I shake my head. I hate rules. Especially theirs.

Especially because I’m an adult and I don’t need to be here.

I should be with someone, but it doesn’t have to be her.

And at the end of the day, I don’t need to be with someone.

It’s not like the doctors are calling to check up.

But if I do something to make my knee worse…

“Oh, don’t worry, Mom, I’m just going to find an orgy to work out my stress,” I hiss. “Then maybe I’ll stop for a quick hit of cocaine and finish up the morning with a nice little joyride.”

My sarcasm is thick, but I’m not stupid. I know that’s exactly what she thinks I do.

I don’t have the best track record, and there have been a couple crazy stories since I joined the Rioters that made the paper.

Like my bike crash and all the steamy rumors that fester about me.

I’m not an idiot, I know what people say.

I’ve always known, and that’s part of the problem.

It’s easier to be who they think I am rather than prove I’m someone else.

Moving to the Rioters didn’t make a difference there.

Especially when Vance is known for his partying antics and he took me under his wing.

That man can drink like no one’s business, and I’ve blacked out more than once when with him .

Because he likes you best when you’re not all there.

I shove the thought down.

“This conversation isn’t over, Alex,” Mom says, standing on the porch, arms crossed, her hair stiff as a board.

I don’t bother answering as I pull out of the driveway and just… drive.

My mother is like a dog with a bone, and her favorite fixation is my life. Which is why I’m grateful to be living states away from her.

I miss Austen, of course, but my parents can go pound salt.

I don’t hate them, but they didn’t, and still don’t, make my life easy.

I’m sure they’d say the same about me. That’s how I ended up playing hockey in the first place.

My dad thought it would help me learn discipline and teamwork.

That maybe some other man yelling at me would kick my ass into gear and suddenly I’d listen and obey him.

He was right, I guess. In a way. About the hockey, and about some other man yelling at me.

Vance’s voice echoes in my brain at the thought.

You will obey me.

Who’s your daddy now, slut?

Don’t you want to please me?

I shove the thoughts aside, not wanting to go down that road, but six years is a long time. Vance’s wicked voice is part of my blood at this point .

I drive until I find myself parking at the shopping district in downtown Ashbourne. Maybe some retail therapy is what I need. My leg hurts like hell, no doubt from the exercises yesterday, even though they were minimal.

This has to be the worst welcome home ever. Not only did my PT suck, my therapist wasn’t even hot. And not to mention, there’s the whole run-in with Mack the other day at Bella’s.

I sigh as I get out of the car, taking it easy on my leg as I walk slowly towards the first gift shop I see, if only because I need to blow off some steam.

Of course, I’ve seen Mack a few times over the years here and there when I visited and hung out with Austen, but it’s not like the man spoke more than a few words to me, if any at all, in the last seven years.

Every time we were in the same place, it was like he saw right through me.

Like I was a ghost, and maybe to him I am.

Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if we didn’t hook up. Would we still be friends? Would he look at me like someone he knows?

I don’t regret what happened between us, I just wish it could have been different—more. But life doesn’t work like that. Especially my life.

Still, I wonder sometimes what we could have been; if we could have been something at all.