Page 21
Campbell
The rumble of the car pulling into the driveway set me on edge before the headlights even swept across the kitchen window. I leaned against the counter, my coffee cooling in my hand, watching Morgan happily munch her cereal at the island. She’d been talking nonstop about her favorite cartoon, but the sound of tires crunching against gravel drowned her out. I stiffened, every muscle in my body locking into place. My father was home. The front door creaked open, then shut with a familiar firmness that made my jaw clench. My father’s presence always seemed to fill a room before he even stepped inside.
“Dad!” Morgan’s voice rang out as she scrambled off the stool and dashed toward the door.
Her excitement was so pure, so untainted by the weight I carried. I envied her childlike innocence.
“Hello, sweetheart.” My father’s deep baritone carried him into the kitchen, warm but practiced, like everything else about him.
I didn’t move. I stayed planted against the counter, forcing myself to take a long sip of coffee. Stay calm. Don’t let him get to you. When my father walked in, Morgan beamed up at him as if he’d hung the moon. Dressed in his sharp suit and polished shoes, he looked every bit the powerful, wealthy businessman he always claimed to be, exuding an air of authority that made my skin crawl.
“You’re back earlier than expected.” I said, my tone clipped.
“I wrapped up things sooner than planned,” my father replied, his sharp eyes already assessing me. “Good to see you, son.”
“Yeah. You too.” I lied.
The room settled into an awkward silence, broken only by Morgan tugging at our father’s sleeve.
“Daddy, guess what? Campbell took me to the rink yesterday! I’m getting so much better at slap shots—right, Campbell?”
She turned to me, her grin so wide it hurt to look at. I forced a smile, nodding.
“She’s got a killer shot.”
But the light in Morgan’s eyes dimmed the second our father’s expression hardened. He gently pulled his arm from her grip and crouched slightly, placing a firm hand on her shoulder.
“Morgan, we’ve talked about this,” he said, his voice calm but cold. “Hockey isn’t for you.”
The excitement drained from her face, replaced by confusion.
“But why not? Campbell said I’m getting really good—”
“Campbell doesn’t make the rules around here.” Our father cut in, his gaze flicking to me with a sharpness that could slice through steel.
I set my mug down, the ceramic hitting the counter harder than I intended. My pulse ticked in my neck.
“She’s good at it,” I said, though my voice carried a dangerous edge. “And she loves it. Why not let her try?”
“Because it’s not appropriate for girls to play hockey,” Dad replied, his tone dismissive, as if the conversation bored him. “She has other talents. More productive ones. Hockey is a waste of time for her.”
My hands curled into fists. There it is again. The plan. His damn perfect plan that no one’s allowed to deviate from.
“It’s not a waste if it makes her happy.” I said, the words coming out harder than I intended.
“Campbell,” my father warned, his tone like a coiled whip. “This isn’t up for discussion.”
Morgan’s lower lip trembled. My heart sank as I watched her retreat, her small frame trembling as tears welled in her eyes.
“This isn’t fair.” She whispered before turning and bolting from the room, her socked feet sliding against the hardwood as she disappeared down the hall.
The slam of her bedroom door reverberated through the house, leaving a deafening silence in its wake. I turned back to my father.
“You don’t get it, do you? You’ve never gotten it. Everything needs fit into your perfect little plan.”
My father’s jaw tightened.
“Watch your tone.”
I let out a bitter laugh, my hands slamming down on the counter.
“Sure. Just like you’ve been watching yours with me my whole life, right?”
My father’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t respond. That was the thing about him, he didn’t fight. He didn’t argue. He didn’t need to. He just stood there, stoic and unmovable, like his silence was some kind of moral high ground. I didn’t wait for a response. I shoved off the counter, my body tense with barely contained anger, and stormed out of the kitchen.
Morgan was curled up on her bed when I found her, clutching one of her stuffed animals like it was the only thing holding her together. Her sniffles were quiet, almost muffled, but they tore through me like a knife. I knocked lightly on the doorframe before stepping inside.
“Hey, kiddo.”
She didn’t look up, her small frame trembling beneath her blanket. I sat on the edge of her bed, reaching out to stroke her hair.
“I’m sorry, Morg. I didn’t mean for that to happen.”
“Why does he hate hockey so much?”
I sighed, my chest aching. How could I explain this in a way that wouldn’t make it worse?
“He doesn’t hate hockey. He just doesn’t understand it. Not the way we do.”
Morgan sniffled, finally lifting her tear-streaked face to look at me.
“But I love it, Campbell. I want to play, just like you.”
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. She wanted to be like me. I wrapped my arm around her, pulling her close.
“You don’t have to be like me, Morg. You just have to be you. And if hockey makes you happy, then we’ll make it happen, okay?”
Her wide, tear-filled eyes searched my face.
“Promise?”
“I promise.” I said, my voice steady.
And I meant it. I would not let my father fuck up her life the way he fucked up mine.
??
I couldn’t sleep again. I lay in bed, staring at the dark ceiling. My father’s voice echoed in my mind, cold and dismissive.
You don’t make the rules around here.
I clenched my jaw, my chest tight with frustration. My father’s rules dictated my life for so long–what I could do, what I couldn’t, who I was supposed to be. I learned to live with it, to navigate around the constant pressure. But seeing Morgan’s tears, hearing the hurt in her voice, it was an excruciating pain.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the lighthouse keychain. Hazel left me behind in such a rush that I never had the chance to give it back. The small object felt cool and solid in my hand, grounding me. Yet, the reminder of Hazel’s rejection stung my heart. She didn’t want me, but maybe that was a good thing. A girl like Hazel doesn’t need a fuck up like me. Yet, I clutched the keychain in a fist above my heart, sleeping with the comfort that she’d be close to me.
**
The diner hummed with the familiar sounds of clinking dishes, faint chatter, and an old jukebox crooning a country love song from the corner. I leaned back in the booth, my long legs stretched out beneath the table, idly swirling the last of my coffee. The smell of greasy burgers and syrup lingered in the air, a staple of this little place I’d grown up in.
My friends filled the surrounding booth—Nate, slouched in his seat with a toothpick dangling from his lips; Maria, gesturing animatedly as she recounted a story from her college classes; and a few others, all sharing laughs and reminiscing. It was comfortable—just what I needed after the tension of the holidays at home.
“So,” Nate began, leaning forward and placing his elbows on the table, “what’s everyone doing for my birthday?” His grin was cocky, the kind that said he already had something big planned.
Maria rolled her eyes.
“As if you’d let us make plans for you. Spill it already.”
“Party at my place,” Nate announced, like it was some groundbreaking revelation. “You all better show up. No excuses.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered, smirking. “You say that like anyone’s ever missed one of your birthday parties.”
Nate shot me a finger gun and then, without missing a beat, said, “Oh, by the way, I invited Hazel.”
I choked on my drink, coughing so hard that Maria slapped my back with a little too much enthusiasm.
“You okay there, bro?” Nate asked, his grin widened.
I set my cup down, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
“What the fuck, Nate?”
“What?” Nate shrugged, feigning innocence. “She’s cool. I figured she’d fit in.”
Maria, ever the inquisitive one, leaned forward, her brows furrowing.
“Wait, who’s Hazel?”
Nate smirked like he’d been waiting for the question. He gestured toward me with his thumb.
“The girl he likes.”
I groaned, dropping my head back against the booth.
“Subtlety isn’t in your vocabulary, is it?”
Maria’s jaw dropped, and her eyes widened in mock shock.
“Campbell Atwood likes someone? Hold on, I need a moment to process this.”
She pressed a hand to her chest, pretending to be overcome with emotion. I rolled my eyes but couldn’t quite fight the smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.
“Hilarious, Maria.”
“No, no, this is groundbreaking!” she said, sitting up straighter. “I never thought I’d see the day. So, who is she? Where’d you meet her? What’s she like?”
Nate leaned back, enjoying himself, as I shot him a warning look.
“Hazel’s a friend.” I said, my voice steady despite the warmth creeping up my neck.
Maria wasn’t buying it for a second.
“A friend you like?” She grinned, leaning closer. “Come on, don’t hold out on us. Is she pretty?”
I huffed a laugh, shaking my head.
“I’m not doing this.”
“Oh, I cannot wait to meet her,” Maria said, sitting back with a triumphant smile. “If she’s caught your attention, she must be special.”
I tried to ignore the way my chest tightened at the word special. I reached for my coffee again, hoping to steer the conversation elsewhere, but Maria wasn’t done.
“Wait, is she coming to the party?”
“Yeah, she’s coming.” Nate said before I could answer, grinning as if he’d orchestrated the whole thing just to see me squirm.
I exhaled, staring into my cup as if it held all the answers.
“Great.” I muttered, half to myself.
Maria nudged my shoulder, her teasing grin softening.
“Don’t worry, Campbell. I’ll be nice. I promise.”
“Sure you will.” I said, my voice dry, but there was a flicker of amusement.
“Man, you’ve got it bad. ” Nate said, shaking his head.
I just rolled my eyes again, but I couldn’t keep the small, almost shy smile from breaking through. However, it left as soon as it came, because that was the problem. I had it bad, and I promised myself I would never let that happen. I’d never allow myself to care about someone again.
**