Chapter Twenty-Two #2
Monroe rolls her eyes at my contact name. “I can make my dad my emergency contact, you know.”
“Make him one too, that’ll make me feel even better. Add Elsie while you’re at it.”
“I am not making Elsie an emergency contact,” she snorts.
“The more, the merrier,” I reply, with a kiss to her forehead.
My phone begins vibrating again, insistent. “I can ignore it,” I say, tugging the blankets up higher around us. There’s only one person who would be this insistent on getting ahold of me, and I don’t feel like explaining our complicated relationship.
“You literally just said, what if there’s an emergency? What if there is an emergency?” I see the irony here, and sigh, tapping the screen. I’m quiet for a moment while I read the latest of verbal assaults from the man who fathered me.
Monroe’s face is gently illuminated by the light, concern etched across her beautiful features. “Rhodes, is everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, slowly. “My dad.” I pause, trying to decide how much to tell her when this isn’t her problem. I don’t need to be dumping all my shit on her.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” she replies softly. “I get it. I’m not trying to pry.”
“No, that’s not it.” I heave a heavy sigh, and it settles, weighted, around us.
I feel older than my twenty-four years would suggest. I’m so tired of dealing with him.
“He’s an addict and a mean one. When he’s not hounding me for money, it’s only because he’s found someone else to bankroll his addiction for a while.
Every couple years, he figures out my new number and harasses me.
He’s been on a bender lately, and it looks like he’s out of people near him to suck dry. “
“Jesus, Rhodes. How long has he been bothering you?”
“Since Christmas.”
“Have you said anything to anyone else? There’s gotta be something my dad can do. I can’t imagine him standing for one of his players’ deadbeat dads threatening them.” She’s right, but I still can’t bring myself to put this problem on someone else again.
“I haven’t told anyone outside of Beck and a few of the guys.”
“Do you want to call my dad? It’s early, but he’ll answer the phone.”
“Monroe, we are not calling your dad at”—I look at the clock—“five-forty-five in the morning.”
“I think you should talk to him, though. What are the texts saying?”
“Uh…” I rub the back of my neck and sigh. “He’s escalating. He’s threatening to ruin my career, yada yada yada. It’s his same schtick. He’s been a little more belligerent and persistent than his previous attempts to contact me for money this time, but this is just what he does.”
“You sure about that?”
“Pretty sure. Aside from my on-ice fights, it’s not like I’m out here breaking any NHL rules. He has nothing legitimate on me.” I tug her into my chest. “This isn’t your battle, Monroe. I’ll get it taken care of.”
Monroe hums, and it’s clear she isn’t buying my bullshit for a second. I wonder if she will go to her dad herself. I hope she doesn’t.
She moves to get out from under my arm, but I tighten my grip, pulling her as close as I can, brushing my lips against the bare skin of her shoulder, lazy and lingering.
We probably should start getting ready for the clinic, but I want to keep her here in this little bubble as long as humanly possible.
The clinic starts at eight, but both of us need to be there an hour before to help Elsie set everything up for the kids.
“Let’s go back to bed.” Another kiss against her skin, and she groans softly. My dick starts to harden at the sound, so reminiscent of her moans last night.
“Rhodes, we actually do have to get up. We have to be at the rink in an hour,” she grumbles.
I nuzzle into her shoulder. “Five more minutes.”
She huffs a laugh.
“That’s cute,” she says, wiggling out of my hold. I grumble back, but let her go, my hand dragging down her thigh as she sits up. “But we really need to get up.”
“You think I’m cute?” I shoot her a grin and my chest heats as she catalogs my face, tracing my features with her eyes. Say it again, I wish. I want to hear her be as obsessed with me as I am with her.
“Get moving, McKnight.” She shoves against me, then she’s out of reach.
“You look beautiful,” I say to her retreating back.
“Oh for the love—” she replies. “I’m getting in the shower.”
It takes the willpower of an actual God not to join her in the shower, but she’s right, unfortunately. We do need to get moving, and if I get in the shower with her right now, we will simply not be leaving her apartment this morning.
“You need to go home, Rhodes,” she calls from her bathroom. I roll my eyes. She’s not getting rid of me that easily.
“Go shower,” I call back, shaking my head. “I’ll get us some coffee.” I grab my sweatshirt off the ground and pull it over my head before grabbing her apartment key where it hangs by her front door. “I’m taking your key. Be right back.”
Before she can protest, I’m sauntering out of her front door, locking it behind me.
The entire way to the coffee shop and back, I shove my father out of my head and focus on mentally preparing for the clinic. I’m not nearly as nervous as Monroe is, but I’m not the one getting back in front of people on the ice today.
God, I’m so proud of her. That thought is enough to erase any more thoughts of Wayne McKnight from my brain.