Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
JESSIE
Jon
Since all you lazy bastards don’t have any games this week, how about you come watch a master coach at work?
Jensen
Oh, look, Princess—a stampede of responses.
Kate
I’m not getting involved.
Zach
Didn’t see you complaining when you had bye weeks. In fact, I clearly recall you running off for extended weekends away.
Pausing in the freezer aisle of the grocery store, I quickly type out a message.
Me
When is the game?
Jon
Finally, a mature response.
Felicity
Look who’s talking …
Jon
Jessie—I’m talking exclusively to you at this point—the game is this Thursday night. I can get as many tickets as you need.
Since I only plan to spend three nights in Dallas—which is three nights longer than I want—I figure, why not?
Me
Okay, I’m in.
Jensen
Kate has the twins, so count me in too. She’s being a star and giving me a night off. I think it’s time I saw your prodigy play in the flesh.
Kate
Wife points.
Felicity
You won’t be disappointed; my son is killing it in the NCAA.
Jon
Yeah, he is, Angel. Joint top goal scorer right now.
Memories of my time playing in college come racing back. Well, the memories I have anyway. Those three years looked a lot like Jon’s rookie years in the NHL—drinking too much, fighting, and, yeah, being the resident playboy. Don’t ask me how many girls I fucked before pretty much kicking them out once I was done. I’m not proud of my behavior. They knew what they were getting with me—that I wasn’t in it for a relationship. I had a contact list in my phone longer than the receipt for this grocery shop will be. Difference is, Jon actually cared about his career, and he didn’t start fights in the locker room. It’s safe to say I was a dick at college.
Jon
Are you coming, Captain?
Zach
If I do, will you promise to shut up about attending our wedding?
Jon
I’m still not over the fact that you want to have it alone. Without us. Without my skills at your disposal.
Zach
There’s literally going to be three of us plus an officiant. How much planning does it need?
Jon
You underestimate the little details that can take your day from good to spectacular.
Zach
Okay, I’m not going to the game. Count me out.
Me
Jack’s a winger, like me, right?
Jon
Might be even faster than you. Need to watch your back when he breaks into the NHL.
Me
He’s that good?
Jon
Yep, but don’t tell him I said that. Cocky little shit gives me enough back talk already.
Felicity
You gotta admit though, he was right about that power play last week. You made the wrong call.
Zach
Changed my mind. Count me in.
Jon
Fucker.
Kate
Okay, I’m off to stare at a wall. Jon, you need three extra tickets.
Luna
And to listen to Jack more often.
Zach
Bahahaha. That’s my Rocket Girl.
As I push the cart of groceries through the empty aisle, I close out the group chat but pause when I see another message from Mia.
S
How’s home? It’s freezing here.
Me
You need to get that heating figured out in your dorm. If it’s any colder than when I was last there, it’s practically freezing. I could see my own breath at one point.
S
Tara has already complained about it, but it’s an old building. They said we need to get additional heaters if we’re that cold.
Me
You should definitely do that. It’s not healthy to sleep in the freezing cold.
I should know .
S
Yeah, I know. I’ll buy a couple of storage heaters when my next paycheck comes in.
Me
Which is?
S
Week or so.
Right before I reach the counter, I stop and open up my browser, buying a half-dozen top-of-the-line storage heaters, then set them for next-day delivery to her dorm building.
Me
Use the extra blankets you have and complain to the maintenance team again. They need to check the furnace.
S
Okay. When will you be back?
Me
Three nights here, and I’ll be back on Monday night.
I want to tag on can I see you? to my message, but I resist.
S
Okay. Be safe.
When I walk back into the house with three hundred dollars’ worth of groceries, Mom is exactly where I left her—on the couch, scrolling through TV channels.
I carry the bags through to the kitchen and begin restocking the cupboards. “See you got a new TV,” I shout over my shoulder.
Mom hums in acknowledgment. “Wayne got it a couple of weeks ago.”
“What happened to the old one?”
Silence.
No money for food or supplies, but plenty to go on a state-of-the-art flat screen. Figures.
“What happened to the TV, Mom?” I push, turning back in Mom’s direction and making my way back to the couch with two bottles of water. I offer one to her and perch on the arm at the other end.
She shifts uncomfortably and then leans across, taking the water and looking at me for the first time since I got here. Her blue eyes are dull and glazed.
I look down at the coffee table and pick up the open packet of ginger biscuits set in front of her.
I reach inside and fetch one out, breaking it in half and handing the bigger piece to her. “Eat this and take a few sips, Mom. You need it.”
She shakily brings the biscuit to her lips and crunches down, chasing it with a small sip of water before setting the bottle on the coffee table. “The last one couldn’t get all the channels he wanted.”
That’s the biggest pile of horseshit, and she knows it.
“Didn’t punch a hole through this one then?”
“Jessie,” she drawls, “just leave it, yeah?”
Slowly, she shifts her body forward and gets up. The black leggings she’s wearing hang off her legs. Since the last time I saw her, she’s lost even more weight. “I need to use the bathroom.”
I watch as her frail body climbs the stairs she’s fallen down more times than I can count.
“I’ll make us some food,” I say, downing the rest of my water and heading back into the kitchen.
It must be ten minutes when I finally hear footsteps approaching from behind me as I stand at the burner, stirring pasta sauce.
“Can you help out and grab a couple of plates?” I call over my shoulder.
“Enough for your old man?”
I stop stirring and turn around to face my dad. He looks like he hasn’t shaved in a week, the dark blond stubble on his chin long, and his floppy hair sticks out of the sides of his Scorpions baseball cap.
That’s the thing about my dad—he hates the very bones of me, but enjoys telling everyone who I am and how he got me into hockey. In reality, he did nothing for my career except hold me back with injuries that weren’t sustained on the ice. The only people who looked out for my career were my papa and Graham Jenkins, and neither of them ever knew the truth about my father.
As I stand, facing him, his eyes laser-focused on me, I know it’s not a question of if he’s going to attack me, but when and how.
I cross my arms over my chest and pin him with a mocking smile. He doesn’t need to know that behind my confident exterior, I’m a trembling mess, waiting on his inevitable strike.
You’re not a kid anymore, Jessie. You can take him.
“Just enough for us both. I didn’t know when you’d return. Today, tomorrow, next week. Maybe never,” I eventually answer.
A subtle sneer traces his lips. “I live here, and I own this place. Of course I was coming home.”
Turning back around to the burner, I point at the top-right cupboard. “There’s extra pasta in there if you want it.”
The tickle of his breath on the back of my neck is the first thing I feel, then the constricting vise grip as his palm squeezes my shoulder. Tighter, harder, with increasing brutality.
“Make me some fucking pasta .”
Normally, it’s unwise to poke the bear, but when the animal is Wayne Callaghan, it doesn’t matter what you do. I could roll over and ask him to tickle my stomach, but that wouldn’t serve me either.
I pause on stirring and take hold of the pan handle. “You didn’t say please.”
He knows I’ve got scalding pasta sauce at my disposal. I’ve never hit him first—ever. But I have always defended myself in any way possible.
When I feel him back away, my lungs inflate once more.
My phone buzzes in the back pocket of my jeans, and before I can stop him, he rips it out, tearing the denim.
“S? Who the fuck is this?” His voice is a mock tease as he turns the screen to face me.
It’s just a picture of Mia’s hand as she holds a fork, ready to dig into a stack of pancakes. There’s no way he can recognize her from that photo alone.
Thank fuck.
“No one you know.” I don’t turn around to face him. In fact, I barely move a muscle as I work to keep my response neutral.
“You know what they say about girls with red nail polish.” He chuckles low, sucking in an appreciative breath.
I say nothing as he slides the phone back into my ripped pocket.
“They suck dick really fucking well.”
I shake my head, mimicking his chuckle. “I think that sexist line is exclusive to you.”
“You really think you’re above me, don’t you, hotshot?” He steps closer again, and I turn off the burner. “But you’ll never escape this life, and you’ll always just be a little rat that murdered your brother.”
The red mist descends, and I spin on my heel, for once ready to land the first punch.
But maybe I poked the bear a little too hard this time because I buckle over in agony.
He landed the first hit, just like he always does. But something about this doesn’t feel right. I lift my head and look at him, my knees ready to give way beneath me and the room spinning three sixty degrees. That’s when I see it—the brass knuckles on his right hand.
He brings them to his mouth and kisses them gently, a disgusting sneer returning to his lips as he winds back for another shot at my ribs. “Welcome home, Jessie.”