Chapter 25 Henry
TWENTY-FIVE
HENRY
FOR THE RECORD, I MISS YOU, TOO.
My heart was painfully tight, and it was hard to breathe.
I was pissed off at the whole fucking world. At Coach Sloane, too. Because why, exactly, was I still benched?
I was doing a great job at keeping my head down and minding my business.
But when I approached Coach and asked him if he would consider putting me in to play against the Vancouver Sharks, he simply stared at me with a blank expression and shook his head without a word.
And that was that. End of the conversation.
My head was entering a dark place, and I was desperately trying to hold on to anything to not get drowned by it. Vancouver always brought out the worst in me, and being benched fueled all those feelings with a fresh set of fury and frustration.
Hayes jumped over the boards and sat on the bench next to me with a pained groan as he chewed on his mouthguard. “Fuck. That shift was painful.”
I gripped my stick in a death grip with a clipped nod. “I know.” My eyes remained on the ice, tracking every movement.
We were down 2-1. And everyone on the team was giving it everything they had.
My eyes followed the puck and the left winger of the Sharks, who surged forward and sliced across the ice with precision.
He managed to dodge Parker, and his body shifted low to protect the puck.
He shot it with a quick flick of his wrist as the center of the Sharks was already breaking past the neutral zone.
The center received the pass in one clean motion and kept control as he bolted into the offensive zone.
By some miracle of fucking God, before he could set up for a shot, Morgan arrived at the speed of light.
His stick made contact with the puck and nudged off balance.
It slid dangerously close to the net, and the right winger of the Sharks swooped in out of nowhere, his stick snapping forward to claim the loose puck.
It was in that moment my heart dropped to my stomach, because I knew it was too late.
Once the right winger of the opposite team gained control of the puck, he fired a wrist shot, and the puck rocketed toward the net before Morgan or Parker could react.
Owens dropped into a butterfly stance and reached with his glove, but the puck sailed just past his outstretched hand, high and tight into the top right corner.
The horn blared, a loud, fucking mocking sound, and the whole arena erupted in cheers.
And just like that…we had lost another game.
Being in Vancouver was stressful for many reasons.
But the main one was standing outside the locker rooms, talking and laughing with my coach.
The ’90s NHL sweetheart Vincent Anderson—also known as dear old dad.
He looked good for his age, and he maintained his physique well after all these years. He was a god in the eyes of the public, a player who was taken from them too soon after a knee injury that ended his career when he was at his peak.
Coach’s eyes landed on me, and he gave me a nod. “I got some press to do, so I’ll leave you two to it.” He grasped Vincent’s shoulder. “It was nice seeing you.”
Vincent nodded with a fake smile. The one he did to make everyone believe he was a merry-fucking-happy guy. “Same here.”
Once Coach was out of sight, I tightened the grip on my gear bag as I headed toward the exit. I didn’t have the patience or energy to deal with him.
I stepped outside, desperate to let the Vancouver chill bite my skin. My body was overheating. I was angry and exhausted.
“Where are you going?” he asked, following me.
I inhaled and exhaled through my nose as calmly as possible. “I’m not in the mood to talk to you.”
He gripped my shoulder and turned me around. “Too fucking bad. This is what happens when you don’t answer my texts.”
“I have nothing to say to you.”
He barked a menacing laugh. “So, you go around punching guys and getting benched and think you have nothing to say to me? You owe me an explanation.”
I tightened my jaw and shook off his grip. “It’s none of your goddamn business, Vincent.”
“If you’re carrying my last name on the back of your jersey, yeah, it’s very much my goddamn business, son.”
I laughed humorlessly as I slipped a hand in my pocket without a word.
There had been many times I’ve considered changing my last name.
To walk away from everything that had to do with the man standing before me.
But a small part of me still held on to stupid hope that he would change.
I hated myself for it. Never told a soul either.
It was one of those secrets I knew I would take to the grave.
“When are you getting back on the ice?” he pressed.
My eyes settled on the arena. I refused to look him in the eyes, because if I had, I was fairly certain I was going to punch him.
“Or are you too busy fucking Kennedy Jones?” he mocked.
My eyes settled on him as my nostrils flared. “What did you just say?”
His eyes glinted with malicious intent. Fuck. It was a trap, and I fell for it. “Ah, so that got your attention.” He shook his head with a laugh. “I can’t lie, you got good taste. Guess you got that from me.”
My ears rang as adrenaline pumped through me.
I invaded his space and gripped the collar of his shirt.
I didn’t care that we were in public, or that I was probably causing a scene.
Anyone who spoke about Kennedy, especially my father, would be on the receiving end of my pent-up anger.
“Not another word about her. Do you understand me? Keep her name out of your fucking mouth.”
“I’m just a father concerned about who my son is dating.” He tilted his head with a knowing smirk. “The last thing I want for you is to get baby trapped like I did.”
Anger stabbed the corner of my heart like a poisonous blade, spreading throughout my body at his words.
I balled my free hand into a fist.
The same old story was getting fucking tiresome.
It took two people for my mother to get knocked up. And it wasn’t like it had been a one-night stand, either. My parents were high school sweethearts.
But leave it to him to place the blame on everyone else because he refused to take responsibility for his actions. It was a bitter realization, knowing he’d never change. It angered me, knowing I should have known better by then.
This was my father to the very core. He was an abuser, physically and emotionally.
He knew the comment would strike a mark just as bad as if he had punched me.
Because, yes. My father wasn’t stupid. He may have beaten me when I was a child, when I was weak and still trying to grow my muscles, but he knew better than to try it now.
I had the body to stand my ground with him.
A small, sadistic part of me wanted him to try, because I wanted an excuse to unleash everything on him. I was eager for him to punch me. To do anything, just so the world could see the real piece of shit he truly was.
The unrelenting anger I felt was because of him. My career was up in the air because I always kept thinking about him. It always boiled down to him.
But I couldn’t lie to myself. It would have been hypocritical of me to place the blame on someone else. At the end of the day, I was weak, and that’s why he could always reach the only good parts of me and crush them with his cutting words.
Hayes and Donovan stepped outside, and when they saw us, they quickly strode closer to separate us.
Hayes placed his arms around my chest and pulled me back as Donovan did the same with Vincent.
“Anderson, calm down, man,” Hayes said as he used his force to hold me back. “What’s going on?”
“Yeah, son. Calm down,” Vincent taunted.
This motherf—
“That’s enough out of you, Mr. Anderson. I think it’s time you go home,” Donovan said calmly.
A few of my teammates were filtering out of the arena and walking toward the bus that was going to take us to the airport. When Vincent noticed, he concealed his face with a fake smile and a clipped nod.
Before he left, he stood close to me and spoke low enough so no one else could hear him. “Be careful about staining our name again, boy. Or I’ll make a surprise visit and talk with your little girlfriend.”
I gritted my teeth without a reply. My chest beat painfully, and my lungs struggled for air. He settled his eyes on me with a knowing look and a smug smile, then nodded and finally walked away for good.
“What did he say?” Hayes whispered to me as we got into the bus and sat down.
I shook my head without a word as I leaned my head back on the headrest and shut my eyes.
He was the only one who knew the extent of the issues I had with my father. But I didn’t want to talk to anyone about it.
My heart only wanted one person.
The flights back home were always rough when we lost. The energy was down. No one joked around. Most of my teammates were sleeping, while others were speaking with their partners on their phones.
I stared at my phone with Kennedy’s contact page open in contemplation.
Would she even answer if I called? It was past midnight already.
She had texted me saying she was sorry we had lost the game, so there was a chance she was awake.
Does that mean she watched every game?
What was I saying? Of course, she did. I’m sure she had to, just in case. PR responsibilities and all. Though part of me hoped she watched it because of me.
With a deep breath, I put headphones on and hit the video call button before I lost the little bravery I had.
The phone rang twice, and Kennedy croaked, “Hello?”
“Did I wake you up? I’m sorry. Go back to bed.”
She centered the camera, letting me get a good look at her. She was devoid of makeup, and her curly hair was braided, allowing me to see her face and how those ridiculously cute freckles popped against her brown skin.
My heart tightened at the sight of her. She was so fucking stunning, it physically hurt.
“No. You’re fine. I’m on the couch watching TV while Sush is crushing me with his weight.
” She angled her phone to show me where the cat was curled up, sleeping peacefully.
She angled the camera back to her face and rolled her eyes.
“You’ve been giving him way too many treats, by the way. He’s fat.”
“I want him to like me.”
“You can try to buy his love with all the treats you want, but I will still be his favorite human,” she quipped.
She wasn’t wrong. Those two had become an inseparable duo since she moved in.
I gave her a small smile without a word. My head was starting to clear, and my mood was significantly improving with every moment we spent on the phone.
“So, why did you call me?” She asked.
“Honestly?”
She gave me a knowing smile. “Always.”
“I had a rough night, and I wanted to see you and hear your voice.” I let out a long, shaky sigh. I didn’t know why I was nervous. “I miss you.” The confession had been lodged on my throat for days now. Relief washed through me when I finally said it out loud.
We had been on the road for almost a week, and there wasn’t one night I hadn’t thought about Kennedy.
I was too afraid to call her. I still didn’t know where we stood, but something had shifted between us.
But I also didn’t want to overwhelm her.
I mean, she had just come off a three-year engagement, and here I was, eager to get more from her even though I didn’t know if she was in the right headspace for it.
Every fucking night, my thumb hovered over her contact, and every night, I went to bed with regret that I hadn’t called her. And even though I was a few hours away from seeing her, I couldn’t hold back any longer.
Was that pathetic? Maybe. But I was past caring.
“Wanna talk about what’s going on with you?” she asked softly.
“Not really,” I whispered.
She hummed. “I know I said this already, but I’m sorry about the game. I’ll see if I can put in a good word for you with Coach Sloane. You deserve to be back on the ice.”
My heart swelled with pride. “You mean that?”
“Yeah.” She smiled. “I do.”
We fell silent as we stared at each other for a few seconds. My heart wanted to come out of my chest as I looked at her. I was pathetically so far gone for this woman, it wasn’t funny. I wanted to hang out with her. I wanted to actually date her. Like, make-her-my-real-girlfriend type of dating.
“Henry?”
“Yeah, Kenny baby?” I rasped.
Her brown eyes sparkled. “For the record, I miss you, too,” she whispered.
You know those moments in rom-com movies?
The ones where time stands still when something significant happens?
This was one of those. Every beat of my heart was loud in my ears, my skin felt like little lights were being turned on, jolting with so much electricity, my body wasn’t my own anymore.
My brain etched this moment to memory like it was carving it into stone.
Something fearless took hold of me as I blurted, “Would you like to go on a date with me when I get back?” A real date. It’s what I really wanted to say, but I was too afraid.
She smiled. “Sure. We haven’t had one in a minute. I kind of miss those fake dates.”
My eyes twitched. A word had never tasted so bitter just from the fucking sound of it. Though it annoyed me, I was determined to play pretend if it meant I got to spend time with her.