Chapter 9 #2
“I could have told you that before you came all the way out here,” she says with sass, then crosses her arms. “As much as I like hearing that, I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Romeo and Juliet. It's not all their own doing. It's external forces. How are they supposed to move forward and be with each other when they're trapped in a cage?”
Her expression shifts, and she quietly closes the door. She rests her palm on my arm, my skin warming from the touch. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah.”
She waits.
I back away, but now that she’s here, I don’t think I can leave.
“No. I’m not.” I run a hand through my hair, feeling her taking me in with those impossibly deep eyes of hers. “I don’t know.”
She gestures to the porch swing. “Want to sit?”
Not really. It looks like it might collapse under my weight. I don’t say no, though. I’m too afraid she might leave me alone out here if I do. We settle onto the swing carefully, and it creaks ominously but holds. Laura pulls her knees up to her chest, waiting.
My foot moves the swing slowly.
“What happened tonight?” she asks quietly.
“My dad showed up at my game tonight,” I say finally, not able to look at her.
“That's… good, isn’t it?”
I shake my head. “It wasn’t just him. He came with cameras and a full production crew.
He filmed the entire game for his show, and I failed miserably because of it.
The arena was chanting… for him. It threw me off my game, and if that wasn’t bad enough, he came into the locker room at the end too.
He wanted to celebrate, but all it felt like was he was celebrating my failure at helping the team win. ”
“Oh.”
I finally drag my gaze to hers, waiting to see the judgment in her eyes. There isn’t any.
“I love him. I really do. He's the most supportive dad I could ever ask for, but is there such a thing as too much support? He's everywhere, and everyone loves him, so no one gets it. How could I not be happy that the greatest hockey player in the world wants to support me? That I have his genes and look just like him? That maybe I could play just like him. I wish it was that easy and that trying to live up to his legacy didn’t make me feel like I’m drowning. The worst part is he means well. He’s not trying to be overbearing.
He genuinely thinks he’s helping and that if he pushes me hard enough, shares enough wisdom, creates enough opportunities, I’ll achieve everything he did and more. ”
She’s taking me in, watching every move. That's when I realize I'm babbling to a girl who already thinks I'm a privileged asshole, and I'm probably proving her point.
Fuck. I'm an idiot, but I didn’t want to go anywhere else.
“I'm sorry.”
“Hey. Don’t be sorry.”
She shakes her head a little, wrapping the long cardigan around her. “It sounds like you needed to get that out.” She bites her bottom lip. “You didn’t ask for any of this.”
“No.” The admission feels good to say out loud. “I didn't. I love hockey, I do, but sometimes I wonder if I’d be where I am without my father’s last name.”
Laura reaches over and takes my hand. The simple connection nearly undoes me.
“Does he know how you feel?” she asks gently.
I shake my head. “How can I tell him? He's done so much for me. He built a fucking dorm for me, helped me get an NHL contract, and opened the doors so I had my choice of school. How do I look at him and say 'thanks, but also, please back off'?”
“By opening your mouth and using words?” Laura suggests, but there's no judgment in her voice. “I know it's not that simple, but Scotty, if you don't set boundaries with him, this is just going to get worse.”
She's right. Of course she's right, but whenever I think about that conversation, all I see is my dad’s disappointed face. It’ll probably be the first time in his life he’s ever felt like a failure, and it’ll be because of me.
“He's dropping hints that the producers of his show want to add an entire college storyline,” I continue. “They want to follow me around campus, film practices, interview my teammates. My teammates were practically salivating at the idea.”
Laura laughs softly. “Yeah, I bet they were, but that's because it's not their reality 24/7. You have a larger-than-life father who loves louder than most. It must be exhausting.”
“It is.” I squeeze her hand. “I just want to be seen for my accomplishments, and I worry that's impossible when I have the same passion as my father.”
“I get it, Scotty. Not the reality TV stuff. That sounds like a nightmare on its own, but I get it.” She takes a deep breath. “I know what it's like to feel invisible next to someone else’s accomplishments.”
“What do you mean?”
“My sister. Noelle.” She pauses. “She's a…” She hesitates for a second by closing her eyes and biting her bottom lip before finally saying, “an Olympic gold medalist.”
“She is?” I ask, surprised.
Her lips press together before she says, “Yeah. She won gold with the US at the last games.”
I sit up straighter. “Wait, seriously?”
Fuck. How the hell did I not know this?
Her shoulders slump. “Yeah. So while I'm over here playing dress-up and singing to five-year-olds, she's literally the best in the world at what she does.”
Fuck, and I bet my reaction hasn’t helped her feel any better about it either. Frankly, I don’t care who the fuck her sister is. I think she’s amazing.
“Laura—”
“My parents were at her gold medal ceremony in Vancouver.
Front row, crying, so proud they could barely speak.
When I got my first role in high school—the granny in Into the Woods—they couldn't make it because they were at one of Noelle's training camps.” Her voice is quiet but steady.
“They sent flowers. With a card that said, 'Break a leg, honey!' It was just a small part, and my sister is changing the world. I shouldn’t be upset, and it’s nothing compared to what you have to deal with, but it still makes me sad sometimes.”
I turn to face her fully. “You know that's bullshit, right?”
She laughs, but it's bitter. “Is it though? She's an Olympic champion. I'm a party princess.”
“You're an artist. You make kids believe in magic. You have a voice that makes people forget how to breathe. You're working your ass off to achieve your dreams, even when your family doesn't support you. There are so many amazing things about you, Laura.”
Shit. I went too far.
Laura shifts and lets out a nervous laugh. “Sorry. I didn't mean to make that about me. You came here upset, and I just…hijacked it.”
“Don’t apologize for letting me see you, Laura.
It’s what I wanted.” I interlink our fingers, holding her gaze.
“I didn't come here to dump everything at your feet and have you sit pretty and nod.” My thumb brushes across her knuckles.
“I came here because…when I'm around you, it feels like I'm allowed to be myself. Not just my father's legacy.”
Her hand tightens in mine. It’s a small gesture, but when she looks at me like she finally sees me, talking feels too small for everything sitting between us.
She leans in a little, her gaze dropping to my lips, and I want to kiss her so fucking badly.
I stop myself. Instead, I study her face, counting the freckles across her nose as I try to memorize every aspect of it.
Her eyes narrow. “Stop staring. It’s weird.”
I laugh softly and let my eyes drop to our hands.
“Sorry. You’re…impossible not to look at.” I meet her eyes again. “Whenever you’re around, suddenly it feels like you’re the only thing I can see.”
She takes a sharp breath. “You can't just say things like that.”
“Why not? It's true.”
“Because—” Her voice breaks. “Because I don't know what to do with it,” she whispers. “With you. With the way you say things like they can’t possibly be wrong, and you’ve already decided I’m… worth choosing when you barely know me.”
“I’m not saying I know everything about you,” I murmur. “I just know I want to be here. With you. But the way you react to it makes me think no one ever chose you first.”
“Because they haven’t.” Her eyes flick up, almost pleading.
“I'm not used to being someone’s first thought, Scotty.
Or the place they come when they're hurting.
I'm usually the one people go to after—after the celebration, after the big moment, after the real star takes a bow.” She lets out a shaky breath.
“So when you look at me like that and say things like that…
it feels like I'm standing somewhere I've never been, and I don't know if I'm supposed to move or run or just—” She swallows, her breath softening as her hair falls across her face. “—fall into it.”
Leaning forward, I brush the strand out of her face and tuck it behind her ear.
Her fingers curl around my wrist, and she searches my face. “I just…I don’t want to get wrapped up in this if you’re going to look back tomorrow and realize you were just overwhelmed tonight.”
“I didn’t come to you because I was overwhelmed. I came here because I wanted to be wherever you were.”
Her breath stutters, and I hold her gaze so she sees I mean every word.
Fuck. I’ve probably said too much.
I sit back just enough to show I’m not going to push, thumb brushing her knuckles once, gently.
“Don’t think for a second I’m going to wake up tomorrow and realize this was some momentary spiral. I knew exactly where I was driving when I left that rink.”
Her eyes soften, but she doesn’t speak. I’ve definitely said too much.
Way to go, Hendricks. Fucking up with the only person I want to look at me as more than just an English Lit partner.
“Thank you for letting me ruin your night,” I say quietly, slowly unlinking our hands. “I…needed this more than I knew.”
The porch swing creaks as I move, but Laura’s hand lands on my chest.
“Don’t go,” she whispers. “That was a lot, Scotty. So just…give me a second to breathe.”
“A second?” I swallow, turning my gaze back to hers.