Chapter 41
brAXTON
There’s a hollow feeling in my chest as I walk up my parents’ driveway. Like I’ve already tucked my heart away in a protective case in preparation for this inevitable conversation. Maybe his words won’t hurt as much now . . . or maybe they’ll hurt just as bad.
My mind is a jumbled mess of skittish thoughts and terrifying probabilities.
How can things go so wrong so quickly? One second, you’re floating on cloud nine, and the next, you’re an ant crushed beneath a steel-toed boot.
Or in my case, a victim of a vengeful father who cares more about his career than his family.
I swallow past the rock in my throat and test the door to see if it’s locked, surprised to find it’s not.
That’s not the most surprising thing, though, because as soon as I walk inside, I’m met with dozens of moving boxes in the doorway, each with elegant handwriting on the side labelling which room each box should go to.
“Mom?” I call, shutting the door softly and moving through the maze of boxes. Pulling open the flaps of the smaller one on the entry table, I freeze with my finger on an old photo frame.
These are baby photos. Anna’s and mine.
The photo at the top is of the two of us in the sandbox we used to have in the backyard. It was one of those plastic ones you could buy in different colours and shapes. Ours was a green turtle.
Anna has to be no more than three in the photo, which would have made me seven or so. She’s sitting in front of me, a tiny pink shovel in one hand as she fills a matching bucket with sand. I’m dropping sand into her hair, grinning like an absolute fool.
My chest squeezes as I step away from that box and start to open others. One after another, I tear open the flaps, my heart rate increasing with each open box.
Mom’s clothes, her shoes, my great-grandmother’s fancy dishes we’ve only ever used for Christmas dinner. I suck in a tight breath and rub at my chest.
“Your mother isn’t here.”
I whip around to find Dad standing at the bottom of the staircase, fingers tight around the railing. He looks almost unfamiliar, like a ghost of a past I don’t want to revisit. His dark eyes hold little to no emotion as he watches me stand frozen, confused.
“Where is she?”
“Probably with your aunt. The moving truck she hired to move her things should be here in an hour, if you wanted to wait for her.”
I pinch my brows. “I didn’t know she was moving out.”
“We signed the divorce papers this morning.”
Shock nearly renders me speechless. “You what?” I whisper.
“Don’t act surprised. It’s not shocking. She’s been seeing someone else for months. The only surprising thing here is that she thought I didn’t know.”
“What?” I wheeze. My lungs pinch, making it hard to breathe.
Dad darts his eyes away before I can determine whether or not he’s the slightest upset about this. I know they weren’t happy . . . but he really doesn’t feel anything? He’s that cold?
“His name is Ritchie. He’s an accountant for a large firm downtown. No children. Widowed,” he says, listing these off as if they’re as casual as items on a grocery list.
“Why wouldn’t she have told me she was seeing someone?”
His gaze settles on me again, but I force myself not to buy into the slight spark of emotion in them. “You have a soft heart, Braxton. Knowing she was staying with me for the sake of you and your sister would have crushed you.”
“I already knew that. Were you under the impression that me or Anna thought she was with you because she loved you? It’s been obvious you haven’t loved each other for years.”
“Oh.”
“Oh?” I repeat, in awe. “Do you think that because we knew you weren’t happy together that that somehow makes it okay? Anna doesn’t ever want to get married one day because of you. Doesn’t that bug you at all?”
“That’s her choice. Marriage isn’t for everyone.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “It wasn’t her choice, though. Not really. You and Mom did that to her. You would have done it to me, too, had it not been for the Huttons.”
A dark cast slips over his face as he curls his lip. “You’re not a Hutton, Braxton. You’re a Heights. It’s time you started to remember that.”
“Not yet,” I retort, snapping my spine straight.
“Not yet?” he repeats slowly.
“You said I’m not a Hutton. You’re right. I’m not a Hutton yet. But I will be.”
His knuckles turn as white as snow on the railing as he grips it tighter and grinds his jaw hard. I wait to hear a crack, but it never comes.
“You deserve better,” he spits.
“You have no idea what I deserve! You don’t care about anybody but yourself. You never have. It’s been all about you for decades!” I shout, hands curled into fists at my sides.
“I’ve done what I’ve done for our family!”
“What family? Do you see one here? Because I don’t. You don’t have a family because there isn’t a single one of us who can stand to be around you. You hired someone to break into my car and didn’t even call when that person sent me to the hospital!”
A rush of cool air hits my cheek, and I realize it’s wet, stained with tears. My anger grows, both at him and myself for not being stronger.
“I never hired that guy. And I didn’t know you were hurt. Nobody told me,” he mutters. His eyes soften slightly, and I nearly flinch. “Are you okay?”
I ignore his concern, not buying it. “You expect me to believe you didn’t have anything to do with what’s just happened? The article that calls me desperate and na?ve and calls Maddox a money-hungry fraud?”
I might have looked over the article as I sat on the driveway outside before collecting the nerve to get out of the car.
It doesn’t paint me in a good light, despite its false narrative as an interview I had willingly given, and it paints Maddox even worse.
The audio she had of me is obviously not from a real interview.
It sounds like it was recorded from inside a backpack.
“I never denied that I was involved in the article, just in the hiring of that man. I would never put you in harm’s way. I distinctly told Rose to bug Maddox’s vehicle. Not yours. It’s not my fault she decided to do whatever she wanted.”
“Is that how you get yourself to fall asleep at night? By convincing yourself of things that aren’t true? Does the guilt ever get too much? Too heavy?” I ask, wiping at the tracks of tears on my cheeks.
“What do you want me to say, Braxton? You won’t accept any apology I give you, so I’m not going to bother.”
I shake my head, dread heavy in my chest. “You’re right.
I don’t want you to apologize because I know you won’t mean it.
I want you to own up to what you’ve done.
To accept that it was wrong and evil. I want you to tell me that you’ll stop and leave this alone.
I want you to be a real father and put my happiness above your own, because Maddox Hutton makes me happy, and no matter what you try to do to tear him down and make him pay for your mistakes, you will never win.
The only thing you’ll continue to win at is being alone and miserable. ”
The silence echoes in the empty, cold house. Roy stares at the floor and scratches at his jaw, grip loosening on the railing.
At one time in my life, this man was my hero. The protector of my kingdom. But that time has passed, and I’ve learned that not every hero deserves his happily ever after. Sometimes, the hero is just a villain in disguise.
“I want you to tell me that you love me and that that is enough to break this hideous cycle, because if you continue to hurt the people I love, you will never see me again,” I finish, heart in my stomach.
I stand and wait for a reply, but when one never comes, I wipe at my eyes one final time and then turn around.
There’s nothing impressive about the way I steel my spine and lift my chin as I start to walk out, because it’s all an act.
A way to pretend that I’m not hurting inside because a man who was supposed to love me no matter what, every single day for forever, has chosen revenge instead, knowing just how badly that would hurt me.
My nose burns as I weave through the mess of boxes and set my hand on the doorknob. I nearly jump out of my skin when footsteps sound behind me before coming to an abrupt stop.
“What would you need me to do, Braxton?” he croaks.
My shoulders fall, a wobbly breath escaping me as I hang my head, knowing full well Maddox is going to hate this.
“Get me an interview with Rose Carpenter.”
MADDOX
“Hutton! Where the fuck is your head?” Coach yells from the boards.
I can feel his glare boring holes in my back as I miss another pass from Bentley and narrowly avoid the urge to toss my stick across the ice.
Practice has been a nightmare. I don’t want to be here. My head isn’t in it. I haven’t stopped thinking about Braxton since the moment I watched her drive off, and this bad feeling in my gut won’t lay off.
“Set up again! Nobody is leaving here until Hutton makes a fucking shot.”
My forwards offer me sympathetic smiles as we set up again, and Bentley starts skating to the net, grabbing a puck along the way.
I take a deep breath and move along my side of the ice, prepping for the pass.
Sliding into the slot, I prepare for the pass, but as soon as I get the puck, I shoot it off and completely miss the net.
It tings off the crossbar, and I lose it.
My stick comes down on the boards, and the crack that follows tells me I’ve broken it. I drop it on the ice and rip off my gloves next, tucking them beneath my arm as I throw my body over the boards and take off down the hallway.
“Maddox! Enough of the tantrums! Bring your ass back here right now before I bench you for the next game,” Coach threatens, but I keep walking.
This team means nothing to me anymore. Not after what happened earlier.
I come thundering into the locker room and start shredding off my gear. The Hutton on the back of my jersey doesn’t give me the same thrill it did a year ago. Back then, it was everything. Now? Now it’s just a name on a jersey.
It only takes me five minutes to get dressed in normal clothes again, but it’s five minutes that Alex has had to come fucking find me, most likely having been at our practice. Or more specifically, me.
“Get back out there, Maddox. Now. You’re a grown man, not a child who throws tantrums when he’s playing like a rookie,” he snaps, and I find him blocking the door with his arms crossed.
“No,” I say, tossing my bag over my shoulder.
“No? If you want to see the game tomorrow, you sure as shit are going to get back out there and finish that practice.”
“I don’t want to play tomorrow. I’m done, Alex. Now, get out of my way.”
He drops his arm and takes a step toward me. “You’re not done. You’re still under contract.”
“So don’t pay me for the next seven games.”
I try to move around him, but he follows. “Maddox, I’ve known you since you were a boy. Don’t do this. Don’t throw your career away for that girl a second time. It’ll be a mistake you might never recover from again.”
I huff a laugh. “You keep saying that, but choosing Braxton is the easiest decision I have ever made. Even if I never stepped foot on NHL ice again, I would absolutely, without a doubt, make this decision again. So, please, take your offer and your pleas, and shove them up your ass.”
His jaw falls open, and I use his surprise to shove past him, my shoulder smashing into his.
“Oh, and if I find out you’re planning anything against Braxton, I will make your life a living hell. And I mean that with every fibre of my being.”
And then I leave the Vancouver Warriors locker room for the very last time.