Page 81 of Racking Up Penalties
I follow close behind, our steps in sync, while Ethan and Tristan linger at the table, their expressions a mix of curiosity and unease.
The door swings open and there’s a man there who I don’t recognize until Liam practically growls, “You’re not welcome here, Michael.”
Ethan’s dad, Michael Matthews, his presence is like a cold draft that sucks the warmth right out of the room. He’s a tall figure, imposing even in the doorway, with an air of entitlement that seems to take up more space than his physical form.
“Finally found you,” he says, his eyes locking onto Ethan like a missile honing in on its target. His voice rumbles with a disapproval so potent it feels like a slap across the face.
“Michael.” The name comes out strained from Debbie’s lips, a clear effort to maintain civility. She stands beside Liam now, her body language protective.
“Didn’t realize this was an open house,” Michael sneers, glossing over Debbie with barely a glance, his words dripping with condescension. “Or are you just that desperate for company?”
Liam’s fists clench at his sides, the knuckles turning white. But he holds back, his jaw set, knowing any reaction would only add fuel to the fire. I can almost hear his thoughts churning, trying to find a way to de-escalate, to protect not just Ethan but all of us from the tension that’s now coiled tight around the room.
Ethan stands, the chair scraping against the floor jarringly loud. He’s steel wrapped in flesh, his athletic frame poised in a stance that speaks of countless hours on the ice—defensive yet controlled. “What do you want, Dad?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Michael’s lips curl into something resembling a smile, but there’s no warmth in it. “I want my son. My real son. And I don’t plan on leaving without him.”
The air feels thick, charged with an energy that buzzes through us all.
“You need to leave,” Ethan demands, his voice steady even as his brown eyes betray the storm brewing within, as he moves to stand in front of his father.
Michael’s grip is iron, fingers digging into Ethan’s arm as he yanks him toward the door. “You think you can hide from your responsibilities in this… this mockery of a family gathering?” he spits out, eyes flashing with contempt.
“Let go of him!” Liam’s voice slices through the tension, his gray eyes storming over with anger.
“Stay out of it,” Michael barks back, his disdain for Liam and Debbie palpable in the air. “This doesn’t concern you.”
Ethan’s face is a mask of restraint, but I see the muscle ticking in his jaw, the way his brown eyes harden. He’s a pillar of self-control, but even pillars can crack under enough pressure.
“Michael, please, not like this.” Debbie’s voice trembles, but her stance is solid, rooted in the warmth of the kitchen that now feels like a world away.
Tristan stands next to Liam, showing his support.
“Shut up, woman,” Michael growls, and something inside me shatters at the harshness in his tone.
In a moment of impulse, I step forward, my hand finding Ethan’s. I pull him into me, pressing my lips to his in a kiss that’s both a plea and a promise. “Do you want help?” I whisper against his lips.
“Let’s go, Ethan. Now,” Michael commands, disregarding me as if I’m nothing more than an annoying gnat. “And you—” His sneer is directed at me now, the venom in his voice making me flinch, “—stop throwing yourself at my son. You’re just cheap.”
I recoil, the word slicing through me. But before I can unravel, Ethan’s hand squeezes mine. “Don’t talk to her that way!”
“Stop,” Liam says again, stepping forward, every line of his body coiled and ready to defend. “Ethan’s part of this family too.”
“Family?” Michael laughs, a hollow sound that makes my skin crawl. “This? This is nothing.”
“Don’t do this,” Ethan finally breaks, his voice low and tight with frustration. “I’ll handle it. I’m fine, okay?”
“Fine?” Liam questions, his protective instincts clashing with the reality of Ethan’s words. “Look at how he’s treating you.”
“I’ll see you at practice tomorrow,” Ethan says to Liam, his gaze unwavering, a silent message passing between them. Then to me, “Tessa, it’s going to be okay.”
“Like hell it is,” Liam mutters under his breath, but he steps back, letting Ethan make his own decisions.
Tristan looks furious but stiffly nods that he understands.
The door swings open, and the cold night air rushes in, a stark contrast to the warmth we’ve all been basking in moments ago. It’s a slap in the face, a reminder of how quickly things can change.
The door clicks shut, and the finality of it echoes through Liam’s house. I’m rooted to the spot, my heart racing, each thud resonating with Ethan’s name. Fear claws at my insides, and that kiss, our desperate goodbye, burns on my lips like a brand.
