9. PARKER
NINE
PARKER
The fact that Connor thinks this is what nice looks like is telling. I’m doing the very bare minimum here, and he’s acting like I’ve had a lobotomy.
But I’m trying , damn it. The bitterness still clings to me like a glove, but where I thought revenge might make me feel better, it’s only made my life worse, so I might as well change tack. The realization last night that Dad wouldn’t be happy with how I’m acting really hurt, and I’m tired of hurting. I’m tired of being alone and trying to fight for myself in a world that doesn’t give a shit.
So Connor can win.
Maybe if I accept that, things will finally be easier.
He’s heavy on his feet as we enter the expansive suite, the huge size constantly reminding me I have no one to share it with.
“Wow.” He goes straight to the fridge and helps himself to a bottle of water. “This is … compensating for something?” He gives me a cheeky look I’m sure is supposed to make me weak at the knees, but I remind myself to ignore it. Which is a lot harder to do with the blood rushing to my cheeks.
I hold my teeth together so tightly I’m going to end up with a headache later and then head out into the seating area. I sit in the very middle of the front row like I do every game. Rows and rows of empty chairs stretch out either side of me, and I sit here and watch as the crowd starts to file in. I almost forget about Connor completely until he takes the seat right on the end of this row.
He could have sat anywhere, but he had to pick a spot in my periphery, so now I have that anxious pressure to say something to him with no idea what words to use. He might be feeling the same way, but knowing him, he’s probably as comfortable and relaxed here as he is anywhere. The arena is his stage and all that.
I cross my arms and lean back, trying to show that I’m as relaxed as he is while being very much not as relaxed as he is. This was a stupid idea. In an attempt to not be a dick and rethink how I was behaving, I’ve massively over-swung it.
Connor slides down in his chair. “Why are there so many lights?”
“Wait until the pregame festivities begin and they all start flashing.”
His pathetic sob makes me look his way. His elbow is propped on the armrest, hand cradling his forehead as he looks my way. “I thought you weren’t going to be mean anymore.”
“Stating a fact isn’t mean.” Like giving him basic common decency isn’t nice. “But it’s going to take practice. You’re really underestimating how much I want to hate you.”
“Get in line,” he says dryly.
I glance over again, and this time, he doesn’t look ready to hurl, but his bloodshot eyes are watching me, like he’s daring me to ask why.
It’s not my business, but I can’t say I’m not curious, especially after last night. Plus, if he’s talking, it means I don’t have to.
“Who else hates you?”
He looks away and mumbles, “Everyone. ”
Really informative.
He continues, words falling from his mouth rapidly like he can’t stop himself. “Apparently, I ruin people’s lives. Yours, Lachie’s, Easton’s, Knox’s—even though he’s too loyal to actually say the words. The real kicker is that my parents are the ones who raised me to look out for my brothers, and now they’re backtracking on that really fast. Oh, we meant make sure they’re not walking into alleyways that have homophobes lurking . That’s not what they said. Between the long hours and the stressful time off to watch us play, it was always thank God for you, Connor , and your brothers are so lucky to have you, Connor , and on and on about how they can rely on me and how I’m doing such a great job. And now that they have the time to be parents again, suddenly, I’m overstepping, and it’s my fault my brothers resent me.”
And I thought I had issues.
That sounds like a lot to be dealing with, but there’s no way his brothers hate him. They’re his family. And he’s … Connor Kikishkin. He has an entire team at his back. An unshakable best friend. Those three brothers would kill for each other. “Why are you telling me all this?”
“Dunno.” He kicks the barrier in front of himself. “Maybe so you don’t feel special in hating me.”
“Believe me, there’s no danger in that. I don’t think I’ve felt special a day in my life.”
“Not even when you sold your software for a cool twenty B?”
“Especially not then.” The ache behind my sternum increases, and I utter words I’ve never spoken out loud. “I didn’t want to sell it.”
“What? Then why did you? Was it like a push-out kind of thing?”
“It was a my dad’s dying, and I need to free up all of my finances to save him kind of thing. ”
He’s obviously not expecting that, if the way his mouth drops is any indication. “Damn … Is … is he okay now?”
My hands are shaking. “I didn’t sell fast enough.”
I pointedly don’t look at him because seeing sympathy from someone like him might kill me.
He shifts a few seats closer. “I’m so sorry.”
“You didn’t kill him.”
“No …” Connor takes a deep breath. “I’m really, actually sorry.”
Something about his tone catches my attention.
“For … everything. No excuses.” He screws his face up. “Talking to you and then hearing all those people recount their horror stories of high school. That’s why I drank so much.”
“You felt guilty?”
“I should have said something. Put a stop to it.”
I give him the driest look I can manage. “You, Mr. Hockey Star, really think you would have stood up for the scrawny kid who talked about coding and had serious skin issues?”
His face falls. “No, I don’t think I would have. I didn’t even know it was going on half of the time.”
“That’s very privileged of you.”
“Yeah … I guess. And I know you probably want more from me, and if I have to get on the floor and grovel, fine, but this is as genuine as it gets. I fucked up. I should have done better, and even if it wasn’t directly from me, not standing up for you was me supporting it anyway. I’m sorry I didn’t listen when you tried to tell me that, but I think … I don’t want to be a bad person. It’s taking me a minute to realize that I am.”
I’m hit with the most overwhelming urge to cry. I keep my shit together, but it’s there. This … I don’t know? Relief? It catches me so off guard I have to look back out at the ice again. All my life, I thought if I could just get an apology, everything would be better, but I’m not sure how things can be better when the other person is hurting. Not that I should care. But I do .
Still, getting an apology at all proves that maybe Connor really does want to be the good guy he says he does.
When I’ve got myself together enough to face him again, he’s only a few seats away. “Thank you.”
His smile is part grimace, but it still counts.
I’m tempted to tell him that I bought the team to be closer to Dad because he used to play, that he thought Connor and Easton were going to get Colorado the Cup, and he couldn’t wait to see it. But while I might not be on his list of haters anymore, we’re not friends, and those aren’t even thoughts I’ve shared with my mom. The one and only person I have to talk to.
“This place would be awesome for a party,” Connor says out of nowhere.
“Sure. I’ll invite all of my zero friends to come.”
He makes a pfft noise. “There’s no way I believe you don’t have friends.”
“Okay.”
“You’re a billionaire.”
“And?”
“Fucking buy some.”
This is another one of those moments where I want to snap at him, but this is the closest I’ve felt to another person in a long time, and isn’t that all kinds of fucked-up? “Call me screwed in the head, but I’d sort of like to know what a real friend feels like one day.” Maybe I could have had one in college, but by that point, I was way too closed off to bother trying. At work, I kept a professional distance. And now, here I am.
“Does it make you feel better to know that I don’t have any either?”
“No, because as dramatic as you’re being, Knox and Easton were still there when you needed them. No matter what they think of you. Your parents showed up last night with no notice. You pulled a date out of thin air, even if she didn’t look exactly thrilled by you.” I sigh. “You have friends. You’re clearly … going through something.”
“You can say that again.” His face contorts like he’s about to vomit, but he pulls himself together. “Is it possible to have a midlife crisis in your twenties?”
“My entire life has been one big crisis, so what would I know?”
“I think I’m lost.”
I cross my arms even tighter. The players have just taken the ice for warm-ups, and Connor is watching them with regret. “Why are you telling me this?”
“I dunno. Maybe because I don’t have a single other person I can talk to. You opened up to me, so I’m trying to be real here. Knox is biased now he’s dating East, and Lachie’s going through that stage where he doesn’t care about much except hockey and reaching the legal drinking age.”
“So he can take after your drunken footsteps?”
Connor scrubs at his face. “That’s what I used to think. That my brothers loved me and wanted to be like me.”
“Shocking for you.”
“Fuck off, Parker.”
His constant audacity, I swear. “I’m the team owner, we’re in my box, and you still can’t show me the slightest bit of respect?” I’m not angry. It’s … good to know.
“Trust me when I say that calling you Mr. Duchene is never going to be said with respect.” His hangover at least seems to be lessening its hold because Connor looks mad. “You know what, don’t worry. Everyone else expects me to bottle it up, and I think I’m stroking out to assume you’d be different.”
“Fine. Talk.”
He lets out a hollow laugh. “No way, man. You’ll probably find a way to use it against me down the line.”
“You’re such a baby. I might not have said it explicitly, but I accept your apology. Spill your damn heart out to me for all I care. No one else is here, and after tomorrow, my grudge will be gone, you’ll be back to focusing on hockey, and neither of us will have to acknowledge each other again.”
“Really?”
It kills me that he so easily wants to forget about my existence, but this is reality. “Really. So get out whatever you need to.”
“I don’t even know where to start.”
“Fine … why do you feel lost?”
“I’ve had this image of myself for so long. I’m the levelheaded brother, the protector, the bruiser, because I thought that was my role. Now that I’ve been told they’re my worst features, I’m beginning to question if I was born that way or if it was taught. How much of it is real? Do I like playing hockey, or do I only think I do because my dad pushed all three of us kids into it? Are hot dogs really my favorite food, or is it because Mom and Dad said they’re all I would eat as a child? Am I really commitment-phobic, or is it that I haven’t had time for a relationship? And if I want a relationship now, who is my type? Nearly all the WAGs are blonde bombshells. Do I like blondes? Or am I more of a brunette kind of guy? I know nothing about myself.”
“Maybe you’re not into women at all?”
It’s a stupid throwaway comment that makes Connor stiffen.
“I’m straight.”
“Not my point.” I try again. “I’m just saying, maybe none of those things are true, and maybe they all are. Instead of clinging to being this guy who jumps to assumptions and throws people up against walls, why don’t you let it all go? Start over.”
“Start over?”
“Yeah. Figure out who you are.”
He props his elbow on the armrest and leans his head into it again, but this time, it’s the side closest to me. He’s three seats away, and those three seats feel minuscule, considering he’s looking me right in the eyes and we’re talking. Actually talking.
“And if it turns out I’m every bit the possessive guy who acts first and thinks later?”
The image of us in the locker room flips so that I’m in East’s position and Connor is pulling someone off me in a possessive, jealous rage. It’s a struggle to keep my voice even when I say, “Then you have to find someone who’ll appreciate being possessed. And some people really, really like it.”