"Drew, you just completely flipped. The last time this happened—"
"It's not like that, okay?" I move toward the window, raking my hand down my face. "I'm just over the bullshit."
Dad clicks his tongue. "That bullshit is what made you, son."
"No, Dad," I snap through gritted teeth. "I'mwhat made me."
There's a pause on his end that gives me the slightest bit of hope.
Until it doesn't.
"Drew, all I'm saying is—"
"Don't." I pace back through the living room, peeking into the bedroom to find Brooke still sound asleep. "The only reason I even answered is because you won't stop fucking calling me at the ass-crack of dawn," I whisper loudly.
"I'm sorry, I thought you'd be getting ready to run," Dad says, almost hesitantly.
"Yeah,well, I'm not."
He inhales deeply and blows out hard. "Well, just stay focused, okay? If you want any shot at going to Washington, they're going to want to see consistency from you."
My whole body freezes, my grip growing tighter on my phone. "Washington?" I scoff. "That'swhy you're concerned I played differently last game? Why you're worried something's wrong? Because it'll ruin my chances to replace Rourke on the Titans?"
"I mean, yeah. I thought—"
"Fuck, Dad" I groan louder than I mean to, glancing behind me to make sure Brooke's not standing in the doorway. I run my free hand through my hair instead of continuing my response.
What I want to add is that he doesn't know me. That he clearly stopped giving a shit about me or what I wanted when Mom died—if he ever really cared at all. I want to tell him thathe'shigh on the list for why things were different yesterday, but that nothing iswrongwith how I played. If anything, besides Brooke, it was the only thing that felt right in a long fucking time.
But I don't admit to any of that.
Not because I can'tsayit.
But because he won'thearit.
Instead, I sigh. "Just drop it, Dad. Please."
He takes a steady breath on the other end of the phone, and I think for once he might listen. He might actually think before he speaks. "I can't promise that, son. It's my job as your father to help you decide what's best for you."
No, Dad. It's your job as my father to love me either way.
"I have to go," is all I say before tapping on my screen to end the call.
I squeeze my phone so tightly in my hand that I'm afraid it might crack. But then for a second, I think, maybe that'd be the best thing to happen yet. Peering out the window of Brooke's apartment, all I can think about is how I wish I could call my mom so she could undo everything that he just did. So she could remind me of who I am—and who I'm not. A lump crawls up my throat as the sound of footsteps creak behind me. Swallowing it down, I turn to find Brooke in my t-shirt from yesterday, the soft fabric hitting her mid-thigh.
"Hey you," I say, my shoulders falling as soon as she offers me a smile.
"Hi," she answers, her voice still full of sleep. She slinks over to me with her arms across her chest and burrows her face into the crook between my neck and collarbone. She fits there perfectly, her lips against the pulse at my throat, and it takes everything in me not to tell her that she's the one thing keeping it alive.
"Did I wake you?"
Her cheek brushes against my skin, still warm. "No, I just rolled over, and you were gone."
My heart throbs in my chest.She missed me."Do you have plans for the day?" I ask, avoiding sharing any information on the reason I was up in the first place.
"Most of my posts for this week are already planned out. I had a lot of free time to fill yesterday before you got here thanks to Cooper beingtoo coolfor me now." She peers up at me and rolls her eyes. "But I was gonna head to the rink to film some sort of content. Brett said he'd meet me."
"Brett?" I ask, jealously clearly lacing my tone.
