Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
T here were two things I was sure of in life. One, I kicked ass at hockey and two, Jackson Rae was a fucking idiot. He has been letting his sister self-destruct for far too long. I have had to sit here and watch her ruin every good thing about herself while he half-assed attempts to make her stop. That’s the difference between Jackson and me. He doesn’t know how to take what he wants. I always get what I want. I take it and I don’t give a rat’s ass about who I hurt. It’s why I am ruthless on the ice. Broke your collarbone from my hit to the boards? Sucks to suck. Fucked your girlfriend on your bed? Should’ve paid more attention to her, bro. Life is boring if you are constantly waiting for someone else to give you what you want. Jackson is a perpetual waiter. Even his previous hockey captaincy was given to him, not earned. I’m not saying he should use the same methods as me, but at some point, he needs to follow through and step up in life. It’s why I’m done sitting on the sideline for Maci.
If she was mine, I would chain her to my bed until she was dry and begging me to fuck her. I’d bring her to the brink of orgasm repeatedly until she knocked this shit off, and only then would I let her topple over the edge. I’m going to own her body, mind, and soul, and she would never bother with this nonsense again.
Maci used to be somebody. A somebody who was unforgettable. The kind that could skate circles around the men’s team and still be humble about it. Somebody who didn’t tell anybody that she ran the town’s soup kitchen. Who was fierce and confident in who she was without regrets. She was perfect, and now she was a fraction of who she used to be. The only reason she wasn’t kicked out of the University yet is because I keep tampering with her grades. It’s amazing what can be done with a computer. Not only was I able to hack the testing software the school used, but I had enough blackmail on her professors to make sure she maintained a passing average. The only courses I didn’t need to interfere with were her painting classes.
Some nights, I spent hours watching her paint. Not that she knew I was watching. I rigged her apartment with small cameras at the start of the semester. My obsession with her safety demanded it. It was so easy to do too. I tagged along with Jackson to pick her up for dinner one evening. A simple request to use her bathroom while they waited in the car gave me open-access to her apartment. I told myself I watched to make sure she didn’t choke on her own vomit from the amount of tequila she liked to consume. The reality was much darker. I liked watching her without her knowing. The thought of my eyes being the sole witness to her most intimate moments made my cock throb.
Most nights, I witnessed her take all that pent-up anger and melancholy on a canvas. If you looked closely, you could see flecks of color on the walls and accompanying furniture. She shoved the couch and end tables against the wall to allow for one large canvas to take up the center of the room. She’d been working on it over the last few weeks.
Every once in a while, she would get angry and throw an entire can of paint at it, only to restart with the focal point. She didn’t discriminate against which color she threw at the canvas; taking whatever was closest to her in her fit of rage. The result was a background that appeared to be a few inches thick in varying shades of color. The most prominent being red and black in long vertical streaks. It looked like it was raining blood.
Tonight, only the background stared back at me while I waited for her to arrive. I left The Pub at the same time Jackson hauled her out. I would have been content with letting the rookies handle it so I could blow off some steam. Shockingly, Jackson did something for once. But I know it was because I was the one to intervene. He always needed pushing.
Maci and Jackson entered and were in the middle of a heated argument. I clicked the audio icon on my screen, letting their conversation fill my bedroom. Maci was flinging her arms around. I chuckled. She always turned into an animated conversationalist when she began drinking. Once upon a time, she was bubbly and enthusiastic. Those big hand motions would result from her discussing something she loved. Usually her hatred for the Pittsburgh Penguins and Sydney Crosby. Now, it was malice that fueled her.
“Leave it alone!” She yelled.
Jackson stalked towards her. His face had turned an ugly shade of red. I had missed something on their walk home.
“You need to knock this shit off, I mean it! I’ll commit you if I have to!”
That was bold of him. I wouldn’t allow that, though. We don’t need her pumped full of drugs and locked away in a padded room. She needs someone to cut off her alcohol supply and remind her who she is.
I can handle that just fine, Jax. No need to bring in outsiders .
I rubbed my chin as they continued to fight.
“You wouldn’t dare. You wouldn’t risk your precious NHL career by creating any more negative drama associated with your name.”
Jackson shook his head, “I don’t give a shit about what some idiots in the draft think about my family. They already know it’s fucked!”
“By me, right? I fucked it all up, as usual. Maci made me miss out on junior leagues, Maci can skate faster than me, Maci is why I didn’t go to Notre Dame, and Maci killed Dad. Right? That’s what you’ve been dying to say?!” She shoved him in the chest and continued, “Just fucking own up to it for once! I fucked up your life the second I came catapulting into the world behind you.” She sneered.
Jackson stared at her. His eyes looked glazed, and I could see the tension in his shoulders.
“Maci, that’s not the truth. That’s the Jack Daniels talking.” I raised my eyebrows at his diplomacy. Maci was right, though. He had been harboring some serious feelings about her involvement in the accident. No one knew what happened besides her, and it kept Jackson up at night.
“Why do you always have to be nice about this? Why can’t you just be honest for fucking once?” Her chest heaved with emotion.
Jackson rubbed the ridge of his nose as he considered his next words, “Maci, I just want you to be happy,”
“No Jax, you want to pretend nothing ever happened. You want to bury your head in the sand and pretend that you aren’t just as broken as me. Perfect golden boy, Jax. BU’s star center Jackson Rae, oh look folks! He’s overcome so much!” She swung her hands out wide and Jackson shook his head.
“That liquid courage is something huh?” He sneered. I could see his anger and aggression escalating. After playing with Jackson for so long, I knew his tells. The way he was fisting his hands while his ears turned pink told me Maci was riling him up. Jackson wasn’t one to snap, though. It added to the reasoning behind him being captain-he was level-headed and cool.
“What do you want from me? I can’t be like you! I am fucked up! You didn’t hear the screams I did that night. You didn’t see the amount of blood?—”
“Fucking stop it Maci!” Jackson roared, covering his ears. He paced.
“Jax, I fucked up, okay?. He died because of me. We were arguing and I—there was just so much blood. I saw him die. It’s all my fault.”
Jesus Christ…the rumors were true.
“I killed Dad.” Maci was a blubbering mess who wouldn’t relent. She continued trying to pour her soul out to Jackson with details about that night. She was manic.
Jackson held his breath and did the unthinkable. He slapped her. The resounding crack echoed throughout her living room. Maci’s entire head had moved to the side with the power of it and she abruptly stopped talking. I stood up, rage coursing through my veins. No one touches Maci but me.. No, this was over the line.
I looked back at the camera to see that Jackson had left. Maci stood stock-still, her palm cradling the cheek he had hit. I could see the pink tinge that blossomed underneath. Her eyes welled with more tears. This was the last thing she needed. I thought about intervening, but it would give away my hobby. For now, I closed the laptop and scrubbed my eyes. My cell phone rang, and I looked down at Jackson’s face that filled the screen. I took a deep breath before answering, remembering to quell my rage so that he wouldn’t suspect anything being off with me.
I swiped up to answer and placed the screen to my ear. “What’s up buddy?” I said as casually as possible.
“I fucked up,” Jackson was gasping, almost as if he was on the verge of a panic attack .
“What do you mean?” I asked, my tone as false as a girl’s eyelashes.
Jackson took a few minutes to respond. I couldn’t figure out if he was hyperventilating or crying. Maybe both.
“I cracked. She just wouldn’t relent. The constant badgering, the pushing. I—I hit her man.”
Silence filled between us. I wanted to tell him to fuck off and to step back and let me handle things. That wouldn’t be the best friend response, though.
Jackson gasped a few more times, the wet sound of his breathing filling the receiver.
“My dad would hate me,” he croaked.
He sure as shit would. I practically hate him. But, I can’t tell him that.
“No Jack, you know that’s not true. She’s not in the right mindset. Wake the fuck up and smell the coffee already.”
I spent the next half hour arguing with Jackson. Every time he tried to spew out self-deprecating shit, I threw it right back at him. It was a never-ending circle. Eventually, I convinced him to go to bed. He could work everything out with her in the morning. I knew she would accept his apology without hesitation
One thing crystalized for me tonight. Whatever happened in that car, Maci thought she deserved punishment. I knew it was why she treated herself the way she did. She felt the need to hurt herself as penance for what her dad’s death cost everyone else. The real shitty thing? She lost him too and no one let her grieve it, instead; they were content with letting her never forget it. Which was a damn shame.