“Whatever Mia wants,” he finally said.
His voice was low, resigned.
And there it was. The answer I needed, but not the one I hoped to hear.
He was over it all. Bored. Unamused. Probably rolling his eyes internally that we even had to have a meeting about this when he had more important things to do.
Rage simmered under the sadness blanketing me, and I crossed my arms and my legs at the same time, leaning back on the couch. “Then I guess it’s settled.”
He blinked, the muscle in his jaw tightening. “I guess so.”
I laughed under my breath, turning to Isabella with new resolve. “Alright, coach,” I said, ignoring the loud crack of my heart. “What’s the plan?”
The Hardest Lie
Aleks
Anger.
Apathy.
Detachment.
Confusion.
Regret.
Repeat.
This was the cycle of my emotions for more than a week.
After the phone call with Mia, Giana, and Isabella, I checked firmly into survival mode — and I only did that for Mia. If she hadn’t made me promise, I would have added reckless to my cycle. I would have been drowning myself in whiskey, checking out of my life completely.
Because what the fuck did it matter now?
Not even work could serve as a refuge. I worked my games on autopilot, playing just well enough not to raise any flags to our staff but just terribly enough that Daddy P noticed. He’d tried to pull me aside to talk before our game against Jacksonville, but I’d shoved him off me and told him to eat a dick.
Not my finest moment.
I couldn’t help it. I was pissed. I wasseething. And I took out that frustration on the ice, on any opponent who dared to go toe to toe with me, on any teammate who had the gall to question me, on the puck any time I got ahold of it.
It was easy to just be mad.
Never good enough.
Never good enough.
Even Otis knew I was off. I’d managed not to be a prick to the old man, but I’d been cold enough for him to get the picture that I didn’t want to talk. He’d stopped by my place unannounced as always, and when I’d declined to join him for a drink, he’d pushed his palm against my door in my attempt to close it.
“You have the power to change your circumstances,” he’d said, his eyes hard on mine. “Don’t you forget that, young man.”
It’d taken everything in me not to laugh in his face.
If he only knew how powerless I was right now.
I knew, underneath that rage and numbness, there was something more pressing vying for my attention. Something I was hellbent on ignoring.
Because at the base of it all — I was hurt.
