Page 147 of Second-Rate Superstar

“I’ll be up here if you need anything.” Mom opened the fridge, grabbed a pitcher of iced tea, and poured a glass for herself.

“This way.” I led the way to the basement door. The moment I opened it, the unmistakable sound of game film floated up the stairs. I knewexactlywhat Dad was doing down there. This was already off to a bad start.

Reaching the bottom of the steps, I rounded the corner to find my father watching a replay of Game 6 of the championship.

“Dad,” I called out, alerting him of our presence.

Spinning in his recliner, he huffed out, “Good. You’re here. We need to go over what you did wrong that cost your team the game.”

“No.” I hated that the word came out so softly that he either didn’t hear me or chose to ignore it.

Standing, he pointed to the screen. “Here. Right here, you should have cut to the outside instead of going through the middle. I taught you better than that.”

Frustrated after years of verbal abuse, I screamed, “I said NO!”

Dakota jumped at my side, startled by my sudden outburst, but I gave her hand a gentle squeeze of reassurance, which she returned.

My father stood there, stunned, his face turning redder with each passing minute.

When he finally found his voice, he boomed, “Excuse me? You think you can waltz intomyhouse after embarrassing me in front of an international audience and not have to own up to your failures?”

Through gritted teeth, I spoke, “I am acutely aware of my failures, Dad. I don’t need you to point them out.”

His eyes slid to Dakota. “Maybe if you weren’t distracted, you could have poured all your focus into your career. You had so much potential. It’s a shame to see you wasting it.”

That was where I drew the line. Stepping in front of Dakota, I roared, “You don’t fucking talk about her! Do you understand?”

“Whatever,” he scoffed, taking his seat and turning away from us. “You just proved where your priorities lie.”

“Stay here,” I murmured over my shoulder to Dakota before stepping in front of the TV. Staring down my father, I said, “I’m going to talk, and you’re going to listen. Understood?”

Eyes narrowing, he nodded, so I took a deep breath. This moment had been decades in the making.

“You’ve been nothing but critical of my game since the day you laced up my first pair of skates. Do you have any idea what that does to a child? To be pushed past the limit, to be told they’re never good enough? What kind of psychological damage that does? You practically killed my love of the game before it even had a chance to grow. And you almost ruined the relationship I had with my brother as a result. I resented him for far too long and without reason because you put it in my head that it was a competition between us. I know I will never measure up to Jaxon. No one will. He’s special, and I can respect that. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be great in my own right.”

I tilted my head toward Dakota, standing behind him. “And you wanna talk about distractions? Let’s do that.Youhave always been my greatest distraction. Growing up, anytime I had a game, I gripped my stick too tight, knowing that if I made even the tiniest mistake, I would hear about it for days. My eyes were always searching to find where you were in thestands so I could gauge your reactions. Let me tell you, it was yourvoiceI always tracked first. It’s a wonder the other parents didn’t tell you to go to hell because you were so obnoxious. When I got to Hartford, my worst games were always the ones when I knew you were in attendance, watching and criticizing. Ironically, the first time you came to see me play for the Comets, I had the best game of my professional career, and itstillwasn’t enough for you. Every time I think I’m getting close to reaching the bar you’ve set, you move it. It’s an impossible task.”

“Braxton—” Dad began, but I cut him off.

“And I won’t hear you say a bad word about the woman I love being a distraction. She makes me better in all facets of my life. Haven’t you seen how falling in love and building a family has spurred Jaxon on? He’s playing better in his thirties than he did in his twenties. And the father he is?Heis the one I will look to as an example when I become a dad someday. Not just the love he gives those kids, but the support to chase their dreams, no matter what they are. Have you seen Beau play? He has the biggest smile on his face every second he’s out on the ice. That’s what it should look like for a child. Not debilitating fear that they’ve disappointed their parent by not scoring enough goals or not winning the game.”

Damn, that felt good to get it all off my chest. Point for Dakota for knowing what I needed better than I did.

Stepping around where my father sat stunned, I linked my arm with hers, leading her to the staircase.

“Feel better?” she asked in hushed tones.

“Yeah. You were right.” I sighed.

Before we reached the first step, my dad called out behind us, “Braxton, wait!”

Looking skyward, I didn’t bother turning around. I hadn’t come here for an argument.

“You’re right.” The words said quietly behind me had me whipping around to face my father, who was now standing.

Was I hearing things? There was no way in hell Michael Slate was admitting fault.

“Come again?” I asked in a daze.

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