Chapter 2 #3
Taylor is struggling to keep her anger from showing as she shrugs. “Everyone shows their best self in the beginning, sir. I don't see what’s so special about her. Anyone can point and shoot a phone camera.”
Seriously? I just spent hours getting the best lighting and angles to capture the charm of this place. It’s beautiful, in a brick building on the corner of the street, it just needs a little help.
“I can show you what I’ve done today if you’d like,” I try again.
“No, I don’t believe that’ll be necessary.
If it’s so easy, Taylor can take what you did and take over the accounts.
I’ll make sure that Jonna changes all the passwords to keep the riffraff out,” he says.
Digging into his pocket, he pulls out a very wrinkled twenty dollar bill. “This should cover what we owe you.”
“I’d rather die than take that,” I growl. My father didn’t raise me to take this type of bullshit, and I need to remember that. ‘Be polite, not a doormat,’ is one of his favorite sayings.
Especially after what happened six years ago. Forcing myself to continue breathing, I shake my head.
“My work is worth more than twenty dollars,” I say. I’m almost vibrating with anger at this point. “Your disrespect is unexpected. I’m sure that Taylor is responsible for it, but I don’t deserve it. It’s a shame this place is going to go under.”
The last sentence is hissed, almost like a curse, and Taylor crosses herself as if that’ll save her from my ire. I’m just a girl who likes to read tarot cards and wear black, I’m not responsible for how others perceive me.
“Without any advertising, I doubt you’ll last long,” I add. “Good luck.”
Stepping around his hulking body, I force my feet to move.
I can’t be afraid of all alphas for the rest of my life.
Confrontation brings the worst out of people.
Pushing my way out of the store, I unlock my phone to pull up the accounts for the store.
With a few taps, I delete everything in the shared folder.
They can’t have my work for free.
Walking quickly, I head to my car, gasping when Mr. Hoffman yells at me. Shit.
“You little bitch! Return what is rightly mine!”
Glancing behind me, I ask myself if I should run or not. I guess he had his wife check the shared folder as soon as I walked out.
It’s when his angry gaze locks on me that I decide I should get to my car as soon as humanly possible.
My boots pound along the sidewalk as I race for my car. My shoulder bag is heavy, but I can’t stop. His feet pound loudly as he chases me, and I dig for my keys. I think I need something other than my knife for altercations like this. I can’t stab everyone I seem to piss off.
Self defense is also only good to fend off attacks. If it’s better to run, it’s typically better to do that.
“Woah there,” a man says, stepping out of my way as I dodge around him.
“He refused to pay me for my work,” I gasp. “Don’t let him catch me.”
“Shit,” he says. He’s a big guy compared to me, and seems to regret not walking down another street. I almost feel sorry for him. “Yeah, keep running, girlie.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, taking off again toward my car.
Unlocking my door, I jump in and slam it shut. Breathing hard, I toss my bag aside and turn over the engine, watching as the man spreads his arms wide to keep Mr. Hoffman from getting any closer to me. My fingers tremble as I open my GPS app to navigate my way to the hockey stadium.
I’m freaked out and want to see my dad. Right now, I’m willing to just drive and deal with any other fears later.
Pulling out into the street, I drive past Mr. Hoffman and lift my middle finger at him.
Not my finest moment, but I’m having a shitty day.
The man who helped me hides a smile and goes on with his day, a nameless Good Samaritan.
My heart slams against my ribs as I drive, and I disassociate from things, almost surprised when I pull up to the gate. My fingers continue to tremble as I roll down the window for the guard.
“Are you okay?” he asks, leaning down to look at me better.
“Me? I…yeah. I’m here to see my dad, Coach Freedman. He said practice is running late,” I explain.
Wetness hits my hand, and I raise it to touch my face. Shit, I’m crying. Brushing the tears away, I shrug.
“I’ll be fine soon,” I amend.
“Okay,” he says worriedly. “Drive through and go to section F. Be sure to park as close to the door as possible. It’s where the team and staff are parked. Walk up to the door and show them this badge.”
The guard hands me a badge that says Coach’s visitor, and my lips twitch in slight amusement as I pull the lanyard over my head.
“Thank you,” I sigh. “I’ll do that.”
Driving past the gate, I try to decide how to tell my dad that I lost my job.
I’m sure that he’ll be on my side, but now I have to figure out what I’m going to do next.
I want to work, build my portfolio, and show that I can make it on my own.
I’m twenty-five years old, I can’t live at home forever.
My head hurts from stress as I park, and I close my eyes as I push the gear shift into park. Reaching out for my phone, I open my eyes and send a text to Addie.
Me
Sometimes, things are too good to be true. This job was one of them. I got fired on my first day. Fuck those people.
I don’t know what she’s doing right now, so I switch to my dad’s messages.
Me
I’m here. Should I meet you on the ice?
God, how the world comes full circle. My fingers twitch as I think about the way the ice smells, how the shush of skates sound as they tear across the surface. Fear is a mysterious thing. Even just thinking about these things can trigger it for me.
I don’t have to think about the men who hurt me, those things happen often enough in my nightmares. I’ve avoided therapy for years, not wanting to face what happened. How am I supposed to live my life if I let them take everything from me?
Adjusting the rear view mirror, I wrinkle my nose at the mess I’ve made of my makeup. I pull out a wipe from the endless amount of things I have in my car, attempting to clean it up. Ugh, that’ll have to be good enough for now.
Gritting my teeth, I pick up my bag and make sure I remember my phone and keys. Ghosts live all around me, maybe I should face mine in a city that is known for them. Getting out of the car, I slam the door shut and lock it. I’m going to freeze inside since I didn’t think to bring a sweater.
Life has a way of steering you down the path you’re meant to take, but I think whoever my guardian angel is, they may be drunk. Can I get a sober one, please?
This car is old enough that I have to manually lock it, and I stride toward the double doors on this side of the building. The stadium is bigger than the one that my father originally coached at, and I have to say that I think he may have traded up.
Everyone on his previous team turned their backs on him, which just increases my distaste for hockey players and everyone involved with this sport. Sometimes I wonder if people know what was done to me, or if it was just brushed under the rug.
Forcing myself to hold my head up high, I refuse to hunch over to hide. I have always lived my life knowing that I’m a reflection of my dad. My behavior is put under a microscope as his daughter, and I’ve always made sure that I act in a manner that will make him proud.
The door is locked when I attempt to pull it open, and a guard unlocks it, his brows drawn down sternly until he sees my badge.
“Sorry, I have to keep the place locked up tightly while the players practice. People will sneak in otherwise,” he explains, pushing the door wide for me to enter.
I would never. They’re all animals. I hold those words back, biting my tongue even as I nod.
“I’m Gerry, and I tend to work during practices. You’re here to visit your dad?” he asks.
“We’re supposed to have dinner together,” I explain. “When he realized he was running late, he pivoted and asked me to meet him here instead.”
“They’re working hard,” Gerry sighs. “I can hear your dad yelling through the halls.”
“I’m not surprised,” I smirk. Dad gets very excited when he’s calling out plays and drills.
Gerry walks me down to the rink, and I breathe in deeply. It still smells the same. I wish I had pockets to hide the shake in my hands as I walk, but maybe I can blame it on the cold. I need to figure out my shit.
“Sit right on the bench,” Gerry directs. “Have your dad call me on the radio if you need to leave, please. I’m holding myself personally accountable for your safety while you’re here.”
My jaw drops at his words, but he’s already hurrying back out the door. He’s so freaking sincere, he definitely meant those words. I’m so used to having to walk alone at night, look over my shoulder, and worry about getting home safely.
The world is a lonely and terrifying place as a single omega. It’s something I expect I’ll always have to deal with.
No one spares me a glance as practice continues, and I allow myself to be a fly on the wall. I haven’t even watched hockey on television in years. I have to admit I miss it a little.
The players can eat dirt, but the actual sport? Fuck yes, I love it.
I wince when shots are missed, bounce in excitement when a goalie knocks a puck away from him, and grin when the team works together to make a play happen. Hockey is addicting, and I drink in every moment.
As long as no one pays attention to me, I’m perfectly happy. I don’t know when my trauma will sneak back up on me, all I can do is enjoy the peace while I can.
My dad glances in my direction, his lips splitting into a wide grin when he sees me. Walking over, he sits beside me, his arm nudging mine.
“You made it,” he says.
“I did,” I nod. “I don’t want anyone to say that I’m derailing your attention, Dad.”
Scoffing, he shakes his head. “I have competent assistant coaches, Cae. Watch.”
“No!” a voice booms out. “Run it again. Troy, I see that you’re favoring your leg. Take a break.”
“See?” Dad chuckles, smugly. “I swear, they both have eyes in the back of their heads. It’s so different from anywhere else I’ve coached.”
“Your players look solid on the ice,” I admit. “There are some that will need to tighten up on a few things. I can see where they’re going to have issues.”
“Tell me,” he murmurs.
“Dad, no,” I say, shaking my head. “I hate hockey. I’m not telling you how to run your team.”
“Hating hockey? Who let you in here?” a player lumbers off the ice, and I instantly lean closer to my father.
“Don’t tease, look, or speak to her, Troy,” Dad orders.
“Yes, sir,” he says immediately. “My apologies.”
“Did that just happen?” I whisper, shocked as the player moves as far away as possible.
“They actually listen to me,” Dad says. “That doesn’t mean I trust any of them near you. Now, you grew up on the ice, Cae. If there’s something that you’re seeing, tell me. I’ll fix it. No one is going to retaliate against you for telling me there’s a problem in my team.”
Taking a breath, I nod. My fingers cramp as I try to sit up. If I get any closer to my father, I’ll end up in his lap. Talk about embarrassing.
“Number twelve. He lists to the right when he skates,” I explain. I watch the players, and continue to tell my dad what I see with fresh eyes.
“Well I’ll be damned,” he mutters. “I’ve been working on some of these things with them, but hadn’t seen the others. Great job. I’m going to go wrap this up.”
I watch as he stands and his assistant coaches make space for him to call the shots. There’s a mutual respect between the three of them I don’t remember seeing with his previous team.
“Let’s call it!” Dad yells. “I have my notes that I’ll be passing onto the assistant coaches. Tomorrow I want to work on fixing a few things that I believe will help us win the next game. Great job tonight.”
I watch as they skate toward me, and I realize there’s nowhere to go.
“Hey.”
Startled, I scream, my hand clamping over my mouth in embarrassment.
“Back up!” Dad yells. “You’re fucking huge and scaring her.”
The player skates back with his hands up and eyes wide.
“I’m really sorry. Shit. I didn’t think I’d scare you.”
The player has dark hair and blue eyes. I can tell he’s as freaked out by my reaction as I am by his sudden appearance.
“It’s fine,” I say, dropping my hand to brush away tears. My makeup has got to be a fucking wreck at this point.
“No,” he says. “It’s not. I forget how big we all are. Take a deep breath, yeah?”
I realize it’s really hard to breathe, and I look for my dad. I’m panicking.
“I got you. It’s time to go,” Dad says, grabbing my bag and helping me up. “I fucked up. Alright, boys. I’m headed out. Get home safe.”
It’s hard to get my legs to work properly as I struggle to make it out on my own steam, and then my dad is picking me up.
“Let it out,” he says, his legs making short work of the hallway.
Everything from today comes crashing down, and I sob as I hide my face.
“Gerry, can you help me with the door, please?” he asks, not slowing down.
The security guard shoves open the door for us, and my father thanks him as he walks out.
“What else happened today?” Dad asks. “You have every right to tell me it’s just being here if that’s the case. I noticed your mascara was smudged earlier, though.”
“You notice everything,” I wail.
“I’m lucky you were never the type of kid that liked to sneak out,” he chuckles. “It wouldn’t have gone well for either of us. I memorized everything about you before you left the house this morning just in case something happened.”
Ugh, I hate that my dad worried I might get kidnapped when I left the house today. The world is so fucked up.
“I had a rough day,” I sniffle. “Dad, I can walk.”
“Don’t care,” he shrugs. “Please continue.”
Breathing deeply, I feel better now that I’m outside. It’s the change of scenery. Deciding to enjoy having him carry me, I explain what happened today.
“He fucking chased you?” Dad growls.
“There was someone who stopped him,” I remind him. “I think I need to carry pepper spray. I love my knife, but stabbing people regularly may drive up your blood pressure.”
“Oh, it definitely will,” he grumbles. “Stun guns are legal here. I’ll buy you one. If anyone steps into your bubble, they deserve your wrath.”
I like the way he thinks.