Chapter 8
Carter
The game against our biggest rival is brutal.
My father sits in the stands with other scouts and NHL contacts, and I can feel his eyes on me every second.
Judging. Evaluating. Disappointed.
I play angry. Take hits I shouldn't. Get a penalty in the second period for roughing.
Coach pulls me aside. "Lynch. What the hell is going on?"
"Nothing. I'm fine." I have no other words to say about how I’m playing at the moment.
"You're not fine. You're playing reckless." He glances at the stands. "Is this about your father?"
"No."
"Liar. But I need you focused. We're down by one and we need our captain."
He's right. I take a breath, shake it off, refocus.
The third period, I score twice. Both times, I don't look at my father. I look at Lennox, sitting in her usual spot behind the penalty box.
She's smiling. Proud, and suddenly, the only opinion that matters is hers.
We win 4-3. The team celebrates, but I just want to get through the post-game requirements and leave.
My father is waiting outside the locker room.
"Carter. We need to talk." He says as I get closer to him.
"Not now."
"Yes, now." He follows me toward the exit. "That performance was sloppy. Undisciplined. If scouts are watching—"
"I don't care about the scouts."
He stops walking. "What?"
"I said I don't care. Not if caring means playing your way. Being who you think I should be." I turn to face him. "I'm done trying to impress you."
"You're throwing away your future—"
"I'm choosing my future. There's a difference." I spot Lennox by the door, waiting. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have somewhere to be."
I walk past him without looking back.
Lennox meets me halfway, and I don't care who sees when I take her hand.
"You played amazing." The smile on her face is so cute.
"I played angry."
"Sometimes anger is useful." She squeezes my hand. "Ready to go?"
"More than ready."
We're almost to my car when I hear my father's voice.
"So that's what this is about. The journalist." He shouts, and I turn. He's standing twenty feet away, his expression a mix of fury and disgust. Something I’m used to seeing from him.
"This has nothing to do with her—"
"Doesn't it? You've been different since her article was published. Defensive. Distracted." He looks at Lennox with disdain. "Did you plan this? Write a hit piece to get his attention? Use him for access?"
"Dad—"
"No." Lennox steps forward. "I wrote the article because your son's team had legitimate culture issues. Issues he's been working to fix despite resistance from coaches and players who think the old way is better. He's actually trying to change things while you're just worried about reputation."
My father's face goes red. "How dare you—"
"I dare because someone needs to tell you the truth. Your son is a better leader and a better man than you ever were and the fact that you can't see that says more about you than it does about him."
Holy shit. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone speak to my father this way.
My father turns to me. "You're going to let her speak to me like that?"
"Yeah. Because she's right." I put my arm around Lennox. "And I'm done with this conversation."
We get in my car and drive away, leaving him standing in the parking lot.
Lennox is shaking slightly. "I can't believe I just did that."
"I can't believe you defended me to my father." Still shocked about what just happened, I will have to talk to him again soon but now I’m just happy to not have to think bout him.
"He was being an asshole."
"He's always an asshole, but no one ever calls him on it." I reach over and take her hand. "Thank you."
"You're welcome. Now drive faster. I need to either have sex with you or punch something, and sex is less likely to result in assault charges." I burst out laughing, and drive faster because having sex after a win is the best way to finish the day.
***
Back at my apartment, we barely make it through the door before we're tearing at each other's clothes. This time is different from last night. More intense. More raw. I need her in a way that feels almost violent, and she meets me with equal force.
"Bedroom," I growl against her mouth. "Now."
We make it this time, falling onto my bed in a tangle of limbs and desperation.
"Hard," she gasps as I pin her wrists above her head. "I want it hard."
I give her exactly what she wants. Fast, rough and probably too intense, but she's with me every step, her nails digging into my back, her teeth on my shoulder.
When we both finally come, it's explosive and desperate and feels like claiming something.
After, we lie tangled together, both breathing hard.
"That was..." she starts.
"Yeah."
We’re silent for a moment, then she specks.
"Your father saw us together." I knew she was going to mention something about him, I was hoping it wasn’t just after we had sex, but I think it was her way of letting out the stress.
"I know."
"That's going to complicate things."
"I know that too." I pull her closer. "I don't care. Let him know. Let everyone know."
"Carter, my article isn't published yet. If people think we're together, they'll say I'm biased—"
"Are you? Biased?"
"Yes. Completely. But the article is still fair. I'm writing about what I've actually seen, not what I want to see." The way her voice breaks, I can tell she’s stressing a lot about this.
"Then that's all that matters." I kiss the top of her head. "Besides, my father knowing might actually help. He hates that I'm choosing you over his approval. That I'm choosing my own path."
"Is that what I am? Your rebellion?" Oh wow that’s a question which hits hard, and how she can even think that.
"No. You're my choice. There's a difference."
She doesn’t say anything, but I hope she believes I’m not with her to disappoint my father, but because I want to be with her.
We fall asleep like that, wrapped around each other, and for the first time in weeks, I don't have nightmares about disappointing my father.
Because I've finally realized, his disappointment is his problem, not mine and the only person I need to prove anything to is myself.