The Choice
1240 Words
Chapter Six
The Choice
(Slade’s POV)
“Slade.”
The voice echoed somewhere down the hallway.
I turned sharply, my heart kicking hard against my ribs. The house around me was familiar and wrong at the same time. The walls felt too quiet. The shadows felt too heavy.
“Cory?” I called out. “Where are you?”
No answer.
I stepped into the living room, still half dressed in my hockey gear. Snow dripped from my skates and melted into the hardwood floor. The house kept stretching out in front of me, room after room, but everything felt empty.
“Cory, come on,” I said, louder. “This isn’t funny.”
Silence pushed back at me.
Then I heard it.
A faint voice. Barely there.
“Slade…”
My stomach dropped. I ran through the house, my breath coming fast. I pushed into the kitchen. No Cory. I ran down the hallway toward the back door. Every part of me knew where this dream was going, but I couldn’t stop it.
My hand hit the doorknob.
Behind me, another voice slipped through the air.
Soft. Sharp. Familiar.
“This is your fault.”
I froze.
My mother stood in the doorway behind me. Perfect hair. Perfect clothes. Cold eyes. The same look she gave me when I woke in the hospital at sixteen. The look that told me she had already decided who was to blame.
“You killed my son,” she said. “You ruined this family.”
My breath caught.
“I hate you,” she whispered. “I never want to see you again.”
The world tilted. I tried to run after my mother; I needed to tell her that it wasn’t my fault. I was her son too.
I reached for the door, but the floor dropped out beneath me.
Darkness swallowed everything.
- - - - - -
I jolted awake, chest heaving, soaked in sweat.
My hand flew to my face as I tried to steady my breathing. The room was dark except for the digital clock glowing on the nightstand.
4:02 a.m.
Figures.
Another night. Another nightmare. Another reminder of something I had lived through but never escaped.
I swung my legs out of bed and walked into the kitchen. The floorboards were cold under my feet. I grabbed a glass, filled it with water, and drank until my throat stopped burning.
Twelve years and I still couldn’t outrun that night.
I leaned on the counter, fingers gripping the edge. My mother’s voice echoed in my head. I tried to push it out. I always tried. It never worked.
She had never wanted me. Not really. I didn’t fit the image she wanted for her perfect high society family. Hockey wasn’t refined enough. Not classy enough.
She wanted a son who would run the family business. A son who would smile through charity galas. A son who wouldn’t sweat or curse on a sheet of ice.
She had chosen Cory instead.
I didn’t blame him. He had loved me. He had looked up to me. He had been the only good part of that house.
I pushed the thought away before it swallowed me whole.
I finished the water and set the glass down with more force than necessary.
I needed a run.
I grabbed my shoes from near the door and stepped outside. The cold morning air hit my lungs fast, sharp enough to pull me back into myself. I started running, letting the rhythm of my feet on pavement drown out every thought I didn’t want to feel.
But it didn’t work.
My mind kept drifting back to her.
Aspen.
I didn’t want to think about her, but the image kept replaying anyway. The way she looked when she stood in that doorway yesterday, her shoulders stiff even though she was shaking. The way she swallowed her tears like she was used to doing it. There was pain behind those eyes… pain I understood. The way she walked out without asking for anything.
She just left.
And then she went back to a shelter.
My jaw tightened and I forced myself to run faster, but the thoughts followed me all the way through the route and back home. I showered, changed, and headed to practice, hoping that would snap me out of whatever was happening in my head.
It didn’t.
I stepped onto the ice and immediately took a hit from Ryder.
“Dude,” he said, skating backward, brows raised. “You awake or what?”
I glared at him. “Back off.”
He snorted and skated away.
Frasier passed by next. “You look like you haven’t slept in a month.”
I ignored him.
I wasn’t in the mood. My head felt foggy. Heavy. Wrong.
I missed two passes. Miscommunicated on a line change. Then Ryder made some i***t comment under his breath, and I shoved him harder than I meant to. He slammed into the boards, eyes wide.
“Okay,” he said slowly. “What the hell is going on with you?”
I wasn’t sure I knew.
The coach shouted my name twice. I went through the motions. I could skate blindfolded and still look decent, but inside I wasn’t here at all.
I was thinking about a girl sleeping in a shelter.
After practice, when the guys headed to the showers, my phone rang. I glanced at the screen.
The PI.
I stepped into an empty hallway and answered. “Tell me you have something.”
His tone shifted, heavier. “I do.”
I leaned against the wall and let him talk.
“Aspen Hart’s mother passed away last year after a long battle with cancer,” he said. “Aspen was accepted into Stanford with a full scholarship. She turned it down so she could take care of her mother and raise her younger sisters.”
My throat tightened.
“She’s been supporting both girls on her own ever since. The family was in serious debt. Everything they owned was sold to pay it back.”
I closed my eyes.
“She works multiple jobs. She’s been in and out of shelters for months. Last night she lost another job.”
There was a moment where I didn’t speak at all.
“What are her sisters’ names?” my voice came out quieter than I intended.
“Winter, 16 and Holly, 13.”
Two kids.
Kids who depended entirely on her.
I let my head fall back against the wall.
Remorse settled into my chest. Impossible to ignore.
I fired her.
I humiliated her.
I pushed her deeper into something she was barely surviving.
I didn’t want to care. I didn’t want this to matter. But every time I pictured her walking into that shelter alone, something inside me twisted.
It reminded me too much of sixteen-year-old me. Alone. Unseen. Carrying more than anyone should.
I hated it.
“I’ll fix it,” I muttered. “I’ll handle it.”
I hung up before he could ask questions.
I shoved the phone into my pocket and walked out of the arena. The sun had risen, bright enough to sting my eyes, but it didn’t shake the feeling settling deep inside me.
I didn’t know why she mattered.
I didn’t know why I cared.
But I did know one thing.
Aspen Hart wasn’t disappearing into another shelter.
- Writer
