Chapter 13
Dad: Happy Birthday, Son! You and your sister are everything good in this world, and you make your mother and me so very proud. We love you.
My jaw clenches as I read the message from him. Happy birthday? Happy fucking birthday? Does he even know what he did? What he helped do to me?
Dad: I hope the team threw you a great party. Erik mentioned he was throwing you one yesterday, and I couldn’t let the chance to film go to waste. Coach McKibbon and the rest of your teammates signed off on it. I hope you don’t mind.
I start typing, ‘I do fucking mind, Dad. I didn’t ask for this.’
A message comes through before I can send it.
Dad: I asked Jerry to send me a few clips, but he said there were issues with the lighting, so we won’t be able to use it for the show.
Yeah, there were fucking lighting issues. Those issues were me threatening Jerry multiple times until he agreed to lie to you and ensure that footage never gets seen. He’s not using Laura. Not for this. Though I highly doubt they’d get Laura’s permission to show it since she left the center crying.
But if there’s even a hint of that party showing up on that stupid show, I will fucking burn it all down. I will make everyone’s life a living hell, just like the one they made mine.
I punch the steering wheel, pissed off at myself the most.
Today has been a total shitshow, only exacerbated by the fact that I haven’t had the guts to tell my father the truth.
I’ve never been man enough to do it. I’m Scotty Hendricks Jr. after all. I should like the attention, shouldn’t I?
I roll my head to the side and glance out the window to Laura’s house. After spending a couple of hours driving around the vicinity of the rec center with Brooks and Alex looking for her, we finally gave up and they drove me back to my truck, full of apologies.
I accepted, but they didn’t matter. None of them know me well enough to know how much I hate all of this. How I just want to be another person playing hockey instead of Scotty Hendricks Jr. the heir to a hockey dynasty I didn’t build.
When they see me, they see my father.
Laura didn’t.
The lights are on, and Lyss’s car is in the driveway so I assume she’s home by now—a fact I tried to confirm by texting her, but my message was left on read.
It’s probably for the best. This conversation deserves to happen in person, not over text.
I finally force myself out of the car and haul Laura’s bag over my shoulder. The walk up the path feels endless. My hands tremble, and there’s a sick, acidic curl in my stomach that won’t ease.
My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat as I ring the doorbell.
I want to make this right, but it feels impossible.
Long seconds pass. I'm about to ring again when the door finally opens, revealing not Laura, but Lyss. Her expression shifts from neutral to ice-cold the moment she recognizes me.
“You fucking asshole.” That's all she gets out before she slaps me clear across the face.
My head jerks to the side, my cheek burning, my vision flashing white for a spilt second, but I don’t complain. I don’t even move because I deserve so much more than that.
“I'm sorry,” I manage to get out, forcing her to meet my gaze. I didn't hurt her, but I feel Laura's pain through her. “I'm so fucking sorry; you have no idea.”
Lyss doesn't soften. Not even an inch.
She plants herself in the doorway with her arms crossed, making it impossible to move past her. She’s an immovable wall with perfect eyeliner. Her glare is so sharp I swear it makes my balls shrivel.
“Sorry?” she spits, stepping forward until she's toe-to-toe with me. “You don't get to show up here with your sad puppy eyes and say sorry like that erases what you did.”
I don’t move when she yanks Laura’s bag off my shoulder. She sets it down inside the house without breaking eye contact, then comes right back and jabs a finger into my chest, and I’m surprised by the pain.
“You don't get points for showing up with her bag after you humiliated her in front of your entire team.”
My stomach drops.
“I didn’t know—”
“Oh, spare me,” she snaps.
“I promise I had nothing to do with what happened today.” My voice cracks with frustration.
“My asshole teammates thought they were doing me a favor.
They knew I liked her and have been giving me shit about it for weeks, but they had no idea that we'd…” I can't finish the sentence, and I raise my hand toward the swing.
“Don’t you dare mention Nana Lou’s swing.” Her eyes roam my body. “It’s all your fault it’s broken. Laura's as light as a feather, but you—you're just a giant brick wall with a donkey dick.”
“Donkey di—” I shake my head, not wanting to finish that sentence, or get an explanation. “Look, I had no idea they were planning this. I would never, ever have agreed to it.”
Lyss's expression doesn't soften. “It doesn't matter. Maybe you didn’t plan it, but you told them about her job. You let people film her like she was doing some damn circus trick. You broke her trust, and Laura doesn’t…trust easily.”
“I know,” I growl out in frustration. Not at Lyss.
Everything she is saying is right. I broke everything I was building with Laura because I didn’t have the guts to stand up to people in my life.
“I’m going to fix this. Whatever it takes.
Can I come in? I really want to talk to her.
Just five minutes. That's all I'm asking.”
Lyss looks through the door and then back to me. “I really don't think that's a good idea. She said she never wants to see you again.”
I wince.
Never wants to see me again.
Fuck.
“She can't mean that. If I could just explain—”
“She meant it,” Lyss says, and there's almost a hint of sympathy in her tone now. “She's been absolutely humiliated today. She gets enough shit from her family and the snobs at school who call themselves 'actors.' She didn't need it from them…and for you to be the one who enabled it.”
I enabled it just by existing in the hockey world, just by wanting to be in her presence. External forces brought us together and then they tore us apart just as quickly.
“I know, and I'm so sorry. I'll make them apologize—”
“It's too late for that,” Lyss interrupts again. “Just… give her some time, okay? She needs a second to breathe and think things through.”
A second to breathe.
She asked me for that before, and a second later we were kissing.
“O-okay,” I say with a nod. “I'll wait. Will you at least tell her I'm sorry?” I ask, knowing it's not enough, not nearly enough, but hearing it from her friend is better than an ignored text.
“I'll tell her,” Lyss promises, though we both know it won't make a difference.
“Thank you,” I say quietly.
Lyss nods once, then closes the door, leaving me standing on the porch with a broken swing and a broken heart.
I trudge back to my truck and sit there way longer than I want to admit. My chest won’t stop hurting. I need to hear her voice. I need her to know the truth. And since I can’t knock on that door again, I give in and text her. It’s all I’ve got.
Scotty: I'm sorry for everything, Laura. You didn't deserve that, and I promise you I didn't betray you.
Scotty: Lyss told me to give you a second to breathe. I promised you before I'd do that, and I'm promising it to you again.
Scotty: This will be the last message I send you until you message me. I'm sorry, Laura. I still think you're too perfect for this world, and I wish I could have shown you that.
I stare at my screen for what feels like a few seconds—it's actually ten minutes—waiting for the green ticks to appear. They don't. Maybe she's asleep and hasn't read it yet…or maybe she's already blocked me.
I lean my head against the window and stare at her house, at the faint light behind the curtains, at the broken swing hanging lopsided on the porch. I sit there for far too long, hoping—begging—she’ll come outside.
She doesn’t.
The ache in my chest sinks lower, heavier, until it feels like I’m anchored to the seat. I can’t change the way she looked at me tonight. I can’t undo the shit my teammates pulled.
But I can fix something.
I need to fix something.
My eyes drift back to the swing, the one I broke while kissing her, the one she can’t even look at now without remembering how badly I failed her.
And suddenly I know exactly what I have to do.
I straighten in my seat, gripping the wheel. It’s not enough—nothing will be enough—but it’s a start. A place to put all this useless energy that’s eating me alive.
If I can’t make her hear me right now, then I’ll show her another way.
I head straight for the home improvement store.