Page 122 of Hard to Handle

“Well,” she says in the prissiest of tones. I’ve upset her. “I’ll have to talk to your father.”

“Don’t you dare rob Jonah of this.” When she remains silent, I continue. “The medical team will be there at nine to evaluate and prepare him for a safe transport.” Steps that are way above and beyond what he needs but I know if I do this, she can’t say no. “There are three tickets at the box office for you guys.”

But when I hang up and toss my cell on the middle of the bed, I know not to hold my breath that my father will show.

CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

DEKKER

“I’M SORRY. I WALKED IN. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

Hunter turns to my voice in his bedroom doorway and there’s justifiable sadness in his expression that hurts me.

“It’s just par for the fucking course,” he mutters and laces his fingers behind his neck and exhales loudly. “Don’t worry about it.”

“But I do.”

“I’m used to it.” He shakes his head and forces a smile I know is masking his pain. “We still ordering food?”

“If you want.” I pat my back pocket where I thought my phone was.

“Use mine,” he says, pointing to the bed.

I’m distracted when I open it and it takes a second for me to believe what I’m seeing. The top of the iMessage screen says Dad, but there’s no way in hell the messages on this phone could be from his father.

In just the static screen in front of me, there’s word after word of negativity. Comment after comment of cruelty.

“Dekk? What is it?” Hunter asks, but when I’m so abhorred by what I see, I just look at him and hold out his phone.

“I didn’t mean to. It was there when I opened it,” I fumble. “What the hell?”

His sigh sounds like resignation and defeat as he takes his phone and tosses it right back to where I found it.

“I’ll never be good enough for my dad.” It’s all he says. It’s pained and raw and it rips my heart out.

“You play in the goddamn NHL, Hunter. You’re the captain and have records and . . .”

“And I’m not Jonah.”

Our eyes meet and hold, and so much is exchanged. So many emotions I think he’s afraid to show come through loud and clear.

“Is it like that after every game?”

He nods. “I don’t care. It doesn’t affect me.”

That has to be the biggest lie I’ve ever heard, because how can you play at the top of your game and your father, the man he probably craves approval from, not approve?

“You never respond to him. There’s nothing from you back to him.” At least not on the screen that I see.

“I did one time. I didn’t get the satisfaction I thought I would from it, so I don’t anymore.”

I hate this. I hate seeing this the night before he’s leaving for his first finals game. I hate that this is even a thing in his life when he deserves so much better . . . so much more.

“Why don’t you block his number?” I ask, knowing it’s much more complex than that. His parents are his lifeline to Jonah. If he cuts them off, he’s cut off from his other half. It’s complicated to say the least, but even harder is listening to his stoic tone when I know the words on these texts have to wreck him inside.

He chuckles. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”