Page 58 of Stand Your Ground
The waitress bringing us a fresh round of drinks had me blinking out of my thoughts. Carter looked her right in the eyes as he thanked her, and of course he made some endearing joke that had her laughing and flushing and me thinkingyou idiot, can’t you see that you don’t need me?
Then his attention was back on me, his grin wide, eyes glassy. “If you think that was a disaster, you should hear about my time at Hooters.”
“Oh, God, please, no.”
He laughed, sipping his whiskey with his eyes dancing as they watched me. His demeanor shifted — just marginally, enough for me to notice him rubbing his hands down his slacks and scratching at the hair on his jaw.
“There is another story I want to tell you, actually. For real. Not a joke.”
I finished off the last of the martini I’d had in hand, picking up my water next. “That sounds ominous.”
He let out a soft breath, sitting forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees. His gaze was on the firepit now and my stomach tightened at the shift in mood.
“I want to tell you why I am the way I am. Why I need your help the way I do.” He paused, rolling his lips between his teeth before glancing at me. “I’m sure you’ve thought about it surface level. Like I’m just some guy who doesn’t know how to flirt or fuck or talk to a woman without making her cringe.” He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “But it’s more than that.”
I tilted my head, softening. “Okay.”
“I just… I need to get it all out, and I—can you just listen? And try not to judge?”
That made my brows furrow. “Why would I judge you?”
He gave a tiny shrug, looking at his hands before he found my gaze again. “Because what I’m about to tell you is going to tell you a lot about me, and it’s not flattering.”
My heart squeezed at the sight of him, his head hung like an abused animal expecting to be hit again. “I’m listening.”
He was quiet for a beat before he started, voice lower than before.
“I grew up in Ontario. Middle-class, pretty standard childhood. Parents were sweet — strict, but loving. I started skating when I was three, playing hockey when I was four, and it became everything to me. I begged my parents to watch every Maple Leafs game, practiced year-round, and it just… it made me so fucking happy, Liv. My dad always says he never saw my real smile until I had a stick in my hand. As a kid, I played for hours in the street, on frozen ponds, in the kitchen when my mom wasn’t looking. I’d pretend I was in the NHL, game on the line, last-second shot…”
A soft smile touched his lips, then faded.
“And then, when I was fifteen, I made it to the OHL. It was a big deal. That’s where I met Coach Leduc.”
He said the name like it was venom in his mouth.
“That man was the opposite of any adult I’d ever come into contact with. While my parents were docile and quiet, he was barking at me within minutes of meeting him. He towered over all of us — nearly seven-feet tall, absolute giant. He didn’t smile when he met me. I discovered real quick that he never smiled at all.
“At first, it was fine. Tough love, sure, but I could handle that. But then the yelling started. The threats. The mind games.‘If you don’t want it bad enough, there’s ten other kids gearing for your spot on the team who do.’ ‘You think you’re talented? You’re soft. You’ll never make it.’ Every mistake was personal. Every missed pass, every bad shift — it was never just a mistake. It was proof I didn’t belong.”
My chest pulled tight. Carter was still staring into the fire, but I could see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers twisted in his lap. I’d never seen him like that.
“It got worse the older we got,” he continued. “Leduc loved to pick favorites. He’d pit us against each other. If you weren’t his golden boy, you were nothing. He made mefeellike nothing.”
My stomach twisted.
I knew that feeling.
“And things just started changing. Where hockey was my happy place before, my safe place… it became like this weird, toxic relationship. I still loved the game, but I hated how I felt playing under Leduc. I stopped smiling at games, stopped celebrating wins. I’d go home and snap at my mom, lock myself in my room, skip dinner. I’d run drills tirelessly, sometimes until I injured myself, and then I’d punch myself in the face repeatedly and chant how weak I was. I became this… this fucking monster. This version of myself I didn’t even recognize. And I stayed in it. For years. Because I thought that’s what it took to be great.”
His voice cracked on that word, and he looked away, blinking hard.
Oh, God.
If this man cries, I’m going to fucking lose it.
“And you know what? I did make it. I got drafted. I got the dream. But I didn’t get it without those years of abuse still sticking to me like mud. That was why I bounced back and forth between the AHL and NHL for so long.” He shook his head. “When I got drafted, Leduc looked me right in the eyes andscoffed with a nasty curl of his lip. He said they’d made a mistake and I’d be out before they could print my name on a jersey. He said I’d fail.” Carter paled. “And I believed him.”
I closed my eyes on a long exhale. “Carter…”
