Page 82 of Racking Up Penalties
“Hey, Tess,” Tristan says softly, coming up beside me. His hand finds my shoulder, a gentle but firm anchor in the storm of my emotions. “He’s going to be okay, you know? Ethan’s tough.”
Liam moves to my other side, his presence a familiar comfort. His eyes are a turbulent sea of worry and frustration, but when he looks at me, they soften. “Tristan’s right. Ethan can handle himself.”
I nod, trying to believe them. But my mind replays the scene over and over. Ethan’s pained expression, the way his father’s words sliced through the air, venomous and sharp. The fear in my eyes must be as clear as a distress signal, loud and piercing.
“Look at me, Tessa,” Liam urges gently. His fingers lift my chin, forcing my gaze to meet his earnest gaze. “We’re here for you. Whatever you need. Tomorrow, we will comfort Ethan and make this the last time his father treats him this way.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, my voice barely there.
“Let’s clean up dinner, yeah?” Liam suggests, breaking the heavy silence and wiping one of the tears dripping down my cheek. “And then we can figure out… everything else.”
“Right.” I take a deep breath, steadying myself with the thought that these two will be at my side, come what may. “Let’s do that.”
Together, we start clearing the remnants of a feast that now feels like it belonged to another lifetime. With each dish we put away, I can feel a tiny piece of normalcy returning, a fragile sense that maybe, just maybe, we can weather this too. But even as we work, my mind remains with Ethan, hoping he feels this bond, however distant, holding on to him like a lifeline.
The clink of dishes and the swish of water fill the space where laughter once lived, my hands moving mechanically to scrub away the traces of our interrupted celebration. Liam moves with quiet efficiency beside me, his presence a source of comfort even in silence. Tristan takes over the drying, his movements deliberate, both of them cocooning me in solidarity.
“Are you okay, Tess?” Liam asks, his voice low, eyes searching mine for the truth I’m not sure I can voice.
“Fine,” I manage, though the word tastes like ash on my tongue. I’m anything but fine, watching the door Ethan was dragged through like it might burst open and return him to us.
Tristan sets down the towel, leaning against the counter, his brows knitting together in concern. “He’s strong, Tessa. You know that better than anyone.”
“I do,” I whisper, more to convince myself than them. The memory of Ethan’s face, stoic yet tinged with an edge of defeat, haunts me. It’s a stark contrast to the usually unshakable confidence he exudes on the ice.
“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Liam says, his attempt at reassurance sounding forced. “Let’s pack up our stuff and Ethan’s. Then we can be ready to go if he needs us.”
I nod, but in the pit of my stomach, uncertainty churns like a gathering storm.
We all go up and mechanically pack, hoping Ethan will call us.
Chapter 36
I slam the car door a little harder than necessary, the sound barely registering over the din of laughter and music that spills from my parents’ house. My stomach churns with a toxic blend of anxiety and resolve. Dad’s hand on my back is an unwelcome weight, ushering me forward into the throng.
“Come on, Ethan. Show some spirit,” he says, his voice laced with that familiar authoritative edge that’s meant to spur me on.
I shrug him off, not wanting the comfort or control he thinks he can offer. The cool November air nips at my skin, but it’s nothing compared to the coldness I feel inside as we step into the foyer. The warmth of the house wraps around me like a suffocating blanket, heavy with the scent of roasted turkey and expensive cologne.
“Your mother outdid herself this year,” Dad boasts, gesturing towards the living room where guests mingle with drinks in hand, their laughter a jarring soundtrack to my inner turmoil.
“Looks great,” I mutter, scanning the room for an escape route I have no intention of taking just yet. Not until I’ve said what needs to be said.
The swell of classical music melds with the chatter of the crowd; Dad has always had a flair for the dramatic. But beneath the festive façade, there’s a hollowness that echoes my own feelings.
“Everyone’s been asking about you,” he continues, oblivious to my discomfort. “They’re excited to see the rising hockey star. I expect you to meet expectations.”
A title I never asked for but was thrust upon me anyway, each expectation another shackle I’m determined to break free from tonight.
“Can’t disappoint them, then,” I say, plastering on the kind of smile I’ve perfected over the years. It’s the same smile that hides the resentment bubbling beneath the surface, the same one that fools everyone into thinking I’m just another privileged son happy to follow in his father’s footsteps.
But Liam, Tristan, and Tessa—they see through it. They know the real me, the one who’s fighting to carve out his own path, away from the money and the manipulation.
“Make sure you talk to Mr. Henderson from the board. He’s been asking about you,” Dad instructs, already scanning the room for his next business opportunity.
“Sure thing,” I lie because tonight I’m here on my terms, not his.
As the party buzzes around me, my phone vibrates in my pocket. A lifeline in the form of a text from Liam.
