Page 24 of Pucking Knox
I'm trying to figure out how to handle this without violence when a clear voice cuts through the tension.
"Mr. Thompson?" Kennedy appears between us, somehow making her five-foot-seven frame seem larger. "I'm Kennedy Walters. Why don't you come with me? The seats I reserved are much better than standing around here."
Dad blinks at her, thrown by her calm confidence. "Seats?"
"Of course." She loops her arm through his like they're old friends. "Knox mentioned you might come. I made sure to get a spot where you can really see the game."
It's a lie. A beautiful, perfect lie delivered with such conviction that I want to worship the ground she walks on.
"That's... that's real nice of you." Dad's voice softens, like they all do around Kennedy. "You're Richard Walters' girl? The one dating my boy?"
Great. That’s why he’s here. He must’ve seen some shit about me in the news alongside the big Walter name.
"I am." She catches my eye over his shoulder, and I silently thank her. "And I'd love to hear some stories about Knox growing up while we walk."
Just like that, she leads him away. I watch them go, her designer coat next to his worn jacket, her smooth lies calming his drunk anger.
"Dude." Ace claps my shoulder. "My sister is good."
It's not real, I want to say. But the words stick in my throat.
The game starts rough. I'm distracted, knowing my father's in the stands with Kennedy. Knowing all the shit he could say to her. All the ways he could destroy this careful thing we've built.
"Thompson!" Coach barks after I miss an easy check. "Head in the game!"
Yeah. I throw myself into it, channeling everything into clean hits and smart plays instead of my usual bruiser tactics. No fights, no penalties – just controlled power and precise movements.
It works. We're up 3-1 by the third period, and I've managed to protect our guys without throwing a single punch.
"Looking good out there." Coach catches me between periods. "Much more disciplined. Like you've finally found your balance."
I scan the stands automatically. Kennedy's still with my father, but now they're surrounded by other players' families. Protecting her even when I can't.
The final buzzer sounds on a 4-1 victory. I'm halfway to the locker room when I spot them.
My father's crying.
Not angry drunk tears, but the quiet, broken kind I remember from childhood. Kennedy's hand is on his arm, her expression gentle but firm as she speaks too quietly for me to hear.
Something cracks in my chest.
"She's good for you, man." Ace watches his sister handle my drunk father with more grace than he deserves. "I've never seen you so... steady. Better control. Even after he showed. I thought for sure you’d be out of it for the game. Even Coach noticed."
"Yeah." My voice comes out rough. "She's... yeah."Everything.
Kennedy and Dad spot me and walk over. Ace walks on.
"Good game, son. Real good game." He's still drunk, but something's different. Softer. "Your girl here, she thinks maybe I could... maybe I could try again. Getting clean."
"That's... that's good, Dad." I glance at Kennedy, suddenly worried about what direction this will go. She’s witnessing the piece of shit man who raised me, and I pray she doesn’t think I’ll end up just like him.
"I'll help him get home," Kennedy says, reading my face perfectly. "You have team obligations."
"Kenny—"
"Trust me." Her hand brushes mine, barely a touch but enough to ground me. "It's okay."
I watch them leave, my heart doing something complicated in my chest.
