Chapter 5
brAXTON
I grew up in a cookie-cutter, wealthy neighbourhood. Every house was built sometime in the past twenty years and, as if forced by some sort of constructional law, given matching high peaks, dark stone and light siding, and tall windows.
Some houses have high fences to keep badgering eyes away or no fencing at all for the purpose of showcasing the intricately landscaped front yards.
It’s quiet, with no children playing basketball in the cul-de-sacs or doodling on the sidewalks with chalk.
For as long as I can remember, it’s been this way, and as I drive up my parents’ looped driveway, a pang of sadness causes me to brake so suddenly my car lurches forward in front of the garage, the old brakes squealing.
I’ve only been over to my parents’ house twice since I’ve been back in town: the night I moved into my new home, and right now, for an impromptu family meeting ordered by my dad over a phone call this afternoon.
Every other time I’ve seen my mother and sister, they’ve come to my house, like for dinner last night, or we’ve gone out.
We’re a close family for the most part—my mom, my sister, and me, that is—and the times I would fly home to visit them during the holidays were special moments for me. I expected to feel some sort of similar homecoming after I came back for good, but instead, I’ve felt like I’m missing something.
My move wasn’t sudden by any means. I’m a planner. I like to know my schedule in advance so that I’m able to fit my life into the appropriate boxes, and I did all of that. So why do I feel so . . . wrong? Like I’m out of place?
It’s probably stress. I’m so happy with the path I chose and how far I’ve come, but running a new business is hard. I knew it would be.
Yeah, it has to be the stress.
The evening sun shines on my bare arms as I skip knocking and walk right into the house. It smells like ginger and oranges, so Mom must have her essential oil diffuser puffing away somewhere close.
“Hello?” I call out, toeing off my flip-flops and padding barefoot across the deep brown walnut floors.
The main floor is one wide-open space with the living room on one side of the house and the kitchen on the other.
The dining area is tucked in between, with a six-person glass table and a set of luxury, high-back fabric chairs with silver buttons down the front and back.
The kitchen has dark cabinets that match the floor and bright marble countertops.
All of the appliances are new, despite the reality that neither of my parents spends a lot of time in the kitchen.
I head up the stairs and scour the second level for my parents. Raised, muffled voices behind Dad’s office door draw me in that direction. My stomach sours.
“You know how she was after, Roy. I can’t believe that you would do this to her again,” my mom scolds.
“She’s an adult now. It’s different.”
What?
A feeling of uneasiness grows as I knock on the door and the voices quiet instantly.
Footsteps, and then the door is pulled open. Mom’s cheeks are flushed as she attempts a smile and ushers me into the room. She’s a small woman, a bit shorter than me, but we share the same deep blue eyes.
“Hi, sweetheart. Sorry, we didn’t hear you get in.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to over all that fighting,” I reply.
Dad’s words are stern. “Watch the attitude, Braxton.”
I bite my tongue and paint on a fake smile. “Right. My apologies.”
“It’s okay, honey,” Mom says.
Dad is leaning back against the front of his desk with his arms crossed and his legs outstretched, crossed at the ankles.
He’s a tall man, towering over both Mom and me, with a beefy build and a full head of dark curly hair.
When I was a little girl, my sister and I used to pretend we were princesses and that our dad was our personal knight in shining armour, keeping the bad guys far, far away from our royal family.
That little girl would be heartbroken if she knew her dad would turn out to be the villain in her story.
Bitterness has me fighting back a frown. “What is this about? Why isn’t Annalise here?”
“This doesn’t involve your sister. Please, sit.” Dad gestures to the long leather couch against the wall opposite his desk.
“So this is a family meeting but without Anna?” I scoff.
Mom touches my arm softly. “Please, just sit. I don’t want to be in the middle of a fight between you two today.”
“Fine.”
For my mom and her alone, I sit on the cold couch in the tense, uncomfortable office. My father and I have been at odds for nearly a decade, and I know it wears on Mom. Unfortunately, that isn’t enough of a reason for me to build a bridge over the past and walk across it.
Silently, she sits beside me, and the exhaustion radiating from her has me glaring at my dad.
He ignores my anger. “There’s something coming to light this afternoon that might upset you, so I wanted to give you enough notice to prepare.”
My breath skips. “What did you do?”
“Nothing that I shouldn’t have done years ago.”
Mom sets her hand on my knee, and I sneak a glance at her to find her chewing nervously on her bottom lip. I snap my spine straight and look back at my father.
“What did you do?” I ask again.
“I told them all about Maddox Hutton. He’s going to pay for what he did to our family,” he declares, chin tilted high.
I squeeze my eyes shut as a fierce pain rips through my chest. The sudden dryness in my mouth makes it hard to get my next words out. “The only thing he did to this family was trust us.” Trust me.
“He ruined my career. He’s the reason your mother has had to work herself to the bone at the hospital, picking up extra shifts and sleeping in the on-call room more often than in our bed. I haven’t worked for another hockey player since he ruined me, and it was about time he got what was coming.”
I grind my teeth. “You ruined your own career. We were all bystanders who were brought down with your sinking ship.”
“Braxton, sweetheart,” Mom cuts in, squeezing my knee in an attempt to calm me. I place my hand on hers but shake my head.
“No, Mom. If you guys brought me here to get my permission to do this, you don’t have it.
I knew I shouldn’t have come here today, but I did anyway.
Total mistake on my part. I’m not going to listen to this same bullshit from Dad.
You can live with the guilt of knowing how much this hurts me.
It’s been eight years. You need to get over it, Dad.
Madd—” I stumble over his name and swallow it back down.
“He’s happy. He’s successful. Do what you told me to do when I moved away and get over it,” I finish.
Dad pushes away from the desk and narrows his eyes on me. “He’s a mess! Have you not seen the news? Maddox Hutton is a violent addict and a self-entitled snob. His contract hasn’t been signed yet for next season, and hopefully, now it won’t be. If Vancouver doesn’t sign him, nobody else will.”
I drop my eyes to the floor and laugh under my breath. For the first time in a long time, I force myself to say his name. “Maddox was born to play for Vancouver. Nothing—not even you and your stubborn idea of revenge—will be able to change that. He didn’t deserve what happened. Neither of us did.”
The reason my mom has to work herself to the bone is because her husband refuses to try and find another career path. He’s so obsessed with the idea of revenge and redeeming himself in the hockey world that he’s found himself lost at sea, too far from land to call for help.
“I stood by you back then when I shouldn’t have, and I won’t do it again.”
With my words hanging in the air, I get up and leave, ignoring Mom’s plea for me to stop as I exit the room.
I’ve forgiven her for not stopping what happened all those years ago, but I don’t think I will ever forgive my father for what he did. It doesn’t matter how much time passes, the guilt and regret weighs heavy on me.
They say time is supposed to heal all wounds, but I’ve begun to accept that this one will remain raw and vulnerable for the rest of my life.