7. PARKER
SEVEN
PARKER
I’d planned to get so drunk I could go home and pass out, but as I watch Connor Kikishkin return to the bar after our words, I decide to enjoy the show instead.
When I bought this team, I didn’t think it would be possible to hate Connor more than I already did, but after that conversation, it happened. I don’t think I got distracted by his attractiveness once.
He struck a nerve, and while yes, I have very explicitly said I want to ruin him, that’s not why I bought the team. For some reason, him unknowingly putting himself above Dad had made me see red. It’d also reminded me that what I’m doing to Connor—or what I’m planning to do—Dad would have hated it.
He loved the Kiki brothers, loved being a Colorado fan. I was tense every game we’d caught together in his last years and even avoided going, purely because I didn’t want to see my own dad as obsessed with them as everyone else seemed to be.
I also couldn’t bring myself to tell him the truth about Connor and what a horrible person he is because of how much Dad admired their skill.
Turns out I resent Connor for more than just high school. I resent the rift he caused between my dad and me, and now, I’ll never get those years back.
A tiny voice in my head tries to remind me that those choices were my fault, but I’m feeding my anger, and it’s working. For once, I can look at that broad back, at his swagger as he returns from the bar double-fisting whiskey, and actually hate him.
All that stuff with Dad and then him having the audacity to think he made me?
I’m so damn tempted to stab him with my butter knife that I shift it out of reach.
Dinner comes around, Connor keeps drinking, and my careful professional control wears away. We hear people speak about their experiences in high school, and I feel like they’ve split open my head and have started to pull my own memories out for display.
I stare at the table. I try to zone out. I’m not sad I came tonight, but I’m caught off guard by how uncomfortable this has been.
As soon as the last person leaves the stage and they announce that the dance floor is open, I politely excuse myself—not that anyone cares or even notices me go.
The second I make it to the bathrooms and lock myself in a stall, the instant safety that surrounds me is draining. I don’t want to feel this way.
How different would my life have been if I’d taken after Dad? Would I have been one of those bullying hockey jerks? Would Connor and I have been friends?
I kick down the toilet lid and sit on it, face buried in my hands, like I’ve done countless times throughout my life.
The thing is, I thought I could face Connor now. I thought it would be different this time. That he’d see me as successful and admit that high school was high school and apologize for being a dick. In my imagination, we’d have a heart-to-heart, and I’d be freed of this resentment. But Connor hasn’t grown up, and I’m unhappier than ever.
And sitting here, on this fucking toilet, makes me realize I’ve picked myself up only to plonk my ass back in high school again.
My rational brain knows that selling the team and putting distance between all this hate would be the smartest move. My lizard brain is yearning for Connor to see me as his equal. To validate that I didn’t deserve what I went through.
“Quick, get him in here.”
I freeze at the voice and the sound of people coming through the bathroom door.
“What are you … stop … leave me—” There’s a groan as something heavy lands on the floor.
“How much did he drink?” That voice is familiar, and I get up to tilt my head near the side of the cubicle door, where I make out a sliver of Knox Addison through the crack.
Shit.
I straighten, hoping they won’t come down to check this end cubicle, but before they can make the attempt, there’s another loud groan.
“Wanna dance.” The slurred voice is Connor.
“Then maybe you should have listened to me instead of getting wasted.” And his brother.
From what Coach Macklin said, Connor is usually the one with Easton on a leash, so something has to be up for him to be taking control here. I don’t think I saw Easton with a single drink all night.
“Want me to call a car?” Knox asks.
“Think it’s late enough that I can tell Coach we’re leaving?”
Silence. I creep forward in the cubicle again and glimpse both Easton and Knox in the mirror above the sink. Connor’s out of sight, so I’m guessing he’s on the disgusting floor .
“I can guarantee it’ll be worse if we stay and Macklin sees his golden boy drunk off his ass,” Knox says.
East grunts. “He’ll bench him tomorrow for sure. After giving him a hundred warm-up laps in full gear.”
“Sadist.”
The thought of a very hungover Connor Kikishkin skating up and down the ice, trying not to hurl … I’m tempted to go and collect Macklin myself.
“Parker’s fault,” Connor slurs.
I freeze.
“Oh, shut up,” East snaps.
“It is. I tried apologying. Didn’t work. Bet he doesn’t want one. Asshole.”
“Exactly what was your apology?” Knox asks, sounding amused.
“Don’t remember. But compy-compa-computers were his best friend because of me! He said that. Now, he’s a billionaire.”
Easton gasps. “Please tell me you didn’t tell Parker Duchene that he’s successful because of you? And somehow imply he should be grateful he was bullied?”
“Ah …”
Knox muffles a laugh.
“Not …” Connor tries again. “Not in those words.”
“For fuck’s sake.” East disappears from the mirror, and I lean in even further to make out that he’s crouched in front of Connor. “This is what I’m talking about. If it was me that did something so stupid, you’d lose your ever-loving mind. Why is it okay for you to act the way you do?”
Connor slumps right over onto the floor. “Yeah, yeah. I’m a shitty brother. The worst. Everyone hates me.”
He’s being immaturely melodramatic.
“For the last time, no one hates you,” Knox says.
“Don’t speak for me,” East cuts in. “I kinda hate him.”
I’m getting the feeling this is veering into personal territory, and it’s not something I want to overhear. So I take that as my cue to unlock the cubicle and step out where they can see me.
“Me too.”
Easton whirls around so fast he almost lands on his ass before pushing to his feet. “Mr. Duchene.” His eyes couldn’t get any wider.
Connor scoffs. “ Parker .”
It would be so easy to kick him while he’s down. Literally. Right in the thigh.
My eyes narrow, and Knox quickly steps in front of me. “Don’t listen to him. He … ate something funny.”
“Was it whiskey?”
“No … it was, uh?—”
Easton saves his boyfriend. “This weird fish thing he had at lunch. I told him not to eat it, but Connor’s disgusting.”
They all must think I’m an idiot if they assume I’ll buy that.
“For the love of God, get your brother’s head away from the urinal.”
That makes Connor sit up. “Do what I want.”
“This would be a good time to keep quiet,” Easton snaps.
Connor boos. “Now who’s telling who what to do?”
Easton turns his glare on Knox. “Shut your best friend up before I kill him. I’ll do it. I will.”
Even with that glare, the team owner right here, and his best friend drunk off his ass, Knox doesn’t look worried. “There are no weapons in here, so I think Con is safe.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” I say.
“Please, Mr. Duchene,” Easton tries. “My brother, he’s … going through some stuff at the moment. He’ll be fine by tomorrow. I promise.”
“I bought a winning team. I bought the Kiki brothers because I thought you’d be able to give me a winning team. This …” I wave a hand Connor’s way. “Does not look like a winner to me. ”
“Because I’m a loser.” Connor pouts. “I’m a big, egocentric loser, and nobody likes me.”
I’m not sure what look crosses my face, but it makes Knox laugh. All I know is that if this image of Connor erases all the others I have of him, I won’t be in danger of ever finding the guy intimidating again. “How much did he drink?”
Easton and Knox exchange glances.
And I … I realize this is it. This is my moment to actually ruin Connor. Fuck getting Macklin. I could easily cite his aggression toward me and then him getting blind drunk off his ass at a charity benefit as reasons to let him go. I could do it. Or hell, I could get Macklin and have him on his coach’s bad side for whoever knows how long? I could even take a photo and leak it to social media.
I could do so many fucking things to make Connor’s life hard, but I only stare at him. And he stares at me. And somehow, it makes a stupid lump form in my throat.
Revenge is supposed to make me feel good.
So why don’t I want it anymore?
“Do it,” Connor mutters. “Take away the one thing I have left.”
One thing?
I look at Easton, who’s glaring Connor’s way, and then to Knox, whose amusement is finally gone, and he just looks sad.
There’s something going on between these three.
“What does he mean?” I ask.
“Respectfully, Mr. Duchene,” Easton says, “that’s between me and my brother.”
Knox looks away.
It becomes very clear, very quickly, that the rumored rift between them isn’t as fixed as they’re leading people to believe. Is Connor pissed that his best friend is dating his brother?
I’d assumed he was loving that the two of them were together. That he and Knox could keep a closer eye on East this way .
But then all the little snipes Easton has been sending Connor’s way make sense.
Looks like I’m not the only one resenting Connor Kikishkin.
Easton shoves his hands in his pockets. “Look, if you’re going to do something, can you do it already? Get Coach, punish him, whatever. If you’re not, can you please go so I can get him out of here?”
My head is screaming at me to get revenge. That this is my moment. I’ll come out on top.
Instead, I cross to the basin, wash my hands, and ignore them all as I leave.
Then I go in search of Coach Macklin, buy him an expensive not-on-the-menu drink for his amazing work with the team, and ask him about his strategy for tomorrow night’s game.
Somehow, his back ends up facing the main doors.
Which is a total coincidence, of course.
Because I’m definitely not feeling the teeniest, tiniest bit sorry for Connor Kikishkin.
No way in hell.