Page 110 of Rinkmates

I just can’t help but feel sorry for him.

There’s no love in either of his parents’ eyes.

My own mother loves me with every fiber of her being and I miss her. We may not have much, but I know that I mean moreto her than any material possessions ever could. I bet Riley’s father would trade him for his wealth any time.

Riley sits down next to me, his hand resting reassuringly on my thigh.

Part of me feels like we should refrain from touching in front of his parents, especially when they are so rigid and distant, but when I try to remove his hand, he holds onto mine firmly. The look he gives me tells me he doesn’t care about what his parents think. And his hand remains because he wants it there.

Just then, Rosalie, in white sweatpants and a crop top, bounds in and I almost gasp.

She kisses both parents on the cheek before plopping into the chair opposite from us. She has her hair up in a messy bun and grins at me, then she looks at her father.

“Daddy? Why the scary face? Loosen up a bit, it’s just food.” She then touches his hand, and he actually smiles at her. I can’t believe it.

It doesn’t take a body language expert to know that this man loves his daughter.

Henry touches her hand softly and suddenly, there is another man sitting there. And my heart sinks deeper and deeper. The realization hits me like a ton of bricks. The man I thought was cold and heartless, actually has emotions. It’s hard to believe that under his tough exterior lies a beating heart, but it seems like it only beats for one person—his daughter. No one else seems to matter to him.

How can you love one child so much and the other just not at all? My heart breaks for Riley.

I look up to him, but he doesn’t even register it. He studies his hand on mine, as if I’m the only thing that matters right now, and when our eyes meet, I know this is normal to him. I think of my mom, how she cuddled me during the night, kisses me even now on the forehead, demands me to call her each day, which Idon’t do because I don’t have the time, but still. I can tell, Riley never had this feeling once.

“How do you feel?” Henry asks, still gazing at his daughter as if she’s God reincarnated.

“Fine,” she says, and something dims in her smile too. “I got the lead role forSwan Lake.”

Eleanor claps her hands together. “Oh honey! This is amazing.”

“Congratulations,” her father says. “You earned it.”

Rosalie smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

A suit-clad waiter emerges with a tray of appetizers and mimosas.

“Riley, tell us about your latest game,” Rosalie says, already drinking her orange mimosa.

“I heard your performance was…lacking,” his father says, swirling bourbon in a tumbler.

Riley’s jaw clenches. I squeeze his hand under the table, heart aching at the hurt in his eyes. I can’t take this look on his face anymore. I’m fuming.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Huntington, but this is wrong. Riley achieved one hundred and fifty points in only one season, and he didn’t even play in every game. He’s most likely going to get the Conn Smythe Trophy for the most valuable player. He has exceptional skills and, if he keeps up his game next season, he could even break Gretzky’s—”

“No one breaks Gretzky’s record ever. And I think he’s closer to the most penalty minutes record than Gretzky.” He drinks his bourbon, and I can’t help but gulp. Didn’t he hear me? I look to Riley, but he just smiles at me.

“Thank you,” he says and kisses my cheek.

“It’s nothing to thank me for, this was all you. You are incredibly skilled, Riley.” I say it loud enough for everyone to hear.

I remember how devastated Riley was when Derek hit him and told him he didn’t deserve his spot on the team. His dad had planted these thoughts in his head, manipulating him into believing he wasn’t good enough. But it’s not true. Riley is amazing, and I want to make him see his own worth so badly.

His father scoffs at that, and I am ready to punch that man.

I understand Riley. I wouldn’t want to think that this man owns my career for even a second.

The interrogation continues as we start the posh meal, his father’s words cutting deeper by the minute. Despite Rosalie’s attempts to defuse the situation, it’s clear that Riley’s father hates him. They don’t even know him well enough to remember that he’s allergic to celery, which I luckily notice in the salad right away. When Riley doesn’t eat, his father insists he stop the nonsense, showing no concern for whether Riley’s throat might swell up. I take the salad and hand it to the waiter, glaring at his father as if I could kill him on the spot. He doesn’t even so much as blink.

But no, it’s not actually hate that drives Riley’s relationship with his father. I don’t think so. It’s more like a twisted sense of control. The man seems to have some sort of all-knowing power over Riley’s life—from the minutiae of his meticulously planned diet to the tiniest slipup like indulging in a burger last wee—his dietitian says yes, his father, apparently no. Sure, strict diets are necessary in sports, but even my coach has told me that sometimes we need to loosen up and indulge to avoid stress and releasing cortisol, which can weaken muscles and mess with our mood and immune system. So yeah, occasionally we gotta give our body what it craves—some downtime. It seems Riley’s father only shows love, affection, and respect if Riley acts in a way that he approves of. It’s almost as if he wants to manipulate his son into behaving a certain way by using love as a weapon.

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