Page 70 of Head Over Skates

I let out a humorless laugh. "Family? Are you kidding me?" My voice rises to a shout. “You have secret families all across Canada like it’s some kind of twisted hobby.”

Jed recoils, eyes widening in shock. "Now take it easy, son. No need to cause a scene here."

"Don't you dare call me son," I hiss. “Just go away. Your time’s up.”

"Come on, Owen," he wheedles. "Don't be stubborn. It's pocket change for you. Help your old man out."

"You're not my old man," I shoot back. “You lost the right to call yourself my father when you walked out and left me and Cyrus. Do you have any idea what that does to a kid?”

Jed's eyes flash with anger. "Don't try to guilt trip me. I did the best I could for Cyrus. It's not my fault the kid's got issues."

My hands curl into fists. How dare he?

"You didn't do a damn thing for him! He's just a little boy, and you abandoned him! What kind of heartless bastard does that?"

"Hey, I never wanted the kid in the first place!" Jed shouts defensively. “His mom tricked me into it. I told her from the start I wasn't signing up to play daddy.”

I'm seeing red now, thinking about everything Cyrus has suffered because of this lowlife. The kid can barely tie his own shoelaces but he's expected to take the bus across town after school each day 'cause his mom's working two jobs trying to keep a roof over their heads.

"You don't know how hard it's been for me," he says with a pathetic look.

I step right up to him now, glaring down into his pasty face. “No, you don't get to play the victim here. You did this. You.”

He holds up his hands in a conciliatory gesture even as his eyes harden. "I can see you need some time to cool down. But don't go turning your back on your own blood, Owen. you'll regret it."

"The only thing I regret is not telling you to get lost sooner. Now get out of my sight before I have security drag you out."

Jed's face twists into an ugly sneer. "You always were an ungrateful punk. I did my best for you, but you were never satisfied. Ungrateful and selfish, just like your mother."

An icy chill sweeps through me at the mention of my mom.

"Don't you dare talk about my mother," I snarl, hands shaking with barely contained fury.

He sniffs. “I don't know why I bothered coming here.”

"I want you to listen to me real clear," I say, my voice low and steady despite the rage coursing through me. "You're dead to me. I don't ever want to see you again. I don't want you going anywhere near Cyrus, either. Or Shannon. Or Mom."

For a second, his eyes flash with the same temper I inherited from him. But then he swallows it back and adjusts his collar. “Making threats now, Owen?”

I shake my head. “Nope. I’m protecting my brother. Because I love him and I will never let him feel unwanted. He’s better off without you. That’s the one I’m grateful for.”

Jed just snorts derisively and walks away.

I scrub my face with my hands, trying to get rid of the anxious, sick feeling in my gut.

As soon as he's out of sight, the rage leaves me in a rush, replaced by bone-deep exhaustion. I slip away on unsteady legs to find some place quiet, ending up in the media room. But the silence only makes me feel worse. I can feel my breath coming shorter, my heart starting to race. Slumping down on the floor, I squeeze my eyes shut. My chest feels tight, like a steel band is wrapped around it. I try taking deep breaths, but I can't seem toget enough air. I need to take my gear off, but I can’t. A wave of dizziness and nausea washes over me. The walls are closing in, suffocating me. No. No. I can't do this, not here, not now. Spots swim before my eyes. I claw at my chest, willing my lungs to work. But it's no use. My vision starts to go dark around the edges. I’m losing control.

I'm notsure how much time passes. It feels like an eternity of struggling to breathe, struggling to stay conscious, feeling like I might die. I may have momentarily passed out. I’m not sure. But there’s a voice, soft and distant, like someone calling for me in a dense forest. I can’t see her. Only the voice shrouded in mist.

“Owen,” she calls. “Owen…”

And then, a gentle hand on my shoulder, an anchor pulling me back.

"Owen. It's okay. Just breathe with me." Her voice is calm but firm.

I cling to her voice, using it to drag myself back from the edge. My breathing starts to slow, the tightness in my chest loosening its grip. I see a blur of honey-blonde hair and Emily’s face comes into focus. She’s on the floor with me, stroking my hair.

“I need you to do something for me, okay?”

---