Ruined By The Hockey Captain

#4

BLAKE

*Smack. Smack.*

The force of my father’s palm slammed across my face the second I stepped into his office, the impact jerking my head to the side.

I wasn’t surprised. Of course the coach had already told him what happened today.

“You are such a disappointment,” he yelled. He stood in front of me, his chest heaving under his tailored suit as his face contorted in sheer disgust. “Once again, you have managed to disappoint me.”

I forced my chin up and faced him directly.

“Everything that happened out there wasn’t on purpose,” I said, keeping my voice level fighting the tight constriction in my throat.

“Not on purpose?” he scoffed, taking a step closer until he completely blocked out the light from the desk lamp.

“Fighting with some low commoner boy? Do you have any baseline concept of how much money I fund into this campus hockey program? All of it is because I want you to become an elite athlete. A popular figure. Someone who actually carries weight in this city.”

My hands curled into tight fists at my sides. The weight of his expectations had been sitting on my chest for years, suffocating me and tonight, the pressure finally cracked the surface. “Have you ever asked me if I really want to be part of this hockey team?”

His eyes flared with a sudden fury. “Are you questioning me?” he roared, slamming his fist down onto the desk.

The crystal glasses rattled against the wood. “Whether you want to be part of it or not is not your responsibility to decide. I will decide what your future will be, and you will be a part of this team. You do everything I say. I own you—every part of you. You’ll work harder than you ever have on that ice, and only when I’m satisfied with your performance will you earn your place in my company.”

I swallowed hard, forcing the unshed tears back down, refusing to let them fall in front of him. I stared at the silver signet ring on his finger, my breathing shallow.

“Your brother was shot,” he said, his voice dropping into a harsh venomous tone. “That is why he can’t partake in the hockey program anymore. Your brother is confined to a wheelchair, and instead of you trying to fulfill his wish, you’re out there messing up the game. Wasting the legacy he should have had. I won’t have you bring shame to my name, not when you’re the only one we’re counting on to take this game to the next level.”

“Have you ever asked for my own wish?” I challenged, the words slipping out before I could stop them, with a desperation I hated admitting to. “What I really want? I try to do everything I’m asked of, but it looks like my best is never enough for you.”

“It sure isn’t enough,” he barked, turning his back on me without a second thought. He reached for the crystal decanter on his desk, his fingers steady as he poured the wine into a glass. He gulped it down in one movement,“I need more action from you. Not excuses. I need action and action alone.”

He didn't look back around. He stood facing the dark window. “As for that poor boy,” he murmured, his tone shifting into something dangerously detached, “I’ll need to take care of him myself.”

Every muscle in my body locked. My mind flashed to Zach—and then, instantly, to the wide terrified eyes of his sister in the corridor. “What do you intend to do?” I asked.

“It is none of your business,” he snapped, shunning me with a wave of his hand. “Leave.”

I didn't say another word. I turned on my heel and walked out, the door clicking shut behind me. I navigated the long corridors until I reached the privacy of my own bedroom.

The door had barely closed behind me when a pair of arms wrapped around my shoulders.

My big sister was waiting for me. She pulled me into a tight, protective hug, burying her face into my shoulder.

“Don’t say anything,” she whispered softly into the quiet room, her hands rubbing soothing circles into my back. “Just don't say anything. Everything is going to be okay, Blake.”

I let my forehead drop against her shoulder for just a second.

“I’m so tired,” I breathed out, the admission tearing from my chest. “I am so tired of how he tries to control every single aspect of my life.”

“So you’re complaining that father is controlling your life.”

The sound of turning wheels cut through the room. I stiffened instantly, my sister’s arms dropping away.

I turned slowly toward the doorway.

My brother sat in the frame, his hands resting on the black rims of his wheelchair as he guided himself into the center of my room. His eyes were cold, fixed on mine with a bitter glare.

“You ungrateful bastard,” he spat.