“I'll take his other knee out,” he snarls, referencing the career-ending injury Beckham suffered years ago. “I swear to God, Hennessy, of all the men in a thirty-mile radius?—”
“Javier!” Mom attempts to cut in.
“This stops today. You're not seeing him again.” He slams his fist on the counter. “
“I'm twenty-three years old,” I snap, finding my voice. “You don't get to tell me who I can and can't see.”
“As long as it's a fucking Kingston, I absolutely do!”
We're both shouting now, our voices bouncing off the kitchen tiles. Abuela watches with arms crossed.
“He's using you, Hennessy!” Dad's face flushes dark red as he jabs a finger in my direction. “This is his sick revenge. He couldn't beat me on the ice, so now he's fucking my daughter to get back at me.”
“No, he's not!” I slam my palm against the counter, the sting barely registering through my anger. “You don't know a goddamn thing about us.”
“I know Kingston. I know exactly what kind of man he is.”
“No, you don't,” I say, my voice dropping lower, deadlier. “You know who he was on the ice over twenty years ago. You don't know who he is to me.”
Dad scoffs, the sound like sandpaper against my already raw nerves. “Please enlighten me. What kind of man dates another man’s daughter in secret?”
“The kind who tried to say no,” I fire back. “The kind who pushed me away because of who my father was.” I step closer to him, refusing to back down. “He's a good man, Dad. And for the record, I pursued him. Relentlessly. He was the one with all the fucking moral qualms about it.”
Dad's eyes widen in disbelief. “You pursued?—”
“Yes! I wanted him. I still want him. And if you'd get your head out of your ass for five seconds, you might see that he makes me happy.”
The kitchen falls silent except for our heavy breathing. Mom and Abuela besides me, offering me strength.
“Javier.” Mom's voice cuts through the tension, cold as ice. “Take a fucking walk.”
Dad's head snaps toward her. “What?”
“You heard me.” She steps forward, shoulders squared. “Take a walk. Cool off. Because I didn't marry an asshole who screams at his daughter on Christmas, and I'm not about to start tolerating one now.”
The shock on Dad's face would be comical if I weren't still trembling with adrenaline.
“Marie—”
“Now, Javier.” Mom's voice leaves no room for argument. “Before you say something you can't take back.”
For a moment, I think he might keep fighting. Then his shoulders slump. Without another word, he turns andstalks out of the kitchen. Seconds later, we hear the front door open and slam shut.
The silence that follows feels like the aftermath of a storm. I let out a shaky breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.
“Holy shit,” I whisper, leaning back against the counter for support.
Mom comes over and wraps an arm around my shoulders. “He'll come around. Eventually.”
“Or I'll make him,” Abuela adds, nodding firmly. “One way or another.”
I can't help the wet laugh that escapes me. “I should have told him sooner. Fuck, I knew it would be a problem, but I’m not sorry about Beckham.”
She pats my back. “Of course you're not. And you shouldn't be. Your father forgets what it's like to be young and in love.”
I pull back, wiping at my eyes. “I should call Beck. Dad might try to find him.”
I don't even think about it. My fingers are already dialing his number, muscle memory taking over while my heart hammers against my ribs.
