Chapter 15 #2
“He said Dad contacted him,” I whisper. “That he made some kind of… deal. To keep up appearances. I didn’t believe him at first, but—”
Molly’s eyes widen. “Dad did what?”
I nod miserably. “Kyle said he was just looking for attention, a quick headline, until Dad called him. Offered to ‘make it worth his while’ if he helped sell the story that I was with him.”
Molly sets her cup down hard enough that it sloshes. “I’m going to kill him.”
“Get in line,” I mutter.
She leans forward, elbows on her knees, jaw tight. “So that’s why you said those things to Magnus. Because of Dad.”
I look away. “He called me into his office, Mol. He is a constant reminder that I don’t have a fucking say in what I do.
Said the same old crap about reputation, about not embarrassing the family, about sponsors and optics.
He said the team needs a clean image. And then he threatened ruining Magnus. ”
“Oh my god.”
“I thought… maybe if I told Magnus I didn’t want him, he’d hate me and just move on. I thought that would be better than Dad coming after him.”
Her expression softens, anger draining into heartbreak. “Oh, Al.”
I laugh, but it’s bitter. “Worked like a charm. He hates me.”
“Magnus doesn’t hate you. He probably hurts like hell, though,” she says. “Trust me; I’ve seen the way he looks at you. That man’s got it bad.”
Her words sting and soothe all at once. “He shouldn’t,” I say. “He deserves someone who isn’t too afraid to stand up to their father.”
“Maybe,” she says, “but he chose you. And you love him.”
I don’t answer right away. The silence stretches, filled only by Butter’s gentle snoring and the faint clink of wind chimes outside.
Finally, I say it, barely above a whisper. “Yeah. I love him.”
Molly smiles sadly. “Then why are you here instead of with him?”
“Because I ruined it.”
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “Dad ruined it. You just tried to survive it.”
The words break something loose inside me. I cover my face again, fingers pressing into my temples.
“I don’t even know how to fix this. He looked at me like I was everything he’d ever been warned about. A rich kid who uses his money to get what he wants. Like I was my father.”
Molly gets up and sits beside me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. For a moment, I’m twelve years old again, fresh off another argument with Dad about grades or hockey drills or who I’m supposed to be. Back then, she was the only one who could calm me down.
“I’m just so sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t want to say those things to him. I just didn’t want his career to end because of me.”
She squeezes me. “It’ll be okay.”
We sit like that for a long time. Eventually, she stands and heads to the kitchen again.
I hear her muttering under her breath, probably cursing Dad, and it makes me almost smile.
When she comes back, she’s holding a photo from the mantle; it’s of the two of us when we were kids, before everything got complicated.
“Remember that day?” she says. “You and Dad fought because you wanted to join the youth hockey league instead of his stupid prep program.”
“Yeah. He said I’d embarrass him by playing with ‘mediocre’ kids.”
“And you said…?”
I laugh hoarsely. “That I’d rather be mediocre than miserable.”
She grins. “That’s my brother.” Then, softer: “Where’s that kid now?”
“He’s tired,” I admit. “And scared.”
“Well, tell him he’s not alone. You’ve got me. And you’ve got a choice to make.”
I glance at her. “A choice?”
“Love or your image,” she says. “You can’t have both when your image means letting Dad write the script. But I can promise you this: love’s the one that won’t rot you from the inside.”
Her words hit hard. I stare into my tea, now cold, and think of Magnus—his crooked grin, the way he’d tug on my sleeve when he wanted me closer, the softness in his eyes when he thought I wasn’t looking.
My chest aches.
“I don’t even know if he’d want to hear from me,” I say.
“Then find out,” Molly replies simply. “And if Dad gives you trouble, I’ll handle him.”
I blink. “Molly, you can’t—”
“Watch me.”
There’s a flash of the old Molly then, fierce, brilliant, the one who used to march into the principal’s office when teachers treated me unfairly. I almost laugh, but it turns into another choked sound instead.
She takes my hand. “You’ve spent your whole life trying to make Dad proud. Has he ever been?”
I shake my head.
“Then maybe it’s time to make yourself proud instead.”
The words hang in the air between us.
I don’t know how long we sit there after that. Long enough for the tea to go cold, for Butter to snuggle closer, for my breathing to finally even out.
When I finally stand, it’s with a kind of heaviness that feels almost clean, a grief mixed with something like resolve.
Molly walks me to the door. “Call me if he tries anything,” she says. “Or if you need me to knock some sense into you again.”
I manage a small, real smile this time. “Thanks, Mol.”
She hugs me tight. “You’re my brother. That’s what I’m here for.”
Outside, the evening air is sharp and damp. I take a long breath, tilting my head toward the cloudy sky. Somewhere out there, Magnus is probably still angry. Still hurting. Maybe thinking I meant what I said.
I want to tell him I didn’t. That I was scared and stupid and just trying to keep him safe. That every word I said cut me in half.
But for the first time, I also know I can’t keep living for my father’s version of me.
I start walking, hands deep in my pockets, the sound of Molly’s door closing softly behind me. Butter barks once from inside, a faint echo that follows me down the sidewalk.
Maybe it’s nothing. Or maybe it’s the universe telling me to go fix what I broke.
Either way, I’m done pretending I don’t know what I want.