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twelve

RHETT

Thirteen Years Ago

Toronto, ON, Canada

“Did you have a good night?”

I try to peel my eyes open but quickly give up. Feels like they’re glued shut. There’s a vague knocking somewhere in the distance, but it just melts into the noise already pounding through my half-conscious brain.

“Rhett?”

I hum, shoving my face deeper into the pillow. My hand fumbles until it finds warmth—soft, solid—and I flop my arm over the body next to mine, burrowing closer. I’m drifting back off within seconds, the noises gradually fading.

But then they come back all at once when a door slams open, and a shriek pierces the air inches from my ear.

“ Oh my God! ”

I bolt upright, blinking into the harsh light.

“Sutty, what the fuck? ”

Through squinted eyes, Bennett comes clearly into view—standing over me in slacks, a white shirt, and a sharp navy tie.

U of T colors.

University of Toronto.

Where we both play hockey.

Hockey.

Game day.

I turn my head slowly to the alarm clock, as if that will somehow make it say the time I want.

“ Shit .”

“Yeah, shit is exactly what you’re about to be in if you don’t get up,” Bennett says. When I don’t move, he yanks the comforter clean off the bed.

“Bennett!” Carly squeals, yanking the sheet to her chest. She’s in just a t-shirt and panties, and that’s when the blur of last night crashes back.

Carly.

The girl I’ve been seeing for a month.

Guess she showed up at some point.

Jesus.

“What the hell are you doing?” Bennett snaps, ignoring her completely. “We’ve got Waterloo today. You know it’s one of the biggest games of the season.”

Of course I know that. Everyone knows that.

Even my dad.

Which is why he’s coming today.

Which is also maybe why I drank until I couldn’t think anymore last night.

“Do you mind?” Carly huffs at Bennett, motioning between the bed and herself.

“Not when we’re supposed to be in the locker room in twenty minutes.”

“Ugh,” I groan, leaning over and massaging my temples. I’m tempted to ask if the room is spinning for everyone or just me, but I stay quiet.

A few seconds pass. Bennett doesn’t budge.

“Can you just, like… get out? Please?” Carly tries again.

He steps back slightly, crossing his arms. “Tell your man to get out of bed. Once his feet are on the floor, I’m gone.”

“My man isn’t great at taking instruction.”

That gets my attention. I lift my head, something sparking in my chest at hearing her call me that. “That’s not true.”

“Totally is,” Carly grins, brushing curls off my forehead. “But it’s one of the main reasons I like you.”

A smirk tugs at my lips.

I like her too.

A lot, I think.

“Well, one of the main reasons I like you is your killer slapshot,” Bennett deadpans. “But you’re not using it if you’re not at the rink.”

Before I can reply, he hooks an arm around mine and hauls me out of bed.

“Okay, okay—geez,” I sputter, holding up my hands. “I’m up, Jamesy.”

He lets go abruptly, and I nearly stumble. My legs feel like noodles.

“I’ll be in the car,” he says. “Five minutes.”

“Yeah,” I nod, rubbing my face. “Just… give me a sec.”

Bennett turns to leave but pauses in the doorway. The look he gives me isn’t just annoyance—it’s a cocktail of frustration, concern, and something else.

Sadness?

Whatever it is, I don’t like the way it makes me feel. Something in my chest tightens, and it sticks with me, even after he’s gone—a weight I can’t shake, no matter how fast I move to get dressed.

“There he is!”

I freeze.

Dammit.

So much for slipping into the bar quietly. I just wanted one drink before facing anyone, but luck’s not on my side tonight.

I exhale, paste on a smile, and turn.

“Hey there, son!”

“Hi,” I say to the older man in a suit I don’t recognize. He’s beaming at me like I’m a star. My actual father, standing beside him, is silent and stiff, nursing a scotch with a barely-there smile.

“You’ve had a fantastic season,” another suited man chimes in. They’re a circle—probably all know each other. And my father.

Some faces seem vaguely familiar. But Dad only shows up at games when these types are there too.

“Thank you,” I say, glancing at him. He won’t look at me—just stares into his glass, swirling the scotch.

“I’ve never seen anyone skate like you,” a third man adds. “Not at the college level.”

I start to thank him, but the man nearest my dad cuts in. “You’ve done well with this one, Roger.”

My smile falters. I glance at my father again.

“So when are you getting drafted?” someone else asks. Doesn’t matter who—they’re all blending together.

“Well, I?—”

Dad barks out a laugh. It dies quickly, masked by a fake cough. “Apologies. Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me.” He raises his empty glass and walks away.

They keep talking, praising me, but it all feels distant. I keep nodding, but my eyes are locked on him .

He drops his glass at the bar, then veers toward the balcony. Just before opening the door, he glances back and meets my eyes. Loosens his tie. Jerks his head.

I don’t have a choice. He knows I’ll follow.

“Excuse me,” I murmur and break away.

He’s already lit a cigar when I step outside. He doesn’t look at me—just blows smoke into the cold night air.

I clear my throat. “How’s Mom?”

“How should I know? She’s at some yoga retreat in Nova Scotia.”

“Right, I just?—”

“You like embarrassing me, kid?”

I go rigid.

He finally turns. Slowly. “Is that your hobby now?”

“No, sir.”

“Maybe you’re looking for a new one since hockey clearly isn’t working out?—”

“Dad—”

“What the hell was that game tonight?” he snaps, closing the distance.

My jaw tightens.

The game was great. Until the third period.

We were leading 4–3. Then one of their defensemen, who’d been targeting me all game, pushed too far. After his third dirty hit in two minutes, I told him to fuck off. He dropped his gloves, ready to fight.

Normally, I’d fight back instantly. But this time, I froze. Time slowed. I caught a glimpse of my dad in the stands. The noise in my head got too loud. And I couldn’t move.

The refs broke it up. He got a roughing penalty. I pulled it together, but when I had a chance to score and hit the crossbar instead?—

We lost .

“What would you call that?” he asks now.

“It was a rough one.”

“A rough one?” he echoes, flat. “That’s good enough now? What the hell am I investing thousands of dollars into?”

“Was investing,” I mutter, regretting it immediately.

“Excuse me?”

I clench my fists. I try to hold it in, but nineteen years of biting my tongue is starting to split me open.

“Say it again. Like a man.”

“ Was investing,” I say louder. “I’m on a full-ride scholarship here.”

He pauses. Then he laughs.

“And what, you think you earned that?”

I blink.

“You think you’d be here if I didn’t know half the university board?”

“No…” I start.

“What’s that?”

“ No ,” I grit out. “I earned my spot.”

“You didn’t earn shit.”

“I—”

“I mean, really,” he cuts me off, “you think they give full rides to kids that can’t even hold their own in a fight on the ice? To someone that just freezes and waits for the refs to come rescue them it’s fucking peewee hockey?”

“I fight all the time. Too much, even?—”

“To someone who can’t even make a wide-open shot?”

And there it is.

“I’m the top scorer on the team,” I say quietly.

“Not tonight, you weren’t.”

I swallow hard. “I can’t be perfect all the time, Dad.”

“Oh, trust me. I know,” he sneers, stubbing out his cigar. “You’re never even close. ”

He looks up at the sky. Mutters to himself.

“Worthless.”

I dig my nails into my palms. He keeps going. Scoffing. Not even looking at me.

“Who would pick you?”

I turn to leave, but he grabs my sleeve.

“This isn’t one of your games. You don’t walk away from me, you little?—”

“Hey.”

Both our heads snap toward the door.

Bennett.

He steps outside, beer in hand. Calm but cold.

“Bennett,” Dad says, instantly smoothing his tone. “Good to see you, son. How are you?”

Bennett doesn’t answer. His eyes stay locked on me. I can’t meet them.

“There a problem here?” he asks.

“Course not,” Dad says, patting my shoulder before letting go.

I blink and swipe the back of my hand across my face. Didn’t even realize there were tears.

“That was a good game you played tonight, son,” Dad adds.

Bennett looks at him. “I’m not your son, Mr. Sutton,” he says quietly. “But Rhett is. And he played a good game too. You’re lucky you got to see it.”

Dad stares for a beat before his lips curl into a tight smile. His phone buzzes—some woman’s name flashing across the screen. He doesn’t bother hiding it.

“Excuse me,” he says, and walks inside without a glance back.

I stare after him, already knowing I won’t see or hear from him again before he leaves.

“Hey,” Bennett says softly. “You good? ”

“Yeah. Of course.”

I force a smile. He sees through it, but he doesn’t push.

“I’m gonna head home,” he says. “Want to come?”

I want to say yes. But I know when we get there he’ll just go into his room and call Julia. And that’s fine.

But I don’t want to be alone right now.

“No. I think I’ll stay awhile.”

Bennett frowns but nods. He knows.

“Alright. Call if you need a ride.”

“I will.”

I won’t.

I hit the bar as soon as he leaves. Drink until my thoughts blur. Flirt. Joke. Pretend I’m fine.

But within the hour, it all crashes back—harder.

I stumble to the balcony, phone in hand. Scroll until I find her name.

It rings. About to give up when?—

“Hello?”

“ Baby ,” I murmur, smiling faintly.

“Um… what? Hello?” Carly shouts over noise. “Sorry—one sec.” A door slams. “Sutty?”

“Hi.”

“Hi… what’s going on?”

“What are the other reasons?”

“What?”

“Earlier. You said you liked that I’m not good at taking instructions. What are the other reasons you like me?”

“Oh,” Carly falters. “Well… you’re really hot? And good at hockey?”

I press my lips together. “Anything else?”

“...Rhett, are you okay?”

Of course I am.

So why can’t I say it ?

“Do you want to come over?” I ask instead.

“Oh… I don’t know. Sorry. I don’t think I can tonight.”

“Why not?”

“Well… to be honest, I think I’m staying with someone else.”

“What?” I straighten, the world tilting. “What do you mean? Like… with a girl friend?”

She laughs softly. “No, not like a girl friend, Sutty.”

I slide down the wall, sitting.

“Sutty?”

“You called me your man,” I murmur.

“Well, yeah…” she trails off. “But we’re not, like, exclusive or anything.”

“We’re not?”

She laughs again. She thinks I’m joking.

“Everyone knows you don’t date Rhett Sutton.”

My throat tightens. “They do?”

The background noise picks up—voices, music.

“Sorry, Sutty, gotta go. Talk to you later.”

She hangs up.

I drop my head to my knees. Exhale a long, hollow breath.

Barely a beat passes before I hear a voice.

“Well, I thought you knew how to party.”

I lift my head. A girl from inside stands a few feet away, twirling her hair, sipping her drink.

“I do,” I say.

She grins. “Then what are you doing out here? Getting bored of us already?”

“Not all of you.”

Her lips part, maybe to tease—but I cut her off.

“Want to come home with me?”