Page 84 of Racking Up Penalties
The air in my lungs solidifies, a block of ice that won’t melt. Tessa, my Tessa, with her laugh like wind chimes and her fierce heart laid bare in every gift she gives, reduced to a gold-digger in his eyes. It’s ludicrous. She’s worth more than all the trust funds and contracts combined, and suddenly, the room is too small, the walls inching closer.
“Actually,” I cut in, louder than intended, my words cleaving the din of the party. Every muscle in my body tenses, ready for the fray. Heads turn, conversations falter, and there it is, the spotlight I never wanted. “She’s worth more than I am and I pursued her. I’m just damn lucky she said yes.”
“Son, not here.” Dad’s hand clamps on my shoulder, guiding me away from prying eyes. Mom trails behind, her expression unreadable.
“Let’s talk,” he says, but it’s not a suggestion, it’s a command. My hands curl into fists at my sides, but I hold his gaze. Now isn’t the time to back down, not when the battle lines are drawn.
I’m flanked by the cold elegance of the hallway, their faces a study in expectation. The silence is a void, waiting to be filled with my next words. My heart is a drumbeat in my chest, loud against the stillness.
“You’ve always had your ideas about who I should be. A hockey prodigy. The perfect son. But somewhere along the way,” I pause, my throat tight, “you forgot I was just a kid. Your kid. Years of pressure, pushing me to my limits, never asking if I was okay.”
The memories flood back—the silent dinners, the critical glances, every harsh word magnified in the echo of this house. I swallow hard against the lump in my throat.
“Every practice, every game—it was for you. To make you proud. But it was never enough, was it?” My fist clenches at my side.
Dad’s jaw sets, and Mom’s eyes shimmer.
“You fucking ungrateful-” Dad starts but I cut him off.
“I’m done trying to be the person you want me to be. I don’t want your money, your connections, none of it. From now on, don’t consider me your son.”
I watch the truth of my words settle between us, heavy as stone.
“Son—” Dad begins, but I shake my head.
“No, let me finish. For once, let me finish.” The dam breaks, and suddenly there’s no stopping the rush of words, years of built-up frustration pouring out. “Find someone else to live out your dreams. I’m closing this chapter of my life. I’m choosing my own path, one where I can breathe. Where I can be with people who support me for me, not for what I can achieve on the ice.”
There’s a finality in my declaration, a door closing.
My resolve barely holds as Dad’s face twists into a snarl, the mask of civility falling away to reveal the raw anger beneath. “You think you’re just going to walk out on everything we’ve built for you?” His voice is low but clear, every word laced with menace. “You’ll come crawling back, Ethan. You’ll see how unforgiving the world is without us.”
I feel the sting of his words, venom seeping through my veins, threatening to weaken my newfound determination. But I stand firm, even as my heart races, a wild drumbeat in my chest. The man before me is not the father I hoped for, but a stranger driven by pride and control.
I picture Tessa, taking strength from her.
Pivoting on my heel, I take the first step away from him, from the life I’ve known. Each footfall is a drumbeat, a solemn march toward an unknown future. The hallway stretches out, the walls lined with photographs of a family that never truly was, smiling faces betraying nothing of the fractures beneath.
Relief washes over me like a cleansing rain, yet there’s a tremor of uncertainty that quivers through my bones. Is this freedom?
“Where do you think you’re going?” Dad’s voice claws at my back, but I don’t look over my shoulder.
He forces me to, tugging me around and certainly bruising my shoulder in the process.
“You will stay here or I will make you stay here.”
“No.”
The punch comes out of nowhere but I should have expected it. His fist smacks across my face, pain radiating outwards.
“That’s the last time you put your hands on me.”
I shove him back until he falls on the ground like the weak old man he is.
My dad stares up at me from the ground. “You’re going to fucking regret this. I’ll make damn sure of it.”
The front door looms ahead, a barrier between the world I’m leaving and the one I’m yearning to discover. Heart pounding, I reach for the handle, the cool metal grounding me as I pull it open. The night air kisses my face, a whisper of promise, of possibility.
“Goodbye,” I murmur, not sure if the word is an ending or a beginning. But I step through the threshold all the same, leaving the warmth of the house for the crisp chill of change.
