Page 119 of Rebound
Of course, I’ve checked in on her. Probably more than she likes because she literally told me to stop messaging her. I hopeshe doesn’t expect me to stop caring about her because she asked.
My phone rings again with another call from my father. He usually never calls unless it’s something I can do for him or he’s getting the chance to play up the hockey legacy whose son followed in his footsteps.
I’ve been ignoring him since I moved to Boston, and I thought he’d forgotten about me when the calls stopped.
“Are you going to answer that?” Drew shoots a glare my way. He sets the dumbbells he was using back on the rack.
“I’m debating it.”
With a roll of his eyes and grunt, he turns away from me. It’s clear to see Lavinia got all the personality and charm in the womb.
The phone quiets and I breathe out in relief. I set my own dumbbells down before lifting my towel and wiping the sweat off my face. My father must be growing impatient because almost as soon as the phone stops ringing, it starts again.
“Could be an emergency,” Holden says.
“Trust me, if it was, I’d be getting a call from the police or the hospital.”
My father isn’t the man anyone wants around in an emergency. He’ll find ways to blame you and tell you what a huge inconvenience it is for him that you got hurt. Care? He doesn’t know the meaning of the word.
“I’ll be right back,” I say to no one.
I grab my phone and walk out of the gym. We’re using Philly’s practice facility and it’s a surreal experience to be on this side.
Maybe because I’m from Boston and spent a lot of time at the Titan’s arena that the Parker Caine Arena feels like home more than any other place ever did. I walk to the end of the hallway, looking out the window at the parking lot below.
Taking a deep, bracing breath, I finally answer the call.
“Dad.”
“Finally, he answers. That device in your hand is a communication device, Roman. When it rings, you answer. I thought I taught you that much, but clearly I was wrong.” His gruff voice fills my ear and immediately, I’m five years old being told I’ll never be as good as him at hockey if I don’t get my head in the game. I shut my eyes against that image.
“I’m at the gym with the team. Do you actually need something? I know it’s not a social call.”
“Now I need a reason to call my son?”
“You always have a reason to call me.”
“Your mother wants to have a big dinner party. She wants to know what days you’re playing so she can plan around it,” Dad says. “I don’t know why after all these years she wants to have a party. She doesn’t know how to cook, and it’ll be a waste of time for everyone, but all of a sudden after thirty-five years of marriage she wants to be traditional.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. This isn’t an emergency, not to mention I don’t want anything to do with my parent’s social life. The last place I want to be is in that house.
“I’ll text her. Is there anything else?” I ask.
“Yeah. Your agent told me you turned down the documentary interview again. With the way your career is going, I don’t see why you’re fucking up this leverage. What, you want people to see that Asher Maddox’s son is no good at being a team player? You want to make a name for yourself by being the big shot who fucks up and fucks around?”
I’m firing my agent as soon as I get off this call. I only have one demand from my agents, and that is nothing I do in my career is ruled by who my father is or what he demands. As soon as you cross that line, you’re gone.
I’ve already let go of two agents because they thought I was kidding about that, and this will be the third. I don’t fuck around when it comes to how far I want to be from my father and his shadow. I may wear his name, but I’m not a fucking Maddox legacy.
“Nothing I do on the ice or off it is any of your concern,” I grind out.
“As long as you wear my name on your back, it is my concern!” His voice is getting louder, and my heart rate is increasing. “If you’re going to play for my team, you’re going to clean up your act. And I’m telling your agent you’re accepting that interview slot. Oh, and whatever woman of the week you were photographed with, tell her goodbye. You don’t need to be distracted by some pussy.”
My heart booms inside my chest and I’m quite sure I’m having a heart attack. There in’t enough air in the room for my lungs. But the mention of Lavinia has me seeing red. If my father was standing in front of me, my hands would be covered in his blood.
“Be very careful what you say about my wife. I won’t fucking tolerate a word against her, and I don’t give a single fuck that you’re my father. You’ll never speak a word against her.”
I disconnect the call, and my hands are shaking so badly, the phone drops to the floor. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to draw air into my lungs.
