That’s not what Dad has said my whole life,I thought, but didn’t say out loud.
Before I could come up with a response, the front door swung open with a bang against the siding of the house.
Shit. My dad was home.
A few seconds later, he stomped into the kitchen to where we sat with Mom.
“What the hell are you doing here, Caden?” Dad scowled as he strode toward the table where the rest of us remained seated.
I tried to gauge how much he’d had to drink today for a few seconds before giving up, realizing it didn’t matter because I had to get this over with.
“Dad, I came up to talk to you and Mom about something.”
“There’s nothing so important you couldn’t have sent it in a goddamn text. You’ve got the last game of the season tomorrow,and you thought it was a good time to skip out on your team yet again? You need to turn around and get back to Lakeside right now.” His jaw clenched so hard I was surprised his molars weren’t audibly cracking.
thirty-eight
CADEN
“Frank!”
He didn’t acknowledge my mom.
“No,” I said simply, without breaking eye contact with him.
“No?” He took two steps forward, bringing him close enough to where I was sitting that I had to look up at him.
I had to steel myself not to visibly react. It was rare for him to get physical with me—and he’d never done anything in front of Mom—and I’d been banking on that pattern holding up today.
But Dad seemed angrier than I’d seen him in years, making him more unpredictable.
“That’s what I said. No, this couldn’t be a text message or wait until after the season. I wanted you to hear it from me first,” I explained calmly, despite the way my internal organs were turning into jelly.
“Hear what from you? Have you messed up with the Hammerheads so badly with your half-assed performance that you’ve come here to tell me they’re releasing you from your contract?” he spat.
My heart pounded in my chest as I fought the urge to placate him. I’d learned over the years that there was no way to temperhis rage, either by trying to reason with him or cajole him, but the desire to do so was always there.
There was nothing I could do but keep my expression neutral and unmoved.
“No. They haven’t released me,” I sighed, fighting to keep any frustration from contaminating my tone. Arriving on my parents’ doorstep unexpected was enough to put my dad on the defensive. If he thought I was giving him “attitude,” he’d shut down and wouldn’t hear a word of the explanation I’d been rehearsing in my mind for weeks.
“Thank fuck for that. We’re not in complete shit yet. Tell me what the hell is going on then, and why Ace Landry is sitting in my kitchen.”
“Frank.” Asher’s greeting was a simple acknowledgement, accompanied by a shallow nod of his head. It was a marked change from his over-the-top friendliness at the hospital a few months earlier.
A quick glance at Ash revealed a deceptively calm expression on his face, while the hand on my leg was tense. His finger muscles twitched every so often as if he were fighting to keep still.
My dad’s presence was rapidly sucking the oxygen out of the room, making it harder for me to pull a full breath into my lungs. My threadbare hoodie felt like it was suddenly made of lead instead of fabric.
“Dad, could you maybe sit down?” I suggested.
“Fine.” He yanked out the chair and sank down into it beside my mom.
Dad laid both hands on the table in front of him, as if to be ready to stand up again at any moment.
“Explain.” He slapped his hand on the tabletop, that stupid fucking high school ring banging against the wooden surface.
“I came up to let you know that I’m done with hockey. I’m not signing any contract extensions if they are offered with the Hammerheads or any other team. I’ll finish this season, but that’s it. I wanted you to hear it from me first before it became official.”
