Page 80 of For Crosby

“Thank God. I was wondering how you were gonna take care of us when we got old.”

“Easy buddy. I could still put you in a home.”

His laughter rumbled through the phone. “So, no engagement to that hockey player then?” I knew his little girl’s happiness was his top priority, so I almost felt bad admitting my relationship with Crosby had failed.

“No. We’re not seeing each other anymore.”

His laughter quickly disappeared and his protective side took over. “He hurt you?”

I pulled in a frustrated breath. “No. He let some people hurt him and did nothing to fight back. You always taught me not to be a punching bag. And for some reason Crosby is.”

“That’s his choice,” my dad reminded me.

“Yeah, and it’s my choice not to stick around to see it happen.”

“Did you ask him why he’s doing it?”

“I thought I knew. But now I have no idea.”

“You think his family issues have something to do with it?”

“I have no idea. I never wanted to pry.” I guess I didn’t know Crosby as well as I thought I did. I only knew what he wanted me to know. And a relationship couldn’t work like that. He made sure of it.

“Well, go easy on him,” my dad said. “He’s had it tough.”

“Yeah.” Crosby had had it tough. There was no denying that.

“Ever wonder why people want to hurt him?” my dad asked.

My dad’s words stilled me.

He was right.

I’d been so focused on why Crosby didn’t fight back. Maybe a better question would have been why wouldn’t Jeremy leave him alone?

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Crosby

I tipped back my bottle of beer, watching the hockey game on the wide screen in the bar. Chekhov, a five-time pro all-star, took off with the puck, dodging his opponents effortlessly on the screen. Unfortunately, the noise mixed with the music in the crowded bar made it impossible to hear the commentators calling the game.

“He’s a beast,” Xavier said from the stool beside me. “Who knows, bro, after your two goals tonight, you could be playing beside him next year.”

I may have scored a couple goals, but that didn’t matter if the people who mattered most weren’t there to see them. A tap on my shoulder had my head whipping over my shoulder.

A brunette from my history class stood there, her low-cut shirt leaving little to the imagination. “Hi there.”

“Hey.”

She slipped onto the empty stool on my right and spun to face me. “Who you here with?”

I ticked my head to the side. “Xavier.”

“Hey,” Xavier said, leaning forward so she could see him on the opposite side of me.

She gave him a cursory look before her eyes jumped back to me. “I love your ink.” Her hand landed on my bicep and drifted over my arm. “I’ve got a couple too. Wanna know where?”

I lifted my bottle to my lips and finished the rest of my beer.

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