Page 50 of Pucking the Grump

I extend a hand, but she grabs the trophy instead, avoiding eye contact as she paces away. “Thanks, but I don’t need to talk it through. I don’t want any of this crap anymore. I really don’t.”

“Listen, I know you’re angry, and you have every right to be. The stunt your dad pulled tonight was complete bullshit. But that doesn’t mean?—”

“No, it wasn’t bullshit.” She turns back to me with a laugh that sounds more angry than amused. “I mean, it was, but that’s just Dad. That’s who he is, Stone. Who he’s always been. And he’s never going to change.”

She starts pacing again, the trophy still clutched in her hand like a weapon. Her bare feet slap against the hardwood as she moves, her cheeks flushing pink as she gains momentum. “More importantly, he’s never going to let me change. Never. No matter how old I get, or how successful I am, or how many trophies my teams win. I will never get to be a fully-fledged adult professional working in this sport without my father feeling entitled to stick his nose into my business any time he feels like it. And people will always listen to him because?—”

She continues in a deeper voice, impersonating the hockey bros who are always eager to kiss her dad’s ass. “Oh, wow, look, it’s Tim Lauder, the famous hard-ass of hockey. Wow, Tim, how did you win so many titles and turn so many losing teams around? Is it just because you’re committed to being a huge hairy dick or is there another strategy involved?”

She lets out another strained laugh as she lifts her gaze to the ceiling. “People are always so desperate to please him. To win the famous Coach Lauder’s seal of approval.” Her jaw clenches. “But not me. Not anymore.”

She thrusts the trophy toward me again, pointing to it with her free hand. “I never cared about this shit. Never. I just wanted to be a great player and keep getting better. Dad’s the one who acted like our dog had died if my team didn’t bring home first place or I wasn’t named MVP. Except that our dog couldn’t die because I didn’t get to have a dog growing up, no matter how much I loved animals or how many times I begged for one. Dad was too busy coaching and deciding who I should grow up to be to care about anything else. And I just let him decide that for me. Decide what mattered. Decide who I had to be.”

The music pounds softly behind her words as she moves, matching the fury in her steps. Her pale skin is bright red now, and her breath is coming faster, but she shows no sign of stopping.

“Even as an adult, even once I finally realized I’m the one who gets to decide what I care about, not him, I’ve always pretended we’re still on the same page. I’ve kept the peace and played along instead of speaking up. And it isn’t because I’m afraid of him or think he’s right or anything like that.”

She stops moving, her green eyes blazing as she focuses on something over my shoulder, something I suspect only she can see. “It’s because, deep down, I think I knew it was pointless,” she continues in a softer, but no less emotion-filled voice. “He will never see me as anything but an extension of him, a reflection of him. And as long as that’s true, I never get to be a real person. I’m just…a trophy.”

She drops the trophy on the floor beside the books, where it lands with a heavy thud.

Before I can respond, she whirls and kicks the bookshelf with a guttural sound of rage. The built-in, designed to survive decades of tenants, doesn’t budge, obviously, but Remy does.

A beat after impact, she crumples with a whimper of pain, grabbing her bare foot as she hops backward.

I lunge forward, catching her before she can fall, but she pushes me away, dropping onto the couch and curling around her injured foot like a wounded animal. Her face is a mask of anger fighting to win the battle against grief, her jaw clenched tight as she refuses to give in to the tears shining in her eyes.

I grab the speaker remote from the coffee table again, silencing Trent mid-snarl.

The sudden quiet feels thick, heavy with everything she just let out into the open, probably for the first time, if I had to guess.

Crossing my legs, I sink down onto the floor in front of her, curling my fingers. “Let me see.”

“I don’t need?—”

“Shh.” I reach for her foot, gently, but firmly. “Let my magical healing touch fix it. Works on Barb every time someone accidentally steps on her toes. Which happens more than you’d think when you have a dog the size of a loaf of bread.”

“She’s not as big as a loaf of bread,” Remy chokes out.

“Okay, fine. A croissant? No, she’s bigger than a croissant. Maybe a filled donut? Or a cream horn? The long skinny kind, not the big round kind, obviously.”

“Obviously.” She lets out a sound that’s half laugh, half sob, but as I cradle her foot in my palms, the tension vibrating in her muscles slowly begins to fade. Her big toe is swelling up, but I don’t think it’s broken, and hopefully it’s nothing ice and a pain-killer can’t cure. “You do have a healing touch, you know,” she murmurs after a long moment.

“I know,” I say with a toned-down version of my shit-eating grin. “I’m a man of many gifts.”

“You are.” Her bottom lip trembles as she adds in a whisper, “I love him, you know. I love him so much, but…it hurts sometimes. It really hurts.”

My heart splinters at the raw emotion in her voice. “I’m so sorry, babe. This just… Well, it fucking sucks. Growing up, my parents were always so careful to make sure all their kids knew that we got to choose our own path and be our own people. And that they loved us and supported us, no matter what. I can’t imagine how hard this is. And how much harder it was when you were little.” I stroke my thumb across her arch, wishing I could soothe away more than just her physical pain. “You’re so damned strong. Seriously.”

She’s quiet for a long, long time. Then, in a voice so soft I almost miss it, she whispers, “But I’m tired of being strong, Stone.” The words carry a hint of shame, as if admitting that she’s tired isn’t something that’s allowed. Not for Tim Lauder’s daughter. “I just want to be me. And for that to be enough for once.”

“It is.” I hold her gaze, willing her to see that it’s the truth. The highest truth there is. “It’s all you have to be or ever should be. And it’s all I want, Rem. I just want you. The real you. Full stop.”

The tears in her eyes swell and spill over, but she’s smiling a small, heartbreaking smile as she nods. “I know you do. Me, too. With you. I just want you.”

Something shifts between us, an unspoken revelation that hovers in the air, intense, but beautiful.

Then she’s sliding off the couch into my lap, her lips finding mine with a need that takes my breath away. I catch her, steadying her with palms molded to her ribs as she straddles my thighs. Our kiss quickly grows wild, urgent, but also honest in a way we’ve never been with each other before.

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