Page 34 of Misconducts & Temptation

"It's a good thing your dad doesn't get to dictate your life anymore," Morgan shot back, his eyes hardening.

"So, what, I'm just supposed to give up my inheritance?" I demanded, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on me.

"It's better than giving up your life," he fired back without missing a beat.

I shook my head, frustration bubbling to the surface. "Whatever," I muttered, trying to push past the turmoil inside me.

"Get your head out of your ass, Keaton," he snapped. "You have potential. Who gives a shit whether your dad thinks it's true or not? He doesn't matter. If you think you can do it, that's all that matters. You're going to have to decide if you're going to that draft. You have a week to let them know."

"I'm a fucking old-ass man?—"

"You're twenty-two," he cut me off. "And yeah, it's old for the draft, but fuck it. There are plenty of people who weren't drafted young, who showed up old and went on to do great things in the NHL."

"Maybe they could," I said, feeling a deep-seated doubt gnawing at me. "But I can't do that shit."

Morgan sighed heavily. "Fuck," he said, his tone dripping with exasperation. "I didn't realize you were such a goddamn pussy. If I'd known you were this much of a bitch, I wouldn't have picked you in the first place."

The words hit like a slap across the face. Anger flared up inside me, hot and fierce. "You don't get it," I snapped back. "You don't understand what it's like living under his thumb."

"No, Keaton," he said, his voice steady and unyielding. "I get it more than you think. But at some point, you have to decide what's more important—living your life for him or living it for yourself."

I clenched my jaw, feeling the tension coiling tighter and tighter inside me. His words rang true in ways I didn't want to admit.

"Think about it," he continued, softer now but no less intense. "You've got one shot here. Don't waste it because you're too afraid to step out of your father's shadow."

I stared at him for a moment longer before turning away, grabbing another puck and lining up another shot.

The silence between us was thick with unspoken challenges and unresolved anger.

But maybe—just maybe—there was also a sliver of hope buried somewhere in there too.

For now, though, all I could focus on was the next shot.

The puck sailed smoothly into the net.

Maybe there was still time to figure this out after all.

I lined up another shot, feeling the weight of Morgan's words settle over me. My stick wavered slightly as doubt gnawed at the edges of my resolve.

"You think I can?" The question slipped out, tentative and unsure—a far cry from my usual confidence.

Morgan's eyes met mine, steady and unwavering. "Yeah, I do," he said, his voice firm. "You've got what it takes, Keaton. More than you know."

The sincerity in his words hit harder than any critique ever had. It was more encouragement than I'd ever heard from my father, and for some reason, that pissed me off even more. I clenched my jaw, channeling that anger into my next shot. The puck flew off my stick with a resounding crack, slamming into the net with precision.

Morgan wasn't wrong, though. The truth was glaringly obvious—I needed to take control of my life. No more bending over and taking it just because it was easier or familiar.

"Why are you doing this?" I asked, retrieving another puck. "Why do you care?"

"Because I've been where you are," he replied, his tone softening slightly. "And I know what it's like to feel trapped by expectations that aren't your own."

His words resonated with a part of me I'd tried to ignore for too long. I fired another shot, the puck sailing smoothly into the net.

"I don't want to be like him," I admitted quietly, more to myself than to Morgan.

"Then don't be," he said simply. "You have a choice, Keaton. You always have."

I looked at him. My father had always made it seem like there was no other option—that his way was the only way. Mom showed me there was more, but it was hard to remember that with her gone.

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