Chapter Fifteen Nightmares
JULIAN
“You think you can just walk out?” my dad growls, waving a half-empty liquor bottle in the air.
I peek out of my bedroom door and look down the hall toward the living room, where Mom and Dad are fighting. Again. They seem to tower over me, even from a distance. I feel so small and weak. So helpless.
“I’m done,” my mom hisses, quieter.
No! No, no, no! Don’t say that, mommy. Don’t say that!
The slam of the door echoes, and I know she’s gone.
“Bring her back!” I hear myself cry, bursting out of my room and rushing down the hall. When I reach the living room, I find Dad standing by the worn couch, fuming.
“Sit down,” he snaps when he spots me.
“Go get her!”
“Sit down.”
The command doesn't explode out of him. It leaves his mouth as a low, freezing hiss that slices clean through the heavy air of the living room.
Fear chokes me, and the room seems to shrink around me. It’s too quiet. Mom’s gone. Where’s Lucas?
Wait…this isn’t right. Mom just left. Lucas should still be here…
“Where is he?” I demand to know, my voice shifting from a little kid’s. “Where’s Lucas?”
Dad doesn't answer. He’s sitting perfectly still in the deepest shadows of the room, the dim light from the hallway barely catching the harsh, jagged angles of his face.
He’s motionless, save for a single bead of sweat that rolls down the side of his temple.
His eyes cut straight through the gloom, cold, unblinking, and sharp as shattered glass.
He’s a ticking bomb, the lethal, barely contained violence vibrating off him.
My eyes dart downward, tracking the movement of his hands. I watch, my throat going dry, as his fingers curl into massive, white-knuckled fists. A cold sweat breaks across my own skin. I know that exact movement. I know what happens the second that fragile thread of his control snaps.
My body throbs in phantom sympathy, my ribs aching under my shirt as my mind flashes to the deep, purple-black bruises still painting my torso from the last time his control burst.
He stands up, rising out of the shadows like a towering, inescapable nightmare. I’m painfully aware that Lucas is gone. Mom is gone. It is just the two of us now.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he snarls, stepping closer.
“I’m not,” I assure him, moving back a step, my body trembling. “I’m not going anywhere, I swear.”
“That’s fucking right!” he bellows. He lunges forward, his face contorted into something monstrous as he points a thick, shaking finger at my chest. “You know she wouldn't have walked out if it wasn't for you! You’re the reason she’s gone! You! Get the fuck over here!”
The first hit comes fast, his fist slamming into my cheek, and the pain is sharp enough to steal the air from my lungs. I fly to the ground, but I know that’s not the end of it. More’s coming. There’s always more.
I brace for the next impact…curling up into a ball as tears flow down my cheeks…
My eyes snap open, my breath coming too fast. My chest feels tight, like I’ve just sprinted a mile.
The room is dark and silent, and it takes me a moment to realize I’m alone.
It was just a dream. I’m in my apartment, on my couch, safe and sound. Dad is gone. He can’t hurt me anymore.
“Fuck,” I mutter, dragging a hand over my face.
I check my phone, and the clock reads 4:07 a.m.
I sit up, put my elbows on my knees, and drop my head forward.
“It’s fine,” I say under my breath. “It’s done. You’re fine.”
My voice sounds rough in the quiet. Fuck, it’s been a while since I’ve had a dream like that. I force my breathing to slow. My nerves start to calm, and the shaking in my hands stops.
I never belonged in that house, with my family. Mom and Lucas left, and it was just Dad…and he was convinced I had ruined his life.
Mrs. Clay never made me feel that way. She was always there, and she always gave a shit. Something settles in my chest, and I realize I know what I have to do. If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t have hockey or anything close to this life.
When I was a kid trapped under my father’s roof, I had zero control. I was entirely at the mercy of a monster's volatile temper, forced to sit in the dark and wait for the fists to fly. I survived by learning how to anticipate the blows, how to shrink myself down until I was invisible.
Hockey changed all of that. On the ice, I found my power. I found my team. Every drop of sweat, every broken bone, every brutal morning skate was a way of carving out my own destiny. For the last few years, I’ve finally been the one steering my own ship.
Until now.
With this new hotshot trade rolling into town to take my spot on the line, that old, suffocating feeling is clawing its way back up my throat. I’m being shoved back into the dark.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I grab my laptop and open my email. My fingers hesitate over the keys a moment before I start typing.
Subject: Confidential Follow-Up / Trade Inquiry
Coach Williams,
I’m reaching out regarding your earlier emails inquiring about my interest in discussing a transfer. I’ve given it a lot of thought, and I’m ready to hear the details of what joining The Ironclads would look like for me.
Best,
Julian Wilder
I keep it simple and don’t use any language hinting at a commitment. I just want information and to see what their formal offer might look like.
When I finish, I hit send, then I lean back and stare at the ceiling.
“Well,” I mutter. “That’s done.”
My stomach twists. Shit, I thought I’d feel some kind of relief after that.
Instead, I just sort of feel…empty.
My phone suddenly buzzes against the table. I frown. No way they’ve responded already. I grab it, but it’s just the notifications of all the messages I’ve missed from earlier today. I scroll through and see I have one from Hadley.
I open it immediately.
Hadley: Survived my first full week back. Barely. I think my professors are trying to kill me.
A small smile pulls at my mouth before I can stop it.
“Dramatic,” I mutter as I type back.
Julian: It can’t be that bad for a brainiac like you.
I don’t expect her to respond right away, thinking she’s likely asleep. However, her reply comes almost instantly.
Hadley: You didn’t see the reading list.
Julian: You’ll live. What are you still doing up, anyway?
Hadley: Debatable. And I’m working on the reading list. I just told you that!
I huff a quiet laugh, rubbing a hand over my jaw.
Julian: I know you’ve got this. What class is it?
Hadley: All of them, she replies. I’m serious. I think one of them assigned reading just to watch us suffer.
Julian: Yikes! Sounds like a nightmare.
Hadley: Wow. So supportive.
I laugh.
Julian: I am supportive. I’d fail miserably, but you’ll survive.
Hadley: You’re the worst at pep talks.
Julian: I’m fucking brilliant at pep talks.
Hadley: Okay, maybe top 5.
Julian: I’ll take it.
There’s a pause, then…
Hadley: Practice go okay today? Or, I guess yesterday now?
I stare down at the screen for a second.
Julian: It was fine.
Hadley: Just fine?
Julian: Coach said I was dragging.
Hadley: Were you?
I shake my head.
Julian: No.
Hadley: Sounds like something someone who was dragging would say.
I snort. Sassy little thing.
Julian: Unbelievable. And you said I suck at pep talks.
Hadley: Rude.
I lean back into the couch, relaxing as the tension eases from my body. It’s so fucking easy talking to her, and it helps me feel less shitty about the email I just sent.
Julian: Get some sleep.
Hadley: You too. Try not to be too broody.
Julian: No promises.
I shake my head, setting the phone down. I stare up at the ceiling, thoughts of Chicago creeping back in. Was that really the right call? Of course it was.
I tell myself that over and over again, even as my heart twists painfully in my chest.