Chapter 25 Jerseys And Jackasses #2
I study the man to a disturbing degree—coiffed hair, bright blue eyes, bone structure that could cut through glass. The resemblance is uncanny, now that I think about it.
The opening anthem for the Mustangs blares around the rink—lights dimming and strobing—interspersed with a prerecorded track of a mustang’s neigh. But I’m only focused on the stupid source of my boyfriend’s worry.
“I think that’s Knox’s dad,” I whisper to Hassie, filling in the gaps my boyfriend’s grievances had inadvertently left, anger brutalizing my heart with studded gloves and the dexterity of an MMA fighter.
My fingers curl into the palms of my hands—leaving half-moon crescents in soft skin—and my tongue flirts with the idea of reading him to filth right here, right now, in front of everyone. Hell, maybe the Jumbotron could help aid in a little public humiliation.
Hassie—who I’m beginning to think doesn’t know what the word subtle means—follows my line of sight, gasping loudly when she latches onto my wavelength.
“Oh my God, you’re so right. They look nearly identical. What’s his dad doing here?”
“Probably trying to sabotage his game,” I growl, the rational part of me reduced to a captive bird with clipped wings, flying in circles. It makes way for my emotions to dogpile onto the scene, hell-bent on burying Knox’s sperm donor alive in a reckoning that’s twenty-one years too late.
Hassie says something that gets lost in the crowd, and before I know it, I’m occupying the seat right next to Mr. Mulligan.
He recoils away from me like my class status will negatively affect his reputation. “May I help you?” he sneers with a derision-soaked voice. His breath is minty and fresh and wholly antiseptic in the same way a hospital abuses bleach to clean stubborn bloodstains.
The game continues without my avid attention.
“Are you here for someone?” I inquire, trying my best to stay neutral while my entire being is contemplating legal ways to dispose of a six-foot-something body.
Maybe I’ll just find a plot of land with a bunch of endangered plants, dump his rotting carcass there, and wait for them to grow over the burial site so that the government can’t dig him up.
“My son,” he responds flatly, pointing to—you guessed it—number six. Who, by the way, just scored the first goal of the night with some kind of fake-out trick.
Of course he has nothing else to add to that. Unlike the rest of the parents here who are actively rooting for their children, even going as far as painting half their faces in the school’s colors. My push-up bra provides more support than Knox’s loser of a father.
My words stick together with pride. “Knox Mulligan? He’s one of the best players on the team.”
Mr. Mulligan addresses me with the ceremony of stubbing out a cigarette butt—inconvenient, bothersome. “I know. I’ve taught him everything he’s ever learned. He’s going to make it to the NHL someday.”
Bullshit! You haven’t done anything to help your son.
In fact, all you did was give him an ultimatum for your love.
You scared him into being a better hockey player.
You don’t care about all the hard work and long hours he’s put into his career.
All you care about is having your name attached to fame.
Thankfully, my ears have built-in muffs against idiocy. So, even with my stomach plummeting to the soles of my shoes, I continue to poke and prod until he gives up this ridiculous charade.
“You must be really proud of him.”
He barks out a laugh—the kind of laugh that’s only rich because of the illegal things he’s done in the dark. “Yeah, I mean, we’ve had some ups and downs. I just hope the ups continue.”
No wonder Knox used to come off so cocky. He learned it from his dad. He learned that his worth is connected to his accomplishments, so he didn’t bother with curating approachability. He learned that people will only listen if you’re at the top of your game.
None of it is true. I’d listen to him even if he was stuck all the way down at the bottom of a well, half-concealed in darkness, staring up at a firmament of stars far from his reach.
Surprisingly, Mr. Mulligan has enough manners to turn the conversation back on me.
“And who might you be?” he inquires with an upturned nose.
I can feel my cheeks crackling with warmth—twin lavascapes. I’m halfway to stringing up a banner of my own anxiety, but I masquerade it faster than a wound gets the chance to trap heat. “I’m your son’s girlfriend.”
“Girlfriend? You don’t look like any of Knox’s previous…flings.”
Asshole.
My indignation is back with a vengeance, and I let my next set of words fly out of me without any safeguards. “Is that a problem?”
Knox’s father shrugs indifferently. “My son just has high standards, that’s all.”
“Then you’ll be relieved to know that I meet every one of those standards.”
His gaze casts through me like a spear through a shallow riverbank—pointed in its attack. “Judging by your…ensemble…it doesn’t look like it.”
Does this dude seriously expect me to wear a fancy dress to a hockey game?
I’m lost in my own mental slaughterhouse of shame and self-doubt when Knox comes glissading over to us on a presumed time-out, his cheeks perking up into a smile that I gravitate to like a call sign.
I should be grateful for his company, but I can’t get over the sour aftertaste of his father’s unwarranted comments.
“Oh, you guys met each other already,” Knox observes, using his hockey stick to prop himself up.
Unfortunately.
Knox’s dad tightens his tie. “Son, you didn’t tell me that you were dating someone…out of our class range.”
“What?” he growls.
“I mean, is this a joke? This girl has no business being attached to the Mulligan name.”
Phosphenes fleck my vision, and silent tears sear the backs of my eyes, threatening to carve tracts down my cheeks. My heart is tangled in a gossamer web of pain, straining to break free from its tomb.
I mean, Knox’s dad is right. Knox and I exist in two different tax brackets. I know next to nothing about living a lavish lifestyle.
Rage splashes across my boyfriend’s expression. “This girl has a name. This girl is my girlfriend, and I don’t remember asking for your fucking permission.”
“All this time away from home has made you irreverent. Do I need to remind you who’s in charge here? I came to your game to support you, not to be cornered. How dare you embarrass me like this.”
It was never my intention to come between Knox and his father. It feels like I’m being slammed against the aluminum floor of a rogue plane by unrelenting G-forces.
I know that physically, I’m right next to Knox, but I couldn’t feel farther away.
In this instant, I’m transported back to the hospital, when Knox and I were nothing but strangers.
The pneumatic hissing of machines, the algid hallways, the sterile stench of all-purpose cleaner, the constant, immutable cries that carried well into the early morning.
Lying in that hospital bed, I was a pale imitation of myself, and I fear that right now, I’m no better.
The harshness of Knox’s words toss my stomach.
“Embarrass you? Are you serious? You didn’t come to my game to support me.
You came to my game to save face after being absent from every aspect of my life.
You came to my game because you knew people would be watching, and you just had to hog the spotlight all for yourself. ”
“I won’t tolerate these unfounded accusations,” Mr. Mulligan snarls.
I need to stop this. Knox may have a crappy father, but at least he has one. I don’t want to be responsible for creating a bigger rift between them. I’m not worth it.
I’m about to sever the conversation when Knox saves me the trouble. If there wasn’t a partition between us, he would probably rip his dad’s head off.
“Staten is in my life whether you like it or not. And frankly, I never wanted you to meet her. She doesn’t need to deal with your insecurities.
Your opinion doesn’t matter to me, and I’m ashamed to admit that it ever did.
I can handle you giving me shit, but going after the person I care about most is unacceptable.
She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
Unlike you, she doesn’t rely on handouts for people to like her.
She’s a genuinely good person who works hard for her money, and my affection doesn’t hinge on whether or not she’ll make our family ‘look good.’ She’s been here for me while you’ve surrendered all your responsibilities.
She’s selfless and kind and patient. She’s so much more than her bank account, but that’s something your small brain couldn’t possibly understand, right? ”
Something akin to love rattles around in my body at hyperspeed, and for the first time in forever, I’m not quick to apologize for the space I take up.
For the first time in forever, as ironic as it is, I feel like I belong.
I never knew I could feel anything other than shame—for my upbringing, for my nonexistent contribution to society—but pride egresses from my blind spot to make a grand entrance.
“You’re this close to getting cut off, Knox,” his father warns with the mercy of a four-star general.
My boyfriend throws his hands up in the air, unafraid of capturing the attention of other onlookers. “Do it. I don’t care anymore. At least then I could live my life on my own terms instead of being indebted to the likes of you.”
When the referee’s whistle ends the time-out, Knox smiles at me sympathetically, a silent “I’m sorry” forming on his lips. Throughout that whole altercation, he offered me warmth and reassurance when I’ve been conditioned to embrace the lonely cold.
After Knox returns to the game, I turn to face his dad. “You enjoy the rest of your night,” I grit out with a hiss, calling the time of death at 7:28 p.m. before slinking back over to Hassie and her half-demolished popcorn bucket.
Her head perks up. “How’d it go?”
I roll the sleeve hem of Knox’s jersey between my fingers, already feeling its calming effect begin to work.
Knox just stood up for me. In front of his terrifying father.
He was ready to sacrifice his steady income just to be with me.
He was ready to damage his parental relationship even more to make me feel… loved.
I’ve never been in love before. I don’t know what it feels like.
Do I…do I love Knox? I mean, my stomach getting all tingly when I’m around him is a normal bodily response, right? How do I know I’m not blowing this out of proportion and mistaking infatuation for something more?
Think about it, Staten. Knox has defied all the odds to prove your preconceived notions about him wrong.
He values your time—he put in so much hard work to bring his Lit grade up.
He values you—he compliments you whenever he gets the chance, even knowing there’s a possibility you might bite his head off because flattery freaks you out.
He’s always there when you need him. He’s always attentive and communicative and couldn’t be more obsessed with you.
But what if I’m wrong? What if…what if it’s too soon?
Don’t be afraid of change. Sometimes, change is a good thing. Sometimes, change seeks you out because it knows how badly you need it. Stop overthinking so much. Your emotions deserve to be heard too.
God, this man has his teeth in me, and now it’s up to him to retract them or sink them deeper into my skin.
My breath whooshes out of me with the velocity of a shuttle, and I feel my entire chest collapse with expired air. “Remind me to always bring a can of compressed air to spray at shit-dressed millionaires.”