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forty-one

RHETT

“Rhett?”

I tap my foot, eyes fixed on a bead of condensation sliding down the side of my untouched gin and tonic.

I haven’t taken a sip. I’m afraid to.

Alcohol’s never been my drug of choice—I can control it. But more than once, a little gin has led to a little something else. Something I can’t control.

And right now, I’m in dangerous waters. Jaws -level lethal.

I don’t know what possessed me this morning—some whisper in the back of my skull, some twisted instinct—but I went into my hiding spot and dug out the pill bottle. The one I’ve told myself I’d flush every day for a week. I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

So I made it a test. The ultimate one. Tossed the bottle into my gym bag and told myself it didn’t mean anything. I wouldn’t touch it. I didn’t need it. If I could carry it and resist? That meant I was still in control.

But then he showed up. A walking, breathing trigger.

“Rhett? ”

I don’t know why they’re here. Why either of them came. I gave up trying to understand them years ago.

But here I am again. Strings pulled tight. Dancing for their entertainment.

We haven’t said more than a handful of words to each other in years. And now—on some random Thursday in New York—they’ve decided I’m worth something again.

I don’t even know these people. The suits. The wives. Doesn’t matter. They all serve the same purpose: people to impress. People who’ll buy the story he’s selling.

I shift and feel the outline of the pill bottle in my jacket pocket.

Yeah. I brought it. Slipped it in right before I came here.

Because maybe I am exactly who he says I am.

Weak. Pathetic. Worthless.

I can already taste the high. How easy it would be. One pill, and the noise fades. The shame, the pressure, the fake smiles—it all disappears.

“Rhett?”

I flinch when a hand clamps down on my arm.

My vision sharpens. And there he is.

My father.

“He’s talking to you, son. You remember your name?”

He laughs like we’re sharing some private joke, but his eyes are steel. Don’t embarrass me , they say.

“It’s probably easy to tune it out when he hears it chanted as much as he did tonight,” one of the suits says. “And well deserved. A hell of a performance.”

The group raises their glasses.

“Thank y?—”

My father slaps me on the back. Too hard. Too familiar.

“That’s my boy!”

He lifts his glass in my direction. Winks. Keeps talking. Filling the air with stories and lies, patting my shoulder like I’m the pride of his life.

With every touch, every word, I want to disappear.

My hand tightens around the pill bottle in my pocket.

Fuck it.

I push back my chair. “I’m just gonna get some air?—”

“Hi, everyone.”

I freeze.

The voice hits before the meaning.

I turn slowly.

Caroline.

Calm. Cool. Collected as always. A glowing beacon, just as I was ready to sink with the ship.

“Sorry I’m late,” she says. “Did I miss anything?”

I open my mouth, but of course, he beats me to it.

“‘Course not. The party just arrived.”

Caroline’s eyes flick past me to him. She smiles—polite, restrained. But she doesn’t buy it. Doesn’t buy him . Of course not. She sees through people like him.

Like us?

“Hi,” she says, just to me this time. Eyes locked on mine. Nowhere to hide.

“Rhett,” my dad snaps, “aren’t you going to introduce her?”

“Right.” I clear my throat. “Everyone, this is Caroline. My…”

“His wife,” she supplies.

I blink hard.

My father straightens, gesturing toward my mother. “Caroline, this is my wife, Victoria.” My mom barely glances up from her glass. She nods a fraction, attention already drifting elsewhere. “And some of my colleagues.”

Caroline nods, exchanging handshakes. “Pleasure.”

Then she turns back to me. “Sorry, were you going somewhere? ”

“I—”

“Of course he wasn’t,” Dad cuts in, gripping my elbow and steering me back into my chair like I’m eight. “Please,” he says to Caroline. “Sit. We were just catching up.”

She hesitates, watching us, then slowly takes the seat beside me.

“I’m sorry, I have to ask,” one of the suits leans in. “You're the coach’s daughter, aren’t you?”

Caroline’s smile tightens. She straightens in her chair, folding her hands in her lap. “That’s one of the things I am, yes.”

“Well, Roger,” he says, “looks like you’re creating a little NHL royal family here. Good for you.”

“That’s not?—”

“Ah, there’s our waitress,” my dad says, cutting Caroline off and waving the server over. “We’ll have another round, please. And sweetheart,” he turns to Caroline, “what can I get for you?”

She narrows her eyes at him. “Martini. Extra dirty.” She pauses, looking at the waitress before adding, “Please.”

I don’t move. Just stare at a spot on the table. My glass sits inches from my hand, sweating against the wood. Noise buzzes around me—laughter, clinking ice, my father’s voice filling the air like smoke—but it all feels distant. Muffled.

“Where’d you go, boy?”

“I think he was reliving that game-winning breakaway in the second,” one of the suits chimes in.

“Well, you know us Suttons,” Dad says, slapping my back. “We’re closers. Winners. Right, honey?”

He leans into my mother, who barely blinks. She hums and sips her drink.

“Did you play hockey?” Caroline asks my dad.

“Of course. Where do you think this one gets it?”

“Who did you play for?” She tilts her head. “Don’t recall hearing your name before. ”

“So nowhere then?”

His smile holds, but his eyes flash with heat. He starts to reply, but then the waitress returns with our drinks.

My dad shifts gears fast. “So Jeremy, you said you travel to Texas often?”

“Ah yes,” the guy says, leaning forward. “I’ve got a good number of clients in Austin. I’m there pretty often. I’d love to come catch a game sometime.”

“You should,” I say automatically, my voice flat. I pick up my fresh gin and tonic and bring it to my lips. It feels safer now. Or necessary.

“Roger was telling me you might be able to hook me up with some VIP access?” Jeremy says with a grin.

“Of course he can,” Dad answers for me, clapping me on the back a little too hard. “Our boy’s got pull. And he’s always happy to take care of our closest friends. Isn’t that right, son?”

“Yeah,” I say, nodding. “Sure.”

They start talking about tickets, appearances, access. I nod, automatic. A machine.

Until I feel Caroline lean in.

“Rhett,” she whispers, “are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I mutter, not meeting her eyes. “Fine.”

“Were you ready to head back to the hotel?”

Before I can speak, my dad cuts in. “No, of course not.”

“I was asking Rhett,” Caroline says.

He smirks. “He’s not going anywhere.”

“That’s his choice to make.”

Dad straightens, laughs quietly. “You’re having a great time, aren’t you, bud?” he presses, loud enough for the table to hear. “With your parents? Your family?”

Caroline’s hand brushes my knee under the table. My pulse roars in my ears. Everyone’s watching. But I stare at my dad. And then I look at her .

And then back to my dad.

“She’s been more of a family to me than either of you ever have.”

The table goes still. My dad’s expression falters—just for a second. Then he chuckles and turns to the group.

“Young love,” he says. “That honeymoon phase.”

Laughter bubbles. The moment is dismissed.

He turns back to me. Smile gone. “This drink isn’t really satisfying me. Going to grab a new one. Why don’t you join me at the bar?”

I don’t answer.

“Let’s go,” he says, already rising.

I push back my chair and follow him to the far end of the bar, near the exit sign glowing red above a hallway.

He turns on me the second we’re out of earshot.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he hisses.

I clench my jaw, fingers twitching in my jacket pocket.

“Did that little comment make you feel real big?” His voice drops to a snarl. “You think mouthing off to me like that makes you a man?”

“I just told the truth.”

“Oh, please.” He barks a laugh. “Because that girl out there made you something, right? Every skate, every coach, every damn door opened for you—was paid for by me. You forget you wouldn’t be anything without me.”

“How could I forget?” I snap. “It’s the only thing you ever bring up. You think buying gear and pulling strings is the same as being a dad? Then you act offended that I don’t claim you as family when you’ve spent my entire life pretending your own son doesn’t exist until it’s convenient for you.”

“Son?” he scoffs. “You know what I see when I look at you?”

He steps closer, lip curling.

“A soft, weak coward that crumbles the second things get hard. A pathetic child that’s always one wrong move away from disaster. A boy who had the world handed to him and still managed to screw it up.”

The words hit like a punch, but I stand strong.

“Always folding under pressure. Always looking for something to hide behind—your image, your friends…”

He leans in. “Your dope.”

The word slams into me, and I rear back.

“What, you think I don’t know? You think the world doesn’t know? That trainwreck of a rookie year? You think everyone believes you were just off your game? Even you couldn’t be that much of a disappointing mess all on your own.”

My throat tightens.

“And now, what? You’ve got a girl doing your fighting for you?”

“Rhett?”

We both turn.

Caroline’s standing at the end of the hall. Arms crossed. Unflinching.

“Perfect timing,” my dad says, amused. “You got something to say for him, sweetheart?”

“For him?” she says calmly. “No. Even though I like hearing my own voice as much as you clearly do, I know Rhett can speak for himself.”

She smiles thinly, stepping closer. “But for me? Call me sweetheart again, and you’ll get a lot more than words from me.”

He sneers. “You really think you know him?”

“I know enough.”

“You don’t know anything. You see the version he wants you to see. But I’ve seen what’s underneath. I made him.”

“And aren’t you proud of it?” she asks without missing a beat.

“I hope you know you’re just another distraction for him,” he spits. “Another thing he’ll cling to until he inevitably spirals again. And when he crashes—because he will—you’ll be the one left picking up the pieces.”

“Now who’s hiding when things get hard?” Caroline tilts her head. “Don’t worry. I’m not scared. I can take it from here.”

He opens his mouth again—but the click of heels stops him.

My mother appears, holding the check. She extends it toward me.

“Here,” she says flatly. “Everyone’s ready to go.”

Caroline blinks. “You’re kidding.”

“They’re not,” I mutter. I grab my wallet from my pocket, fishing out a few hundred-dollar bills and shoving them into the checkbook. “And they’re not worth another second.”

I reach for Caroline’s hand.

“Let’s go.”

And for once, she happily listens to me.