Chapter 21
She drops my jersey to the floor like it means nothing. Like we meant nothing.
"I hope being alone is everything you think you deserve."
The words hit harder than any punch. I watch her walk away, spine straight and head high, looking every inch the senator's daughter I have no right to love.
"Hate to see her go, but I like to watch her leave." A voice sneers from behind me – one of the Providence players I'd fought earlier. "That ass of hers." He blows a whistle.
Something snaps.
I turn and hit him before he can blink, feeling cartilage crunch under my knuckles. He goes down hard but I follow, rage and whiskey and self-hatred fueling each punch.
"Knox!" Harvey's voice seems far away. "Cops are coming. You need to go!"
Sirens pierce the night. Someone pulls me off the Providence player, and suddenly I'm running – through the bar's back door, down alleys, muscle memory from years of fighting and running from cops guiding my feet.
I don't stop until I reach my truck, parked blocks away. Blood drips from my knuckles onto the steering wheel. Some of it might be mine. Some of it probably isn’t.
My phone has seventeen missed calls. Three from my dad, the rest from teammates. Dozens of texts I don't want to read from my dad.
Home. I need to go home.
But "home" hasn't meant my house for months now. Home is Kennedy curled up on my couch, stealing my hoodies and teaching me about campaign politics. Home is her laugh during team dinners, her perfume on my pillow, her voice saying she loves me exactly as I am.
I go to my place anyway.
Ace is waiting, and I’ll be damned.
"You stupid fuck." He stands from my couch as I enter the door, Grey hovering nearby like he expects violence. "You fucking piece of shit."
"Not now, man."
"Yes now." Ace steps closer, hands already fisted. "You made my sister cry. In public. While starting bar fights that could tank your draft chances. So yeah, we're doing this now."
"I did her a favor." The words taste like blood. "She deserves better than—"
His fist connects with my jaw, snapping my head back. I let him hit me again. And again. Let him tackle me to the floor and rain down punches that hurt less than Kennedy's goodbye.
"Enough!" Grey pulls him off eventually. "He's not even fighting back!"
"Because he knows he deserves it!" Ace struggles against Grey's grip. "Knows he's a coward who pushed away the best thing in his life because he's a fucking pussy!"
"You don't understand." I push up to a sitting position, spitting blood.
"Then explain it!" Ace breaks free, hauling me up by my shirt. "Explain why you'd rather destroy everything than admit you love her!"
"BECAUSE I'LL RUIN HER!" The words tear from my throat. "Look at me. Is this who you want for your fucking sister? I’m a piece of shit, just like you said. She’ll fucking leave anyway, bro. Because she deserves someone whole, not someone who—" My voice cracks.
"Who what?" Ace shakes me. "Who’s my best fucking friend? Who sticks up for the ones he loves? The Knox I know is a hard ass that likes a good fucking fight, but he also has a good fucking heart," He jabs my chest, "cracks a good joke, has a good fucking time. You’re simple, man. And my sister, I don’t know why, is fucking head over heels for you, man. And I told you before this all started: I said that’s my fucking sister, and if you fuck it up, I’m fucking killing you.
But no, I’ll let you live. Instead, we can’t be fucking friends. "
"Yeah," I nod. "Add another one to the pile. Knew you wouldn’t fucking stick around for long either."
Ace snarls, "Fuck you, dude. You have some serious fucking issues."
I shake my head, turning to leave.
Ace says, "I know what started all this bullshit. Your dad showing up at the game tonight? I thought you were better than him but look at you. Drunk. Fighting. Throwing away your future. Fucking things up with people who you claim to love."
I turn back around, clenching my jaw, meeting his nose with mine. Grey puts a hand between us.
"You wanna keep going, Ace? Huh?" I taunt him, pushing my nose against his.
"You wanna keep fucking acting like him, Knox? Hmm?"
“Fuck you,” I spit.
He pushes me. “Back the fuck up, Knox. You wanna run around and act like a piece of shit? Guess what? I’m fucking done. My family was right about you.”
My fist connects with his face before I realize what I’m doing. He holds his cheek as I glare at him. Pain is radiating in my fist as I wait for what’s coming next.
Ace grabs his cheek and says, "Move out. We’re fucking done here."
I turn on my heel and head to my bedroom. I grab whatever I can fit in my gym bag, trying not to look at the evidence of Kennedy everywhere – her textbooks on my desk, her favorite blanket on my bed, a half-empty bottle of her shampoo in my shower.
When I’m heading to the door, Ace says, "You were never good enough for her. Stay the fuck away from her, and I mean it."
"Not a problem."
My phone buzzes when I reach my truck.
Dad: Need money. Now. Or I tell everyone about Christmas 2019. About what you helped cover up.
I delete it without responding. His threats feel hollow now – what's one more scandal when I've already lost everything that matters?
The truck is cold but familiar. I've slept in it before, back when Dad's rages got too bad and mom was...
No.
But the memory comes anyway, brutal and unwanted.
I'm sixteen. Dad passed out on the couch, empty bottles everywhere. Nothing unusual.
Except mom's closet is empty.
Except there's a note on my pillow.
Except she left me here with him.
"She'll come back," Dad says when he wakes up. "They always come back."
But she didn't. She never did. And something in me learns: people leave. People break. Love isn't enough to save anyone.
I slam my fist into the steering wheel, then again, and again until pain shoots up my arm. The physical hurt is better than remembering. Better than thinking about Kennedy's face when I pushed her away. Better than admitting Ace is right.
My phone lights up with notifications. Not my father this time – Grey is sending me the news.
SENATOR'S DAUGHTER IN BAR FIGHT DRAMA
NHL PROSPECT'S VIOLENT MELTDOWN
The photos are everywhere. Kennedy reaching for me while I bleed and rage. Kennedy walking away while I self-destruct. Kennedy looking so strong and broken at the same time.
I throw my phone into the passenger seat and try to sleep. But every time I close my eyes, I see her – in my jersey at games, in bed at the beach house, in my heart where I never meant to let her stay.
Morning brings more consequences.
My head is throbbing. My face is fucked with bruises. My knuckles…won’t even go there.
Practice is a disaster. Ace is going extra hard on me. I'm slow, unfocused, missing passes I could make in my sleep. Coach pulls me aside.
"Last night at Murphys? You’re lucky you’re not sitting in a jail cell right now! Whatever's going on with you and the senator's daughter," he says carefully, "Fix it. Scouts are noticing."
As if on cue, Wilson appears.
"Thompson." His usual friendly tone is gone. "We need to talk about last night."
The talk is short, brutal. Words like "liability" and "character concerns" and "draft stock falling" wash over me like ice water.
"Fix this," Wilson says finally. "The combine is in four days. Show us you can handle pressure better than bar fights and public meltdowns."
But how do I fix any of it?
How do I explain to scouts that I'm not violent, I'm protective?
How do I tell Kennedy that I pushed her away because I love her too much to risk breaking her?
How do I admit that everyone was right – I'm a coward running away – that the pain of my mother leaving me is fucking up my entire life?
My phone buzzes. A text from Grey.
Grey: She's not eating. Ace says she's throwing herself into campaign stuff being the perfect daughter again. This what you wanted?
No. God no. I wanted her safe. Wanted her free from my damage. Wanted her to have everything she deserves.
Instead, I made her small again. Made her doubt herself. Made her think my fears were her fault.
Some things are better left unfixed, my father's voice whispers in my head.
But Kennedy's voice is louder: You don't get to make me feel stupid for loving you.
The combine looms like a death sentence. Four days to prove I'm more than violence and poor decisions. Four days to show scouts I'm worth the risk.
Four days to get my fucking shit together.
Grey sends me another news alert. I glance at him leaving the locker room. He’s playing it cool, not looking at me.
SENATOR WALTERS RELEASES STATEMENT: DAUGHTER FOCUSING ON STUDIES, ENDING RELATIONSHIP WITH TROUBLED HOCKEY PLAYER
It's official.
She's done.
Maybe this is what I deserve – watching her become small and perfect again. Watching my dreams crumble because I was too scared to be loved. Watching everything fall apart because I couldn't trust myself.
Just like my father.
Just like I always feared.
Just like—
No.
I grab my phone, pulling up Kennedy's number before I can think better of it. My finger hovers over the call button.
Fix this, Wilson said.
You're nothing like him, she said.
I hope being alone is everything you think you deserve.
Four days until the combine.
Four days to prove them all wrong.
Four days to become someone worthy.
If it's not too late.
If she'll answer.
If I can finally be brave enough to choose love over fear.
I hit call.
It goes straight to voicemail.
Chapter 21
I lay Knox's things out on my bed like a post-mortem of our relationship.
Three hoodies, stolen over months of pretending.
A worn Gatsby paperback with his notes in the margins.
My favorite photo of us at team dinner, his smile real and unguarded.
A half-empty bottle of his cologne that I definitely didn't spray on my pillow last night.
Ace stands in my doorway, looking uncertain. "I am throwing it in his room because fuck him."