Page 72 of Back On Ice

I need to protect my family.

I couldn’t go back to Mom’s house. The last thing I need is for Dad to come by again and think I’m living with her. So I spent the night practically wearing a hole in the carpet of my hotel room from pacing so much. Thoughts of Sophie, the baby, and how I’m going to keep everyone safe racing through my mind.

He needs to go. He can’t know about Sophie, or the baby, or the life I’m planning on building with her. If I can get him to leave for good, we’ll all be safe. I just need to figure out what thehell he wants. Mom gets back later today, and I’d rather stick rusty nails in my fingers than make her see him again.

Which is why I’m here now. At five a.m., standing outside Dad’s motel room, summoning the courage to meet the beast head on. But I keep thinking about Sophie, and the tears that welled in her eyes as I stared at her.

I love her. I love her so damn much.

Fuck, I shouldn’t have just left like that, but I panicked. Fucking froze like a coward, and then left. I’m not going to freeze now. Taking a deep breath, I reach my hand out and knock on the door.

There’s a sound of shuffling around and some mumbled cursing coming from inside before the door swings open.

“It’s too damn early for housekeeping—” The gravelly, gruff voice cuts off when he sees me. His eyes widen slightly, but that’s the only indication I get that he’s surprised to see me. “Well, well. Mister Big Shot has come to pay Dad a visit.”

He looks even worse up close.

Wearing only a white t-shirt and boxers, the man stands before me scratching his belly, with a cigarette hanging from his lips. His face is worn with wrinkles that weren’t there a year ago, and his skin is sallow, showing just how poorly he’s been taking care of himself.

There’s nothing of the man I remember looking back at me, who always dressed impeccably, making sure to keep up a perfect image. His voice is the same, though. It still makes my heart pound, bringing back too many memories.

Him yelling at mom, yelling at me. Threatening those I love. For so many years I just rolled over and gave him what he wanted.

But no more.

I keep my voice even, never breaking eye contact. “I saw you at Mom’s house yesterday.”

An ugly sneer makes its way to his face. “Yeah, what of it? I paid that fucking mortgage for years. I have a right to everything in it, including your sorry excuse of a mother. If I want to go to my own home, I will. Especially when I haven’t seen a dime from my ungrateful son in over a year.” He doesn’t even bother hiding the threat in his voice or recalling the fact that the house isn’t technically his.

“You vanished off the face of the earth for a year. You can’t hold that over me.” My words are strong, even as I try to keep my hands from shaking. I hate that I can’t help but feel like a small, petulant child arguing with his father.

He scoffs at me. “I don’t want your excuses, Carter. You know my accounts, you could have sent something over. That’s why I’m here.”

“So you want more money.” My anger comes through now, causing him to narrow his eyes at me.

“What I want,you ungrateful little shit, is what I’m due. What I’m owed. You wouldn’t have gotten picked up by the NHL if it wasn’t for me.I’mthe reason you got into Notre Dame in the first place. I want half your salary for the team you signed with this year.” The venom in his words is nothing new, but half my salary? It’s more than he’s ever asked for. But maybe, if I can get him to leave town…

“If I give it to you,” a heavy sigh leaves me, “that’s it. And you have to leave Ivy Glen for good.”

“Yeah, yeah sure. As long as you send me half your check every month, I’ll leave this shitty town alone.” Relief hits me, but it’s short lived. “But I’m not leaving unless I have $500Kin handby the end of the week.”

Five hundred thousand dollars? By the end of the week? It’s not like I don’t have the money, but that’s a lot to just get ahold of in five days. Not to mention, do I even want to give it to him?

Do I have a choice?

“Fine,” I bite out, “I’ll be back by the end of week with your money. But if I get wind of you even breathing the same air as Mom while you’re here, you won’t get a fucking dime. Understand?”

“Don’t fucking threaten me,” he growls.

“I’m not threatening you,” I counter, “I’m informing you of what will happen if you go near Mom.”

Dad grunts. “If you don’t get me that money, I’ll make sure to stick around a good long while.”

He slams the door closed in my face, and I stare at it, blinking. Did I just… negotiate with Dad?

I… I stood up to him. Now I’m walking to my car filled with the possibility of hope. This is what I came here to do, but leaving somewhat victorious from a standoff with Dad is an unfamiliar feeling.

It feels too easy. But maybe… this could work. Maybe he’ll take the money and leave. Sophie and I can live out our lives together happily raising our baby.

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