Page 120 of Rinkmates

Jayce stands up, holding out his hand. “I’ll keep your bag safe,” he offers, his tone brooking no argument. For a moment, Rosalie looks like she might protest, but then she shrugs, thrusting her clutch at him before staggering away, Jayce trails behind her like a shadow.

Riley’s shoulders slump. “Thank goodness for Jay. He always takes care of her when she’s like this. I can’t stand it when my sister pulls these stunts.”

“Does your dad ever get mad at her?” I ask.

Riley snorts. “Never. She could be lying on the floor and he’d think she was just taking a nap from all the ballet training.”

“That is insane…”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with my parents, but they always make me out to be the villain and put Rosalie on a pedestal she doesn’t want to be on. It hurts more than they realize.”

I reach under the table and grab Riley’s hand, intertwining our fingers.

We focus back on chatting with his grandmother, the aroma of truffle and caviar filling the air as the waiters swirl around us like bees.

“You could becaptain of the team by now, if you had your act together,” Riley’s father hisses in between the main course, drawing the attention of the whole table.

Rosalie’s halfway sober now and actually sitting next to Jayce, behaving like a decent human being. I don’t know how he did it, but he worked some kind of magic. She’s barely touching him anymore, and whatever he’s saying must be working, because she seems to be calming down. It’s like he’s got a PhD in handling drunk drama queens.

“Your temper, your lack of control—it’s holding you back. It’s your own damn fault,” Henry says.

When Riley tenses up, I feel a surge of anger climbing up my chest. Not again. Can this man not stop?

His mother chimes in, her tone dripping with false concern. “I do hope you’ll sort yourself out soon, darling. All these women you’re seen with…it’s not a good look.”

I frown at her. I’m not a good look? Have you seen your daughter’s boyfriend? Thank you, bitch.

“I’m in a serious relationship with Liora,” Riley says. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d talk about her with respect.”

Eleanor purses her lips, and I notice Riley’s dad shooting a look at the man across the table—Steve, Howie, or whoever he is. It’s like he’s silently confirming all the doubts and criticisms he’s shared about his “failure of a son” seconds before.

“They were gonna give him a second chance, but then he went and got himself locked up. Can you believe it?” his father says, as if Riley wasn’t actually sitting next to him.

“What a waste of talent,” the man remarks to no one in particular.

I look at Riley, waiting for him to do something, anything.

Why is he always ready to defend me but never stands up for himself when it comes to his parents? He can hold his ground against Ethan, Nina, his coach, and Houston’s agent, but when it comes to his parents, he just lets them steamroll him. And I realize he gave up on them years ago.

“But what’s your plan if hockey doesn’t work out?” some lady from the other end of the table pipes up.

“Oh no, not Aunt Suzie,” Granny mutters under her breath.

“Kid’s got nothing going for him. Failed all his classes in college,” his dad says, shaking his head.

My jaw clenches as I try to contain the bubbling anger inside me. How dare they say such things about him? Do they even watch his games? He’s amazing and so are his stats.

“That’s not true,” Granny grumbles before breaking into a fit of coughs, her voice no longer as strong as it once was.

My anger simmers and grows and boils over, like a raging inferno inside me. I just can’t believe them. His family. The people at this table.

“Well, he definitely didn’t inherit my smarts.” His dad laughs, and everyone else joins in, including Eleanor, who’s laughing the hardest. “Always needs a calculator because he can’t do math in his head.” My hands ball to fists. More laughter erupts around the table. “I guess that explains why some of his passes are so off.”

Okay. I can’t take it anymore.

I shoot up from my seat, scraping my chair against the floor loudly, causing everyone to turn their attention to me with open mouths.

My hands tremble with barely contained anger as I glare at Riley’s creators. They don’t deserve to be called parents.

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