Chapter 43
HAILEY
Reflexively, I hid myself behind a column just by the alcove, shielding myself from their detection.
His father was tall and imposing in a tailored suit that probably cost more than my tuition, while his mother was the epitome of cold elegance, her blonde hair swept into a perfect chignon.
The family resemblance was striking—Lively had clearly inherited his father’s height and build, his mother’s coloring—but where their expressions were hard and unyielding, I’d only ever known his to be warm.
Until recently, anyway.
“I’ve made my decision,” Lively said, his voice low but firm. “I’m staying with hockey. This is the last time I want to talk about this.”
His father’s laugh was devoid of humor. Hearing it literally made my skin crawl.
Even from where I was standing, I could sense the malice from the man.
He exuded a quiet, suffocating authority that seemed to shrink the space around him, and his smile never quite reached his eyes either, and I immediately wanted to run away.
Made me wonder how the hell he worked as a doctor at all.
The careful way he positioned himself—slightly invading Lively's space without actually touching him—spoke of a practiced intimidation, the kind that left no visible bruises but hollowed you from the inside out.
“This childish rebellion has gone on long enough. The medical school application is already filled out. All you need to do is sign it.” He said, and I sucked in a sharp, silent breath, my eyes flying wide.
“I'm not signing anything.” Lively said, his words coming out in a drawl that was a complete contradiction to the rigid line of his body.
It sounded a lot like the charming, easygoing way he used with me when he was trying to get under my skin and, hearing him use that tone now, in this situation, only made me realize just how much of a mask Lively Summers really hid behind.
And yet, he always seems to drop that mask around you. But, did he? I knew the answer to that, though, that night at Blackwater Bay coming to the forefront of my mind. And I realized just how naked he’d let himself be, with me, that night.
Only for me to turn around and throw it all back in his face. God, I was such an asshole, wasn’t I?
“You’re wasting your potential on a game,” his mother cut in, each word precise as a scalpel. “Do you really think you can build a future chasing a puck around? The NHL is a pipe dream, and you know it.”
I watched as Lively's hands clenched into fists at his sides, the only visible sign of the emotion roiling beneath his carefully controlled surface. “It's my dream. Not yours.”
“Your dream ?” His father's voice dripped with contempt. “Well it’s time to wake up, son. The Summers name has been synonymous with medical excellence for three generations. You think we built all this just to watch you throw it away ?”
“I never asked for any of this.” He said, his tone still casual, but I could hear an edge creeping in now.
“We gave you everything you wanted growing up, you ungrateful child,” his mother cut in. “You lacked for nothing. And now that it is time for you to pay it all back, you think you can just turn your back on us for a fool’s dream?”
“God damn it, Mom!” Lively snapped, his tone sharp and devoid of that easygoing lilt. “How long are you people going to keep dragging this over my head? We’ve talked about this for years ! And my answer has always been no! When are you both going to drop this?”
“When you come to your senses and obey your father.” His mother said, and I flinched at the coolness of her tone. There was barely any warmth in it for him.
No, instead, she spoke with a control that was much more subtle, her eyes clinically dissecting her son’s resistance with the detached interest of someone examining a disappointing specimen.
The subtle tightening around her mouth betrayed a poison that needed no raised voice to deliver.
She was the type of predator that didn't need to chase—she simply waited for exhaustion to set in, for resistance to crumble under the weight of relentless, quiet pressure.
It was absolutely blood chilling to witness. I couldn’t even turn my head away from the absolute horror flick playing before my eyes. How was this his life? How could he come back to school and flash those goofy smiles when this was the type of thing he had to face at every turn?
Oh, his parents were beautiful people. Successful people, even.
But they were monsters. Worse than monsters, even.
I found myself comparing them to the hell that had been my own biological parents and realizing that they weren’t all that different.
No, Lively’s parents were just a more sophisticated breed of that evil.
“Listen to me very carefully, you ungrateful brat,” his father stepped closer, lowering his voice to a menacing whisper that I could barely hear.
“You either drop this hockey nonsense and apply to medical school as planned, or we’ll make sure your precious team loses its funding next season. Don’t think we won’t do it.”
My breath caught in my throat and, just like that, a surge of anger rose like a tidal wave inside my chest. The naked manipulation, the callous disregard for what Lively wanted—all of it made my blood boil .
“And if you continue down this path,” his father added, “you can forget about any financial support from us, as well. I think we’ve humored you enough. The trust fund, the apartment, your car—all of it contingent on you coming to your senses.”
In that moment, I could understand the things about him that hadn’t made sense to me; about why he volunteered, about why he got those shadows in his eyes whenever he spoke about the hospital or his parents.
And the realization made me feel smaller than I'd ever felt in my life.
Here I was, someone who prided herself on seeing through bullshit, on reading people, and I'd been completely blind to who he actually was. I’d constructed this entire image of him in my head—as this shallow, privileged, and entitled bully —without ever bothering to look deeper, even when he was showing it to me, begging me to see .
The shame was suffocating, pressing down on my chest like a physical weight.
Because it wasn't just that I hadn’t known.
It was that I hadn’t cared to know. I’d been so busy protecting myself, so determined to keep him at arm's length, that I’d treated him like he was disposable.
Like his thoughts and feelings and experiences didn't matter enough to warrant my attention.
I was moving before I even knew what I was doing, stepping out from behind the column I’d been hiding behind.
“Excuse me,” I said, my voice cutting through their conversation like a blade.
All three of them turned, surprise flickering across their faces. Lively’s eyes went wide, his face pale with something that looked like horror. As if I was the last person on earth he wanted to witness this moment.
“Hailey,” he started, his voice tight with barely restrained panic, “what are you—”
But the dam had broken. Fury , white-hot and unstoppable, blazed through me like wildfire, scorching every rational thought to ash. My blood roared in my ears, drowning out the elegant chamber music, the polite party chatter, everything except the raw hatred pulsing through my veins.
“Are you seriously threatening to pull your son's team funding just to control him? What kind of parents do that?” The words exploded from my throat like shrapnel.
His mother’s eyes narrowed to diamond-hard slits, her perfectly made-up face hardening into something reptilian. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. And I don’t believe this is any of your concern.”
“I don’t give a shit what you believe,” I said and she flinched, before her brows lowered over her eyes.
“When it’s pure bullshit. Do you even know how talented your son is?
The Rink Runners have won the NCAA Championships twice —not because of luck, but because he's a leader who works harder than anyone I know.”
I didn’t even know where all the words were coming from, or that they were something that’d been inside of me all this time, but now that they were coming out of my mouth, I found that I believed every single one of them.
I might have hated him, but even I couldn’t deny that he was a damn good athlete.
His father’s face darkened, a storm gathering in features that looked a little too similar to Lively’s that it was unsettling. “You have no idea what you’re talking about—”
“Oh, I know exactly what I'm talking about.” My voice was rising now, drawing glances from nearby guests, their cocktails pausing halfway to their lips. “I’ve watched him play for years .” The admission burned my throat like acid.
I’d never have admitted it to him on the pain of death in normal circumstances, but these were not normal circumstances.
“Hailey, stop—” Lively's fingers closed around my arm, warm and urgent, but I was beyond stopping. Beyond reason, even. I honestly didn’t know where the zest came from, but I wasn’t going to put a cap on it now.
“You’re supposed to support your children, not blackmail them into becoming your puppets!
” The words exploded from me, loud enough that the string quartet faltered, heads turning throughout the ballroom.
“What kind of doctors are you? Do you treat your patients with this same level of compassion?” My voice cracked, breaking under the weight of my rage.
“If so, then I’m deeply concerned about the patients of this hospital. ”