His piercing gaze rakes over me, cold and assessing as always. "You should have. I told you I would come to review your progress in person."
I bristle at his tone but bite back a sharp retort. I know better than to poke the bear. Learned that lesson the hard way. My finger skates over the faint scar along my left cheek.
"I attended your game against Cornell last month. Sloppy handling, inaccurate passing, completely ineffective checking. Your leg may have healed, but the rest . . . I had to leave after the second period before people realized you're my son." His lip curls and his eyes blaze with disgust.
"Are you fucking kidding me?"
His mouth tightens, gaze glacial. “Mind your volume, boy. I'll not be shouted at by my own blood."
"I've been kicking ass all season since that one game. Top ranks in assists, goals scored, time on attack—or do you even follow my stats?"
He just pins me with a glare, not answering.
“You know what, I’m fucking done. You’re the reason I broke my leg—or did you forget? You almost stole my dream from me.Mydream.”
Movement over my father’s shoulder catches my eye. Eli stands frozen a few feet away, a cup of coffee clutched in each hand.
I hadn’t shared with him how I broke my leg. How my father was too busy swinging at me while driving and we got into a car accident. All because I was playing a game on my phone instead of immediately analyzing all the wrong moves I made on theice earlier. He blamed my mediocre performance on that rather than the fact I’d been sick with a fever.
My father turns and looks over his shoulder. His gaze rakes across Eli as he lets out a dismissive snort. "This is how you choose to spend your time, with this worthless distraction?"
"You might be my father but Eli is mine."
My father turns back to me, one eyebrow ticking up. “Yours?”
“Mine.” I straighten to my full height. “I love him, and I won't let anyone hurt him, not even you.”
His thin lips curl again as he turns back to me. “My son’s a cocksucker now?”
I step closer, the two of us nearly nose to nose as we stare each other down. “Say one more fucking word. I dare you.”
He lets out a snarl, then swings, his fist connecting with my cheek. The blow knocks me back one step, fire blooming where his ring splits my skin.
For the second time in my life.
I swipe my fingers over the cut as I stand tall. If he wants me cowed, I'll gladly disappoint him yet again.
Only Eli drops the coffee and rushes over, shoving my father away. “Don’t you fucking touch him.”
I push Eli behind me, not wanting my father to lay a hand on my Solnyshko.
But my father simply pulls a monogrammed handkerchief from his suit pocket and dabs at flecks of blood marring his gold ring with exaggerated care.
When he finishes, he pins me under frigid scorn once more. "Consider your accounts cut off as well as your tuition."
With that, he pivots on one polished loafer and stalks toward the exit, not sparing me another glance. Dismissing my entire existence as casually as trading a faulty appliance.
Silence follows until Eli brushes a warm hand along my forearm. “You’re bleeding.”
"Don't look so tragic. I'll be fine." At his doubtful stare I squeeze the slender fingers curling around mine. "Truly. I get hurt worse in hockey.”
He grimaces and I chuckle.
“You know my plan is to play in the NHL. Did you think I would never get hurt?”
His eyes are wet. “That’s . . . different, and I don’t want to think about that right now. Your father just hit you, made you bleed. He cut you off.”
I tug him closer, arms winding snug around his waist as I brush a soft kiss to his temple. “Don’t worry. My mother’s the one with the power. That prick just married into the family."
