Chapter Forty-Six Rhys
I’m not sure what makes me turn away from the road leading to the Hockey House. Possibly the weight of our Harvard loss, or the desire to avoid my teammates’ frustrations and sorrows.
But either way, I find myself pulling into my parents’ driveway thirty minutes after the bus drops us at the arena.
My heart squeezes lightly, the weight of the team’s loss lifting from my shoulders at the knowledge that Sadie is here.
When I come in through the garage, I hear the cackling laughter of kids in the distance—Liam and Oliver.
In the living room, however, I find only Adam Reiner and Sadie’s brothers playing Xbox—no sign of Sadie or my parents.
Just as I open my mouth to ask about their absence, a figure descends the stairs and turns for the front door. A tall figure I recognize.
“Kane,” I bark out.
My shout gathers the attention of the boys, and Liam yells for me immediately. Oliver looks apprehensively at the other very large hockey player in the foyer.
“Talk to your girlfriend, Koteskiy. Not me,” Kane says without moving.
My heart rate skyrockets and fear wars with my anger—no matter how irrational—as I look at Toren Kane in my house, talking about my girl.
Oliver steps up beside me. “Who is that? Is he why Sadie was crying?”
I look down at him as my throat closes up. “Sadie was crying? Is she okay?”
Oliver crosses his arms, glaring at Kane. His fury is almost palpable.
“Your mom took her upstairs and then your dad brought that asshole in here.” I don’t bother to chide him on his foul language.
His anger melts a little, a slight helplessness entering his tone.
“Can you just see if she’s okay? Does she need us?
” The anxious tone of his voice makes me feel a little lightheaded.
I blow out a breath and nod to Oliver. “You’re a good brother. Let me just see what’s going on.”
I walk into the foyer with clenched fists, about to start a real fucking fight with the asshole, but his gaze darts over my shoulder.
“Rhys,” my dad calls.
A wicked little smile takes over Kane’s face and he chuckles. “Better answer to your daddy, Cap.” His hand pats my chest condescendingly, shoving a little roughly. “And tell your girl I’ll skate with her anytime.”
“You motherfu—”
“Stop it,” my dad snaps, grabbing me by the shoulder.
Kane slips out the front door without another word, and I hear what sounds like a motorcycle take off.
“What the fuck? Why was Toren Kane in our house?” I round on my father.
He holds his hands up in surrender, but I can hear my heartbeat in my ears, anxiety and frustration starting to ratchet higher.
“Calm down, Rhys. Please. Sadie really needs you right now. Do your exercises.”
I start counting immediately, desperate to bring myself down from the impending panic attack. When I can breathe normally again, my dad beckons me up the stairs and toward my room.
The door opens and my mom comes out, leaving it ajar behind her.
“Rhys,” she whispers, eyes red like she’s been crying. She tries to stop me from entering the room, but I move around her.
I open the door gently and step in quietly, taking note of Sadie’s sleeping form.
Except I’ve slept next to the girl for months, seen exactly how she sleeps. And this isn’t it. She’s pretending.
Her eyes look swollen shut, her face is pink, and her ankle is elevated with ice and a wrap around it.
I leave quietly, trying desperately to hold on to the shredded threads of my temper.
“I’m gonna kill him,” I rasp. Tears burn in my eyes as I turn back to my mom and reach for her.
“Oh Rhys, honey.” She envelops me in her arms. “No, it’s okay. She twisted her ankle skating and she couldn’t get home. Toren followed her here to make sure she didn’t crash. She was… upset.”
“About what? If he so much as—”
“She wouldn’t say,” my mom says, her eyes darting to my father in the same way they have been darting almost constantly.
My dad steps forward. “How much do you know about the figure skating coach she trains under?”
I shrug, a little uncomfortably. Is this something I should’ve paid attention to? Why are they asking me that?
“Sadie’s never complained or anything. But… I saw him get physical with her at the competition.”
My dad nods as if this is something he expected, then shares a knowing look with my mom. I comb and pull at my hair again, because my hands are still shaking, and if I don’t do something with my hands, I’m scared my whole body will start trembling.
“Know anything about him as a skater? Alexan Kelchevsky?”
“Kelchevsky? He goes by Kelley. Is he Russian?” My dad nods. I shake my head, but I’m starting to feel sick. “What is this about? You’re freaking me out—both of you.”
“You need to see this, then.”