Chapter Twelve
CARTER
Sleep is for losers.
That’s what I tell myself to feel better about the way my eyelids droop against my will as my feet hit the pavement. After tossing and turning all night with visions of Sophie and our one night together so many years ago plaguing my mind, I did the only thing I could think to do.
Got out of bed at five in the morning to go for a jog.
Seeing Sophie at breakfast yesterday had made it impossible to think about anything but the way she blushed when I alluded to our kiss.
So I threw myself into work, spending hours on the phone with Rob, my sports attorney, and looking over all the offers I received from teams. There are plenty that I’m excited about, but I’m not really feeling the urge to sign yet. Plus, Jake and I agreed to collaborate on what teams we can get on together. Then I spent half the day on the phone with the contractor for the Twin Rinks.
When I still wondered how deep she would blush if I were to remind her of the night we actually had sex, I decided that my testosterone and I needed a good, long workout.
I thought running five miles on the treadmill and pushing my weight limit on the bench press would make me pass out as soon as I got into bed.
No such luck.
Which is why I’m pushing my fatigue to the back of my mind, determined to convince myself that sleep is for losers.
The glow of the sun slowly rises over the horizon, illuminating the houses I pass by. Brisk air electrifies my nerves, the burn behind my eyes fading the longer I push myself.
My watch shows six thirty when I open the door to my hotel room, desperate for a shower. At least my run did what it was supposed to do. I’m now wide awake.
I take my time in the shower, then make myself a pot of the crappy hotel coffee. I haven’t seen or talked to Mom since Sunday morning, and now it’s Wednesday. Fuck, I’m the shittiest son ever. Maybe she’ll be up for having breakfast with me.
Me: Hey Mom, do you have any breakfast plans?
Mom: No, but I have stuff to make French toast if you want to come over?
Me: I’ll be there in twenty.
When I get to Mom’s house for breakfast, we sit down to eat the French toast and bacon she made for us. I’m telling her about the different offers I’m looking through for next season and all about the Twin Rinks project, when I let it slip how frustrated Sophie seems to be with me.
“You’ve seen Sophie?” Mom glows like I just told her I’m giving her grandchildren.
“Yeah, um.” I rub the back of my neck. “She’s the manager of the Rinks, so Mr. Benson wants her approval on everything. Then I saw her Monday morning when I met up with Tom and Jordan for breakfast.”
“So…” she looks at me knowingly, “what’s going on with you two?”
What's…going on? Besides laying awake at night, remembering the feel of her in my arms, her body against mine… or the way she melted under my touch when I kissed her, only to step away when reality seeped in.
And how we can’t go more than two minutes without erupting into a fight of some sort?
“Nothing,” I say, then take a sip of water before clearing my throat. “Nothing’s going on between us.” Even if I tell her everything, there might never be anything again. “Just another thing Dad ruined…”
My relationship with Sophie, my choice of what team to sign with when I was first drafted to the NHL, my faith in humanity in general… what hasn’t he ruined? One of the many good things about him dropping off the face of the earth is he can’t ruin anything else.
“Carter…” At the sound of Mom’s choked voice, I meet her gaze, my heart nearly breaking at the unshed tears in her eyes. “I should have done more when you were younger. I should have stood up to him, told him that he couldn’t treat us that way…”
My anger spikes. He’s not even here , and he’s still making her miserable. How can she blame herself for his actions?
“Mom, it is not your fault.” She just shakes her head, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
She won’t believe me.
She can’t .
He spent years drilling into her that she was responsible for every mood swing, every outburst, every bad day he ever had. For every time his fist made contact with her. The fury in my chest takes a back seat, and I remind myself how important it is to me, to her happiness, to unravel the hold he still has on her.
“Hey,” I say softly, standing up and walking around the table to her. “We did the best we could.” She stands when I pull on her hand, and sinks into my arms when I wrap them around her. I say “we” because I know I could have done more. “Dad… he was terrifying when he was violent. You were just trying to survive.”
I put my hands on her shoulders and take a step back to look her in the eyes. “It’s over. We never should have had to deal with that, but we survived. We can take our futures into our own hands now. I’m here, Dad is gone. I don’t want you to be scared to live your life.”
She lets out a shaky sigh. “I know, but what if?—”
“We’ve changed the locks. I have Tom helping keep an eye out in case he pops back up, but I really don’t think he’s coming back. Even if he does, I’ll always protect you. Take care of you. It’s okay for you to live your life how you want to. We can get you into therapy, or find a support group. All I want is for you to be happy.”
“I appreciate that, Carter, I really do. And…” She takes a step back, seeming less upset than she was a moment ago. “If I’m making an effort to do what I want with my life, I want you to do the same thing. I think Sophie could be a part of that.”
“I’ll make you a deal,” I tell her, grabbing the dishes from the table and walking to the sink. “You start going out more, maybe look into a therapist, and I’ll do my best with Sophie.”
Mom smiles, unaware of the turmoil now raging in my mind as I move to wash the dishes.
I told her I’d do my best with Sophie, and I want to. I want her. She feels right .
I also want to keep playing hockey.
If one of the Northeast teams doesn’t offer a contract, there’s no way I can keep both. That is, if I can ever get her to listen to my side of the story.
Mom dries the dishes after I wash them, and she looks so happy, having me here. How she can stand to still live in this house, I’ll never know. It has to weigh on her, even if it’s just a little bit. The color of the paint on the wall behind the sink catches my eye. A reminder of how much control Dad has exerted over Mom and still continues to do so, even when he’s not here.
“Hey, Mom? Didn’t you hate the color of these walls?”
“Oh yes, it’s horrible.”
“Why don’t we paint it?”
“...What?” she stutters, as if she can’t quite believe what I’m suggesting.
“Let’s paint the walls, Mom. This house is yours . Legally. Dad may have held paying the mortgage over your head for years, but he’s gone, and I’ve paid it off the house. His credit was too poor to be on the loan, remember? Let’s make all the changes you’ve always wanted to make, but Dad wouldn’t let you.”
“I…” She trails off, looking around the room. “I hate that wall sconce.” She points across the room, to the wall next to the doorway that leads to the foyer. It’s gaudy, that’s for sure. A wrought iron design that darkens the room and adds a trying-too-hard-to-seem-expensive tone to the room.
Without a word, I walk over, wrap my hand around the neck, and rip it off the wall. A small gasp leaves Mom, and I whip my head around just in time to see her look of absolute shock transform into a blinding smile.
“What else?” I ask, tossing the sconce onto the table.
Two hours and a 3-page supply list later, I’m planning the first project to remodel the house when my phone rings. Jake’s name lights up the screen, and I snatch it up quickly.
“Hey, asshole,” I answer, holding it between my ear and shoulder as Mom brings me a torn piece of wallpaper from the downstairs bathroom before disappearing upstairs to get ready so we can go to the store. Seems like we’ll be replacing that too. I had thought she might enjoy redecorating, but I didn’t foresee how therapeutic it would be to renovate the home that she had no control over.
“Hey, dickhead,” Jake says, chuckling. “I’m coming out on Friday. Are you and Tom free to meet up?”
“We should be,” I tell him, making the note “new wallpaper or paint?” on my list.
“Cool. I’ll start a group chat. Are you considering the Las Vegas offer?”
“I did, but now I think… part of me wants to make sure we stay close to home.”
A beat of silence, followed by a low chuckle. “It’s Sophie, isn’t it?”
How the hell does he figure that? I mean, he’s right, but I’m mildly disconcerted that he can read me so easily.
“Yeah, it is.”
“Is she talking to you? After the way things ended between you both?”
“Kind of. Mostly yelling, which I definitely deserve. I may have burned that bridge, but fuck, man… she’s still just fucking everything .”
“Seems kinda risky planning your hockey career around a girl who sort of hates you.”
Yeah, but so fucking worth it.
We chat a bit more before we hang up and I wander to my childhood bedroom. This time, the visions of Sophie that assault me are accompanied by a bitter edge. The memory of what happened when my dad forced me to leave her behind.
“We need to talk, Carter.” Dad’s voice is harsh and his knuckles turn white from his grip on the steering wheel as he drives me away from the only home I’ve ever known.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, my gut sinking. What more could he possibly do?
“Starting now, I’m going to be managing your career. I’ll be your agent.” His tone has that no-nonsense, what-I-say-is-final quality to it, so I’m silent as he continues. “You cannot blow this, son. Your success is my success. I’ve gotten an apartment close to campus to live in while you’re in school.”
“What? No, Dad, I don’t need an agent, I’m doing fine on my own ? —”
“Listen here, Carter. You really don’t want to argue with me. If you don’t accept the fact that I’ll be living nearby and overseeing your success, I’ll move back home and make sure your mother pays the price for every day I have to live with her instead.”
Shit. He’s been keeping a tighter leash on his temper in front of me lately, but I’ve seen the bruises.The ones she’d hastily pull her sleeves down to hide. What could he do if I’m not there?
“What about Sophie? I can’t just leave her behind!” I won’t let him see the tears that sting my eyes. Crying is weakness in his eyes, and I don’t need to give him more ammunition against me.
“That girl is nothing but a distraction. You will not contact her. If you do, I’ll make sure that disgusting little flower shop her parents own is ruined. I’ll make sure every college acceptance she gets is revoked, and she’ll never work anywhere in our town.” He takes his eyes off the road for a moment to level me with a glare. “Do. Not. Test. Me.”
I don’t dare say another word. Fighting him on this will just make him double down and come up with more creative ways to ruin Sophie’s life. I don’t doubt he can do exactly as he’s threatened, he has so many connections I’m sure it would only take a handful of phone calls to achieve the total destruction of the Hartwell name.
I’ll have to find a way to get in contact with her without him knowing.
“Yes, sir.” My voice is quiet. Defeated. I don’t say much of anything for the rest of the drive, but that doesn’t bother Dad one bit. He talks of his plans and how much money I’m going to make him, and how he’ll be set for the rest of his life.
What the hell am I going to do? If I tell Sophie everything that’s going on, she’ll try to help. If she does that, Dad will ruin everything for her and her family. I don’t want to leave her… but what if that’s the only way to keep her safe?
Leaving was never part of the plan, but I was a stupid kid who had thought just disappearing from her life would hurt less than telling her we couldn’t be together. What a stupid thought. It’s clear to me now more than ever that ghosting her was just as big of a mistake as not telling her the truth of why I was leaving.
“Are you ready, sweetie?” Mom’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts, and I see her leaning against my doorway, smiling softly.
I am ready.
Ready to help her erase every memory of Dad from this place that she can.
Ready to do the same for myself—to fix all the things he’s ruined. I may not have my own house to remodel, but Dad left plenty of invisible scars the day he kidnapped me to Notre Dame.
Sophie’s had enough time to cool down. I’m going to repair what Dad broke, and I’m going to do whatever it takes to make sure Sophie gets my side of the story.