Page 7 of Breakout
“Okay, gross. I am right here.” Grace pushes me off of her.
I laugh, trailing behind them.
When my phone rings, I pull it out, cringing when I see my father’s name on the screen.
“You two have fun in class. I need to take this,” I tell them.
A brief look passes Peyton’s face before she puts her mask back in place. “Probably his next booty call.”
“Oh, I hear them sometimes. He picks the loud ones,” Grace says, as they walk away from me.
I withhold a smirk at the slight panic on Peyton’s face. Serves her right.
Quickly, I answer the phone before it rings over to voicemail.
“Father.”
“I need you to come to the office today. We have to discuss your future with the company.”
It’s always the same with him. He doesn’t even care that I’m likely to be a first-round draft pick in the PHL. All he cares about is his precious company.
As if I actually want to go into stock trading. Sure, it has made him millions, but it’s dull as hell. I don’t give a fuck aboutearning other people money while taking my cut off the top. All I want to do is play the game I love.
Not that he would ever hear it.
“I have class right now,” I remind him.
It’s the only thing he lets me have. He agreed to let me play hockey, but I’d need to take business courses. It’s not what I want, but I do what I have to. With his income, there was no way I would qualify for financial aid, so it is either him paying my tuition, or I don’t go to college and, by extension, no hockey. Could I get a scholarship? Maybe, but then I would be taking it away from someone else.
Little does he know, I’ve already got my exit plan in place. I just need to hope that everything goes the way I need it to.
“I’m well aware of your schedule, Beckett. I get updates on your progress weekly. After your class, you will come here.”
I wince. “I have practice.”
“Skip it. You will be here at four p.m. sharp. Do you understand me?”
I don’t need him to spell out his threat. He pays my tuition by the semester. With this being the last one, he can’t threaten that, but he can cut me off, which would put the guys in a bad place if I can’t pay for my share of the expenses.
Only a little longer.
“Yes, sir. I will be there.”
I hate it. I hatehim.
He hangs up without a response.
I squeeze my phone as anger courses through me. I take a deep breath and breathe it out slowly. He had me where he wanted me. Fully dependent on him. At least, he thinks he does.
Truth is I plan to go professional. It might not be a long-term solution, but it’s one that will make me happy.
Shooting a text to Coach, I let him know I won’t be at practice due to family reasons.
I don’t need to say anymore. He’s met my father. They had an argument about my place on the team when I started. Coach hates Father. Father hates Coach. For that reason, Coach won’t argue with me. He feels pity for me for having to deal with the man.
So I’m off the hook.
At least for now.
