Page 83 of These Pucking Boys

“It’s been a long time since we talked. I’ve let you run amok for too long in this godforsaken city. It’s time to come home.”

“Home?” I shake my head, and derisive laughter escapes my mouth.

The waiter arrives with my drink just in time. I need alcohol to survive this conversation without losing my temper.

“Yes, home, Jakey. Where you were born and raised,” my brother pipes up.

“That means shit. Los Angeles is my home now.”

My father narrows his eyes. “For now. Hockey players get traded all the time.”

Dread licks the back of my neck. The asshole knows something. There have been rumors the Titans were looking to trade me thanks to my behavioral issues. But I’m at the top of my game, and if we keep winning, there’s no fucking chance they’ll get rid of me.

“True, but I have a no-trade clause in my contract. Guess which teams are on that list?”

Gregory grimaces. “You’re a child.”

I make a fist, dying to connect my knuckles with that condescending face. Instead, I take a large sip of my drink.

“That clause is a non-issue. I want you back in New York, and Miles is keen on bringing you to the Bobcats. He’s prepared to make an offer your GM can’t refuse.” My father smiles smugly.

Miles, the owner of the Bobcats, is another asshole. A billionaire who owns several pro teams but doesn’t give a damn about any of them. It’s all about how many championships he can win.

“I’d rather retire than play for that egomaniac.”

My father leans forward. “I don’t think you understand, Jake. You have no say in this. It’s a done deal. I’ll have you back in New York whether you like it or not.”

My spine becomes tense. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You can accept your fate like a good boy, keep what’s left of your reputation intact, and cash in, or I can let the world know about the mess I had to clean up eleven years ago.”

I grind my teeth until my molars hurt. I should have known he’d keep blackmailing me. He was bluffing yesterday. If I hadn’t come to dinner tonight, he wouldn’t have revealed anything. He wanted to know if he had any leverage over me, and I gave it to him on a silver platter. I’m an idiot.

I drain the rest of my drink, then set it back on the table, hard. “Like I said, I’d rather give up hockey forever than play in New York. If you want to tell the world what I did, fucking do it.”

I push my chair back and stand, taking great satisfaction in the look of surprise on my father’s and brother’s faces.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“I agreed to come, but I never said I’d stay for dinner.”

“You might be willing to throw your career out the window, boy, but you’re not the only one with skeletons in the closet. Would you risk your roommates’ careers too?”

My nostrils flare. I should have known he’d have another nasty trick up his sleeve. But I won’t make the same mistake and cave. He’s a snake; there’s a high chance he’s lying through his teeth.

“You’re grasping at straws, Father. You never cared about me. Why the fuck do you want me back in New York?”

“I might think little of you, but you still carry my name. I’m sick and tired of seeing you drag it through the mud.”

My jaw drops. I’ve always known my father’s ego was bigger than all of New York. I’m not even upset that he doesn’t care about me. I accepted that reality many years ago. But to say I’m dragging his name through the mud is a whole new low for him.

“That’s too fucking bad.” I turn to leave.

“Don’t you dare walk away from me,” he grits out.

I ignore him and keep walking. My pulse is pounding in my ears as I stride toward the exit. I’m so fucking angry; the smartest thing to do is leave. I shove a healthy tip into the valet’s hand so he can bring my car out as fast as possible. While I wait, Gregory finds me. Fucking hell.

“Go away, Greg.”

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