Page 49 of Playoff

He throws his head back against the head rest, and when I glance over at him, his eyes are closed. “I fucking hate him,” he whispers, his voice breaking.

“I know.” I’m not sure what else to say or how else to soothe him.

“And he makes it so that I can’t even enjoy my mom and sister.”

I don’t say anything, letting him get it all out.

“I mean, why isn’t he proud? Why isn’t he cheering for me? Isn’t that what parents are supposed to do?”

“You’d think so.”

“I just don’t get it, and I never will.” His fists are still clenched in his lap, and I can’t help but reach out to cover one with my hand.

“Just because he’s your dad, you don’t have to let him hurt you. You’re an adult. You can end the relationship. You can go no contact.”

“I plan to. I just hate to because it’ll hurt my mother.”

“She’ll understand.” I squeeze his hand tightly.

And I don’t let go.

Not even when his fist unclenches and he slowly turns his hand over.

Not when he laces his fingers through mine and returns the pressure.

“Why don’t we go back to my place?” I suggest. “That way, you can let off steam without anyone seeing you. I have beer, wine, and a bottle of Absolut I’ve been saving for the right occasion. I think this is it.”

“I think so too. Thanks.”

We getto my apartment ten minutes later, and he doesn’t say a word as we take the elevator up to the fourth floor. I have a spacious one-bedroom with a little den I use as a reading nook. There are one-and-a-half baths, a balcony I spend a lot of time on in the summer, a gas fireplace that’s wonderful in the winter, and beautiful views of the city. It’s probably a little pricey for the size, but there’s secure parking, a gym, and it’s central to everywhere I need to go.

“This is nice,” Blake says as I turn on the lights.

“Thanks. I love it. I’m saving to buy something, but this is L.A., and I can’t afford anything I want to live in.”

He nods. “Yeah, Phoenix prices are high too. I don’t know that I’ll ever afford a house unless I leave hockey.”

“What would you do if you did?”

“Go back to school.”

“Backto school?” I ask in confusion.

He sighs. “Yeah. I didn’t finish.”

“You didn’t finish… college?”

He shakes his head. “My junior year was a shit show, and I was on probation for my senior year. By the time we got to the second semester, I was thinking about hockey, finally making some money… I needed four classes for my degree, but like a dumbass, I didn’t do it.”

“Oh, Blake. I had no idea.” I walk into the kitchen and dig out the bottle of vodka. “I have cranberry juice and orange juice. Or you can drink it straight.”

“Let’s do cranberry,” he says.

I pull out two tumblers, add a couple of pieces of ice, and then a good pour of vodka. I top them off with a little cranberry and hand him one.

“Thanks.” He takes a sip and closes his eyes. “Fuck, it’s been a long day.”

“Come on. My balcony is relaxing. Let’s talk out there.” I lead the way and we settle on the two cushioned chairs.

---