Listening to Pitstop and Mom chat about things while they thought I was asleep was heartwarming. I shouldn’t have pretended, but I couldn’t face their sadness, or pity, or whatever else was swimming in Penelope’s eyes as she crouched in front of me.
I much prefer her caustic wit than seeing tears swim in her eyes—even if it’s adorable because she was crying over me.
Mom likes her, which goes without saying because I knew she would. She’s sassy, and smart, and beautiful, and most of all she calls me on my bullshit, something Mom’s been doing my whole life. They’re kindred spirits. And left unchecked they could be a whole lot of trouble. A not-so-little piece of me hopes they are.
The warm and fuzzy atmosphere doesn’t last long, however, because as soon as Dad comes into the room, everything shifts. My girl recedes into herself, her voice hardens, her answersbecome clipped, and from the sounds of it, she’s trying to plan her way out of the building via the window behind her.
What the hell?
If it was simply one-sided, I’d say I was seeing things that weren’t there, but Dad’s acting kind of weird too.
Did something happen between her and Dad? No. That’s... impossible. They just met, like the very first time. Even with my brain being foggy on drugs and the deep throbbing ache in my face, I can’t think of a reason they’d have to have spoken with each other before today. I’d have known if they did, right?
But Dad played hockey with her Dad. Maybe they didn’t like each other on the ice? Could that be it? Maybe they were enemies? I’ve watched tapes of games from their time on the ice, I don’t remember anything particularly out of the ordinary. Maybe I’ll need to dig them out again to give them a second look.
Something tickles at the back of my brain like I’m onto something. It would explain why she suddenly started to loathe me out of the blue. If she found out I’m Dad’s son and my dad and her dad didn’t like each other on the ice, that could explain why she wanted to hold the grudge and hate me.
And why I couldn’t talk her around, either. I mean, if Dad hated her dad for some reason, it might give me pause for dating her. Maybe.
I’ve never been able to figure out her why, but if the fathers are involved, it could make sense. Right?
It’s only when the door clicks shut that I realize Pitstop left. My mind is sluggish, but it sounded like she made an excuse and hauled ass.
I crack an eyelid. My parents are sitting next to the bed, Dad has wrapped his arm around Mom’s shoulders.
He catches my eye. “Hey, Son. How are you feeling?”
I can’t talk so I don’t bother trying. I simply look at the door where Penelope left, and wave a hand.
“I know.” He scrubs the back of his neck like he does when he’s done something he knows will upset Mom and nods. “Her dad and I have history, buddy. It’s not good.”
With a sigh, I close my eyes, gesturing for him to continue.
“It wasn’t my proudest moment on the ice, Tate. And if I could take it back, I would. I was having a shit run of games, I was afraid they’d send me down to the AHL, and I needed to do better, be better.” He sighs, and pauses for so long I have to crack my eye again to make sure that’s not the end of the story.
“I cross-checked him from behind, he collided with the boards and landed funny. It was like watching a train crash in slow motion. I didn’t mean for the hit to result in the devastation it did.” Dad’s voice is thick, and when I look up at him he has unshed tears filling his eyes.
“He got addicted to painkillers, alcohol, he lost his job in the NHL.” He sniffs. “I think he got divorced, too, but I’m not sure. I lost track when he dropped out of the headlines.”
It only takes a few minutes for him to fill me in on what transpired between him and Penelope’s dad on the ice and to give me a brief run-down on Mr. Lindstrom’s life post-injury. It’s not good. My stomach is roiling, threatening to send up whatever’s left in there.
This isn’t good at all. It’s way worse than I feared. By all accounts, Dad’s hit on Mr. Lindstrom was the hit that ended his career, and according to some things Dad found on the internet and social media... things just went from bad to worse.
I shouldn’t have pretended to be asleep while she was in the room, because the more Dad tells me, the more I’m sure of one thing. I’m never going to see that girl again for as long as I live.
CHAPTER 18
Penelope
“Dad!” I step out of Tate’s hospital room and walk almost smack into Dad.
His eyes flex wide as recognition dawns on his face. “Penelope.” It takes him a moment to put the puzzle together. I’m in a hospital. Worry flickers in his assessing gaze. “Are you okay? What are you doing here? Are you hurt?”
Once he’s checked me over enough to be convinced I’m not injured, he looks at the door behind me. “You’re visiting? Who are you here to see? Anyone I know?” He glances over my shoulder, there’s a chart hanging in the wire rack next to the door frame.
Guilt consumes my body like a wildfire. Running through how the conversation is about to go in my head takes a fraction of a second.
I don’t like to lie, but it’s hanging on the tip of my tongue to tell him that I’m just visiting a friend.
