Chapter Thirty-Nine
TOMMY
Because I don’t do takeouts and my social calendar isn’t exactly stacked, I know that whoever is requesting permission to access my floor is likely someone I don’t see on the regular.
Security only ever dials my internal phone when they have a visitor standing in front of them in the lobby.
Maybe it’s Jack, Archer, Sawyer or maybe even Emmett stopping by to kick back and relax or work out in my home gym—which they have freely admitted is ten times better than their own, just by the pictures I showed them the other day.
After Coach called me into his office following the Philly game and confirmed that my official warning had been rescinded and that they had zero intention of dropping me from the roster, my life feels a world away from where it was six months ago. Even three months ago.
All I need is the girl in my bedroom to make it official between us, and I’ll be golden.
“Hi,” I simply say when I pick up the receiver.
“Good morning, Mr. Schneider,” a deep and very official-sounding male voice greets me.
I’ve been living in this apartment since I signed with the Blades, but I have made zero effort to get to know the doorman or security stationed down in the lobby. Jenna would know this guy by name. Hell, she’d probably even share a pizza with him.
“How are you?” I blurt out awkwardly.
There’s a pause on the line. It’s brief but pronounced, and I cringe at how weird that just sounded.
“I’m, err … very well. Thank you for asking, Mr. Schneider.”
“You can just call me Tommy.” I continue my ramble.
Another pause.
“Tommy,” he says, “I have a visitor down here in the lobby who is requesting access to your floor. He tells me he’s family and you are expecting him. However, as he doesn’t have a temporary code, which only you can provide to guests, I wanted to be sure that we should go ahead and allow him up.”
I heard a total of two words in that sentence—he and family.
A cold shiver chases down my spine, and I grip the handset tighter.
“Did the visitor give a name?” I ask cautiously.
“He did. Alex Schneider. I have verified his identity. Do I have your permission to allow him access to your apartment door, Tommy?”
All over again, it’s like I’m standing by my dad’s front door, bending down to untie the laces on my battered sneakers.
“Sir?” The security guard yanks me back to reality.
“Yes. Send him up, but please provide him with a onetime-only access code.”
“No problem. And sorry to disturb your morning.”
When the call cuts, I replace the handset and stalk back into my bedroom, ready to get Jenna out of my apartment. I have no idea why Alex is here, but I don’t want him to set eyes on her. Beyond my teammates and her friends, the next person to find out about whatever we are should be Holt.
Steam filters from under my en suite door, quickly followed by Jenna’s happy humming, and my heart swells and drops at the same time.
She’s in the shower, and there’s no time to get her out.
Grabbing a Dri-FIT from my dresser, I throw it on and quickly smooth my bedhead, pausing and taking a second to center myself.
I shouldn’t have let him upstairs. He has no right to be here.
By the time I reach the door, the smart doorbell is already ringing, and I pause for another second, drawing a deep breath into my lungs.
I’ve imagined this moment a lot since I was unceremoniously kicked out of his apartment at seventeen. Pent-up anger, hatred, and bitterness indulged my fantasies, to the point where I’d dream about a day similar to this one, where I finally got a chance at retribution.
But as I pull my door open, I’m not greeted with the same man who laughed in my face and humiliated me, all while playing his PlayStation.
From when I was a young kid and all the way through to the moment I opened this door, the image I’ve carried of Alex Schneider has been one of strength, brutality, and superiority. Everything I’ve tried to emulate throughout my career.
That’s not what’s staring back at me. This is a shadow of the man I had pinned to my bedroom ceiling when I was twelve years old. He’s a walking, breathing version of consequence and what happens when you burn every bridge you’ve ever had and tread all over those you’ve ever known.
Alex Schneider is his own retribution.
“Son.”
That’s all he says from my doorway. His voice is soft, a stark contrast to the rough edges of his beard. His hair is still dark, like mine, but I can tell he’s dyeing it, unlike Coach Morgan, who is a year younger than Alex and embracing his salt-and-pepper hair.
And while Alex’s clothes are obviously designer, his overall outfit screams of a man trying to project an image far more glamourous than the lines in his face reveal.
His red eyes tell me he’s traveled a distance to be here.
I drop my eyes down the length of his body, cocking my head to the side when I take in his dark sneakers.
It’s almost Christmas, and winter has fully set in outside.
I’d expect this guy to be wearing weather-appropriate boots and a coat, not a tan leather jacket that’s seen better days, along with his battered and rain-soaked sneakers.
Like a vampire, he’s waiting for me to invite him in, and I step to the side, offering him just enough room to squeeze past me and into the vast expanse of my open plan living area.
From memory, my place is not unlike Alex’s, and I fight the urge to remind him that what goes around eventually comes around.
When he drops his black leather bag onto my gray tiled floor with a thud, I thank myself for being a neat freak. Just like I did when Jenna showed up unannounced last night, I look like I have my shit together, even if the truth couldn’t be more opposite.
To hide the tremors in my hands, I shove them into the pockets of my shorts and stride across to my corner couch, smiling that I don’t even own a gaming console anymore.
Throwing myself down on the couch in a faux casual manner, I cast a quick glance toward the hallway leading to my bedroom.
Jenna generally takes the longest showers in history, but there’s no way Alex will be gone by the time she’s out.
He came here with a purpose. I can tell by the way he sits down on the chair opposite me, crossing his leg over at the knee.
I point to his sneakers. “You’re leaving marks on my polished floor.”
Alex casts his gaze to them, shrugging a single shoulder. “You didn’t ask me to remove them.”
Jesus. It’s like witnessing myself twenty years from now.
And I don’t like what I see. The internal battle my father is having to speak respectfully with his own flesh and blood is not the person I want to be.
He knows he has no right to be here, and I suspect he’s surprised I allowed him past security.
Still, his vulnerable position isn’t enough to totally eradicate the smarmy, cocky attitude imprinted on his soul.
Mom had to deal with this man. Whether she liked it or not, she needed his financial support in order to feed and clothe me.
I bite down on my bottom lip, a wave of emotion stinging the back of my eyes.
Maybe she denied my true father’s identity because she knew nothing good could come of me knowing him.
When I first walked away from her, the phone calls were frequent, and my voicemail was often full. But as the years have passed and time has worn on, her attempts to make contact have lessened. I guess she would know I’m doing okay from media reports.
But how is she doing? She didn’t even send her regular text on my last birthday.
Alex’s eyes rove around my apartment. “Did you buy this place yourself, or is the rental built into your terms?”
I lean forward, bracing my elbows on my knees as I take him in. “After all this time and everything that’s gone down between us, that’s the first question you ask me?”
He runs a rough palm over his mouth. Like me, he’s covered in tattoos. Although he hasn’t maintained them, and they look faded.
“What do you want me to say, Tommy?” He slaps his thigh with frustration.
I return the shoulder shrug he gave me earlier. “I wasn’t particularly bothered about hearing from you at all. You’re the one who showed up here, so I figured you had something important to say.”
“Well, I do,” he counters.
I motion to the space between us. “Go ahead then. The floor is yours.” I sit back on the couch, checking once over my shoulder.
Really, I’m looking for signs of Jenna, but I play it off as checking the clock set on the wall behind me.
“I have an appointment I need to be at in a half hour, so best make it quick.”
Alex clears his throat, his unease at my dismissive tone evident.
“I actually came here to apologize. I’ve …” He trails off, shifting in the chair for a second. “I’ve had a few health issues lately, and it’s brought it home that life is fragile and not guaranteed, and I wanted to reach out and tell you that.”
I nod appreciatively, my heart beating clean through my chest. Like a swan on a lake, I appear centered and calm. Underneath, I’m frantic, my mind trying to work out if his words are genuine.
“I watched your game against Philly and then your away series in Miami.” He raises his brows. “Your game style—it reminds me of my own. It’s nice to see that the enforcer hasn’t totally died a death in the league.”
Twelve-year-old Tommy would be screaming with excitement and blushing at the compliment.
Seventeen-year-old Tommy would think he was right on track with his aim to be the best Schneider to ever grace the league.
Present-day Tommy feels sick to his stomach at the thought of ever wanting to be like the man sitting in front of him.
“I’m nothing like you. On or off the ice.” My voice is quiet but solid, and I mean every word.
Alex huffs out a doubtful laugh. “Son, you have fifty percent of my DNA. Of course you’re like me.”