Page 51 of Rinkmates

Wait—no.

I force my hands to relax. This is exactly why I started anger management therapy. Shit. I thought I was better, that I couldmanage my temper. But clearly, my control is still tenuous at best. I don’t know what I would have done to him if he hadn’t run for his life. Just the thought of it scares me.

I need to keep my distance from Liora. Lock myself in my room until I get a grip on myself. But as I enter the living room, I hesitate. She’s curled up on the couch, blonde hair spilling over her face. The lost, frightened look in her blue eyes twists my heart. And it’s like all this suffocating hatred inside of me just vanishes. As if all I’ve thought about seconds ago is erased. All I see is her. That look on her face.

“Lia…” I sink down beside her with a heavy sigh. “I’m so sorry. I tried to catch him, but he got away.”

She meets my gaze, vulnerability tempered with steely resolve. “It’s okay. What’s up with that nickname by the way?”

“I like how it sounds.” Lia. It’s short and beautiful. I think it fits her perfectly and the way she blushes right now just tells me she likes it too. “Sorry. I feel like shit.”

“You did your best.”

“No. I should’ve done more. Him invading your privacy like that…” I swallow hard. “It makes me want to track him down and teach him a lesson he won’t forget.”

“Hey.” She lays a comforting hand on my arm. “You can’t solve everything with your fists, no matter how justified it feels. You’ve come so far. Don’t let one jerk ruin that progress.”

I run a hand through my hair, probably a tangled mess by now. “It’s just…when something triggers me, like that guy taking a photo of you, my mind goes into overdrive. I don’t know how I can fix it.” Fix me.

Sometimes it feels like I’m watching myself from the outside, punching and punching, like a ghost standing next to me, completely lost in the hurt and anxiety of losing something. Something I can’t even identify.

She’s silent for a moment, and I wonder if I’ve said too much. Usually, people don’t want the real me.

They want Deadshot, not a whiny nepo baby who struggles with his emotions. Oh, that poor rich guy. Look at his problems.

“I appreciate you standing up for me, Ri. But you need healthier ways to handle this,” she says and then brushes away some strands of hair. It’s a simple gesture, but it makes my heart flutter in a different kind of way. “You can do it. You’re more than that.”

I look at her. I’d love to believe her. But what did my therapist say? I know how to love but not how to be loved.

“You know,” I look down at my hands in my lap, “hockey used to be my outlet for that aggression, but…” I sigh, feeling the weight of my shortcomings. “I guess I never really learned how to manage it.”

“Change needs time, Ri,” she begins softly. Her lips are still swollen from our kiss, but somehow we manage to pretend it was nothing. Just a practice kiss—but what if it’s not even pretend at all? Maybe it was nothing for her. Just the way she kisses any guy. But I don’t kiss girls like that. I never have. “I always thought you were a hotheaded guy. I like being honest, and I don’t like that side of you, but you know what? I like the side you’re showing me right now.”

I have no idea how to respond to that, so I chuckle nervously and keep talking, not wanting to reveal how deeply her words affect me. How much I need someone I care about to say something like this. “Yeah, I have that reputation, and moments like today show why I need you—our fake relationship, I mean. These blackouts aren’t something I’m proud of. When you grow up with hockey and all those expectations…it’s easy to let it define you. It defined me.”

She shifts closer, her eyes never leaving mine. “I get it. It’s hard to break free from what people expect of you. But you’re more than just a wall of steel for your team.”

Her words hang between us. Great. She’s devastatingly beautiful and smart but I can’t have her. I can’t because all that I touch turns to shit. “Thanks.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“Don’t answer if this touches something you’re not ready to talk about. But I’ve been wondering why men are triggering you so hard? You seem so nice to women. I just saw you carrying bags for the old lady downstairs, even though you seem to hate the guy next door.”

“Look at you, Sherlock,” I say, hesitating. Usually, I clam up whenever someone asks me a deep question. I deflect with sarcasm or change the subject. But when I look at her, I want to tell her everything. I don’t want her to think I’m a bad person. I want her to understand me. But what if I don’t even understand myself?

“I think it’s about my father. I really am the one with the daddy issues, I guess.” I finally admit. And dang this feels good.

“Isn’t your father a hockey player, too, Henry Huntington, right?” she asks.

“He was, yes. He’s big in finance now. He did everything to get me up the ranks, but at some point, he became my rival. At first, when he was still better than me, he loved showing me how to play. But when I got faster, better than him in general, he started playing it down. He did everything to get me where I am now, but he always told me that I’m nothing without him. He still loves to remind me of that. The only time I got any sort of affection from him was when I beat others up.” She narrows her eyes, processing my words. It’s the first time I say this out loud, and I just keep talking. “I felt like his pit bull, and I guess I was.Eventually, I ignored him, moved away from home, and now I only visit my parents a few times a year. I thought if I stopped acting how he wants me to, stopped listening to him and waiting for that praise, I could change, but I still can’t. It just takes one snarky comment and I snap.”

“It’s because you never healed, Ri.” She looks down on her knees and there’s something telling me that she knows what she’s talking about. “Ignoring your father is just like running away from it and we can’t shake off a feeling that’s buried inside of us. We first have to find it and release it.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“No, it’s not.”

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