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Chapter Thirty

Alex

My leg is killing me today, and I almost regret going to the festival last night.

Almost .

Seeing Mack all pissy and irritated as fuck was entirely worth it, though I fear I’ll reap my punishment come Monday for sure.

Jordan Mackenzie loves to be in control.

Whether he realizes it or not, he thrives on it.

And there’s nothing I love more than throwing him off balance.

He’s so fucking hot when he’s pissed off.

Which is why I’ll gladly take an extra set of exercises, even if it hurts, just so I can see that glimmer in his eyes.

Just so I can feel him in my space, even if it lasts a few seconds.

I’m a goddamn addict for this man, and I can’t fucking help it .

My dad comes bursting through my room, pulling me from my thoughts.

“Get up,” he says gruffly.

“Go without me,” I groan as I pull the covers up. My dad shoves me so hard that I shift position.

“Unacceptable. You know the rules, Alex.”

I do, but that doesn’t mean I want to follow them.

“Golf is not a rule. It’s a luxury,” I bite out. “Besides, Austen isn’t even here.”

Because, of course, my baby brother would be in New York with his wife right now.

Austen can do whatever the hell he wants. He’s the favorite because he’s got that white picket fence bullshit going for him.

But he’s not happy. I can see it. He hasn’t been happy a day in his marriage, but he puts on a good show for everyone. I’m not sure what would make the guy happy, but his life isn’t my concern. He’s a big boy. He can figure it out on his own.

“Can’t we just go to the club later?” I huff in annoyance.

“No.” My dad’s voice is harsh. Stern.

I don’t need a therapist to tell me this is the root of my problem. I turned my traumas into kinks.

But it still unnerves me sometimes. Being aware of your bullshit sucks.

“Fine,” I say as I get up, wincing from the pain .

Maybe if I take half a pill it’ll make the pain go away and make me numb enough to deal with my dad.

“I expect you to be dressed and ready in fifteen minutes.”

He leaves me sitting on my bed, running my hand over my face. “Fuck.”

I grab for the bottle of pills, holding them in my hand as I stare at them. Taking a pill just to deal with my family doesn’t seem like a good idea, and if I take one, I can’t drink and Bobby, the bartender, makes the best Dirty Shirley there is.

So I shove the bottle away and grab an ibuprofen instead. I take three, even though the bottle says I should only take two, and hobble over to my shower.

When I get out, I strap my brace on, wincing as I tighten it. My phone lights up on my nightstand, and I grab it to check the notification.

KI had a great time last night with you and your friends. We should hang out again sometime!

I stare at Kearstin's text, twisting my lips. I didn’t hate hanging out with her, and it was nice to be around a woman who wasn’t put off by my sexuality or my personality .

The ride home wasn’t as awkward as the drive there, nor was dropping her off, but it didn’t feel like a date.

Not in the way it should have. I didn’t even kiss her goodnight.

I just… didn’t feel it. She didn’t lean or wait, either, and she didn’t make any move to kiss me, which was a relief.

This isn’t normal for me. I’ve kissed plenty of people because I knew they expected it, not because I wanted to. Because I always know how to be who I’m supposed to be.

Charming. Charismatic.

I just… didn’t want to pretend, I guess. Maybe I just want someone to want to kiss me for a change. Do it because they want to and not because I pushed all the right buttons and said the right words.

Maybe I’m just all fucked up because I’m quite literally fucked up. Physically and mentally.

I’ve never had a successful relationship unless you count what I had with Britt, and that had its problems, too.

Maybe that’s my issue. Maybe I just need to not date or hook up with people for a while. Maybe I need a break.

But Kearstin and I can still hang out. We’re both kind of in the same boat, I guess, which is nice. At least hanging out with her—even if it’s in a non-romantic way—will keep my mother off my fucking back.

I don’t think either of us are looking to get serious with anyone right now, but I’ll make sure to tell her that when we hang out next.

Totally! Maybe we can grab dinner this week?

I work till 4 through the week. Friday I have plans, but any other day works.

Cool. I’ll text you later.

Sounds good!

“Alex!” my dad yells, and I realize I’m still not dressed. “Five minutes!”

“Leave without me!” I holler. “I have my own fucking car!”

I half expect him to come barreling back in here and start a fight, but he doesn’t, and for that I’m thankful.

I toss my phone on the bed as I adjust my brace once more, wincing at the way it pulls my leg hair and skin. I hate this fucking thing, and I can’t wait to get rid of it. Can’t wait to get back to my life.

My phone rings. “Daddy Issues” echoes in the air and a startling thought creeps in .

What am I going back to?

Vance is still my teammate. He’s the fucking captain.

Is he really sorry? Is he just going to let me waltz back into that locker room like everything’s fucking fine?

I don’t know, but I can’t think about it. Not if I want to get better and get back on the ice.

One thing at a time, Alex.

I open my closet, staring at the clothes inside. I didn’t exactly pack country club gear because that preppy shit isn’t my style, and I probably should have, but I didn’t think I’d have to show up for the weekly daddy-son reading of all my failures on the green, so I guess that’s on me.

Thankfully, my parents haven’t changed a thing in my room, including the closet.

It’s still packed full of polos and khakis and button downs.

When I left home, I took all my clothes.

All the vintage tees and ripped jeans, my chucks, and all my good Under Armor stuff.

When I left, I left the person they wanted me to be.

I haven’t looked back since. I grab a black polo and a pair of khakis which look like they’ll fit.

I slide into an old pair of Sperry’s, run my hand through my hair, and spritz myself with some cologne.

I should shave or at least trim, but my dad’s already seething and halfway to the club by now, so I don’t.

My phone rings. “Daddy Issues.”

I silence it without a second thought and shove it into my pocket .

The entire time during lunch, I feel like shit.

My leg hurts, the alcohol isn’t helping, and my dad ignores me, gushing over Lenny Georde and his trip to Italy with his wife.

Lenny recounts his weekend, but I note the faintest twitch in his shoulders when he talks about his wife.

His eyes don’t light up. It’s fake as shit.

But then again, that’s par for the course in Ashbourne.

Everyone here is pretending to be someone they’re not. It’s exhausting.

“You up for a round on the green, Edmund?” Dad asks, waving his glass at Lenny and his dad.

“Of course!” he says, clapping my father on the back.

Lenny shoots me a look. “I’m in if Alex is.” For a moment, I think he smirks at me. I look away though. “It’d be good to… catch up,” he adds politely enough, but I hear the interest in his voice. I’m not touching that with a ten foot pole.

“Can’t. I have a thing. Totally forgot.”

I shrug as I get up, over this shit.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going, Alex?” my father asks, looking up at me with disdain, his fork half-way to his mouth. I ignore him.

He doesn’t follow me, and I don’t expect him to.

I get in my car, not sure where I’m going until I find myself parked in the rink’s parking lot.

I limp my way out of the car and slowly head inside to sit in the stands and watch a few kids circle the ice.

A couple young girls do triple axles; a couple boys skate backwards, probably trying to impress them.

The chill of the air makes me feel at home.

My arms are cold but I don’t bother warming them.

I need to feel the chill. My phone rings and I see it’s my mother.

I don’t feel like talking to anyone, so I silence the call.

I don’t have the capacity to deal with her prying about my date or yelling at me about making a scene at the club.

My phone rings again, “Daddy Issues” playing loud enough it echoes in the space. I silence that too.

Why the hell does Austen have to be in New York with Savannah?

At least if he were here, my dad would pay less attention to me.

I stay at the rink for a while, just breathing in the icy air and getting lost in watching the people who can skate, remembering how it feels.

My mind quiets and I think about the game. It’s the only place I can really focus.

Hockey is simple. There are rules to follow. If I break them, I’m punished. Sometimes it’s worth it, though, and my team and the fans understand that. Every time I step on the ice, I know who I am. I know what my goal is.

But my life… I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.

It’s nearing seven when the rink closes, and I’m not ready to go home. So I head to Bella’s to watch tonight’s Rioters game and grab some nachos and a beer, so I can wallow on a full stomach.

The bar is packed, and the crowd makes me feel a little better.

I manage to find a seat at the bar and order my food and drink.

There’s a sort of peacefulness in the chaos of a sports bar.

A room full of strangers all vying together for one thing: victory.

It’s a closeness I can’t explain. Even though I don’t know them, we get one another because we all want the same thing.

I’m three beers and a full plate of nachos in when Mack walks through the doors. He stops, his gaze catching mine. I give him a smile, raising my glass.

“Mackenzie!” I shout over the room. “Long time no see, motherfucker.”

His gaze hardens and he shakes his head, walking to the other side of the bar.

I frown.

What the fuck did I do now?