I tell her about Magnus; how it started as rivalry and turned into something I didn’t expect. How the night after practice turned into mornings I didn’t want to end. How being with him felt like breathing for the first time in years.
Then I tell her about the fight. The things I said that I didn’t mean. The look on Magnus’s face when I told him he wasn’t worth the risk. The way he walked out without looking back.
By the time I get to Kyle, my voice has gone flat with the kind of numb tone that comes after too many shocks in a row.
“He said Dad contacted him,” I whisper. “That he made some kind of… deal. To keep up appearances. I didn’t believe him at first, but?—”
Molly’s eyes widen. “Dad didwhat?”
I nod miserably. “Kyle said he was just looking for attention, a quick headline, until Dad called him. Offered to ‘make it worth his while’ if he helped sell the story that I was with him.”
Molly sets her cup down hard enough that it sloshes. “I’m going to kill him.”
“Get in line,” I mutter.
She leans forward, elbows on her knees, jaw tight. “So that’s why you said those things to Magnus. Because of Dad.”
I look away. “He called me into his office, Mol. He is a constant reminder that I don’t have a fucking say in what I do. Said the same old crap about reputation, about not embarrassing the family, about sponsors and optics. He said the team needs a clean image. And then he threatened ruining Magnus.”
“Oh my god.”
“I thought… maybe if I told Magnus I didn’t want him, he’d hate me and just move on. I thought that would be better than Dad coming after him.”
Her expression softens, anger draining into heartbreak. “Oh, Al.”
I laugh, but it’s bitter. “Worked like a charm. He hates me.”
“Magnus doesn’t hate you. He probably hurts like hell, though,” she says. “Trust me; I’ve seen the way he looks at you. That man’s got it bad.”
Her words sting and soothe all at once. “He shouldn’t,” I say. “He deserves someone who isn’t too afraid to stand up to their father.”
“Maybe,” she says, “but he chose you. And you love him.”
I don’t answer right away. The silence stretches, filled only by Butter’s gentle snoring and the faint clink of wind chimes outside.
Finally, I say it, barely above a whisper. “Yeah. I love him.”
Molly smiles sadly. “Then why are you here instead of with him?”
“Because I ruined it.”
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “Dad ruined it. You just tried to survive it.”
The words break something loose inside me. I cover my face again, fingers pressing into my temples.
“I don’t even know how to fix this. He looked at me like I was everything he’d ever been warned about. A rich kid who uses his money to get what he wants. Like I was my father.”
Molly gets up and sits beside me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. For a moment, I’m twelve years old again, fresh off another argument with Dad about grades or hockey drills or who I’m supposed to be. Back then, she was the only one who could calm me down.
“I’m just so sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t want to say those things to him. I just didn’t want his career to end because of me.”
She squeezes me. “It’ll be okay.”
We sit like that for a long time. Eventually, she stands and heads to the kitchen again. I hear her muttering under her breath, probably cursing Dad, and it makes me almost smile. When she comes back, she’s holding a photo from the mantle; it’s of the two of us when we were kids, before everything got complicated.
“Remember that day?” she says. “You and Dad fought because you wanted to join the youth hockey league instead of his stupid prep program.”
“Yeah. He said I’d embarrass him by playing with ‘mediocre’ kids.”
