Page 61 of Unwritten Rules
“I, um…” He swallows, grip on the steering wheel tightening. “I don’t know how to talk to them and vice versa. All they care about is my career and trying to mould my sister into the perfect daughter with a high paying career. No matter how many times I tell them that they can’t change Mia’s ambitions or ask them to stop breathing down my neck, it falls on deaf ears. It’s exhausting.”
And there it is. The weight that has been pressing down on Sinnett’s shoulders makes sense. I might not fully understand what he’s dealing with, but I’m empathetic enough to know thatthe kind of pressure he’s referring to is more than one person can take. Not only does Sinnett have enough on his plate in terms of his career and now his injury being in the spotlight, but throwing parents in the mix who are overbearing and don’t understand boundaries would make any normal person want to scream.
“They don’t want to know about me, therealme, and it hurts,” Sinnett continues, voice strained. “All they care about is making sure I thrive in my career, uphold my father’s legacy in the league and make good on the Baxter family name.”
“That’s a lot of pressure to shoulder,” I offer, keeping my voice level. “You’re doing a good job of keeping your head held high.”
“But I’m fucking drowning in the process and they can’t see that.”
The ending notes of “November Rain” gives way to the start of “Demons” by Imagine Dragons; a coincidence given the nature of the song and the conversation at hand. I reach across the console and place my hand on Sinnett’s thigh, needing to comfort him in some way because what do I say to that? I expect him to stiffen under my touch, but he surprises me by releasing a breath he had been holding and sinking into the seat.
“I shouldn’t even be telling you this,” he murmurs, voice deep. “This is far from a first-world problem.”
“Yes, you should,” I urge. “You need to tell someone, because the longer you hold onto these feelings, the worse it’s going to get down the line.”
“I don’t like airing out my dirty laundry.”
“All you’re doing is getting the pressure off your chest to make room for fresh air and a clear mind.” I squeeze his thigh, and his hand covers mine. Warmth explodes in my chest at the feel of his rough skin against mine. “If you let the weight of your parents’ expectations push you down, you’ll never get back upagain. At the end of the day, you’re living this life for yourself, not anyone else. You, Sin.”
Sinnett swallows hard. “I hear you, Tate.”
“Good.” I lean over to press a chaste kiss to his cheek, the short stubble he hasn’t shaved off yet prickling against my skin. “Now let me hear you say it.”
He frowns. “Say what?”
“That you’re not going to let your parents push you down.”
Sinnett sighs. “Tate…”
“Please?”
“Okay, fine,” he huffs. “I won’t let my parents push me down.”
“Like music to my ears,” I drawl as pride spreads through my body. “Now let’s listen to some music, okay? It’s what I’m here for, right?”
Sinnett sweeps his gaze over me, eyes lingering on my lips. Half of his face is shrouded in darkness, while the other dances with tiny fires that makes my stomach flip flop like I’m on a rollercoaster.
“Sure, strawberry.”
For the next hour, Sinnett drives around the suburbs of North Sydney with only the songs from my playlist to guide us. His confession about his parents has me wondering what it was like growing up with them and if they were always this hard on their kids. I don’t know much about his sister’s situation, but I can’t imagine what Sinnett has had to deal with since going pro. He’s not living this life for himself anymore, and it shows in the pressure he bears and the self-doubt that lingers at his edges.
Sinnett pulls the car into the car park overlooking Balmoral Beach. With it approaching 9 PM, there is not a soul in sight—just the crashing waves of the ocean and the whistle of the wind whipping against the car. The piano notes in “I Don’t Wanna Miss a Thing” by Aerosmith wash over me like a comforting hug.I smile as I lean back in the seat, enjoying the quiet company from the man next to me and the vast stretch of ocean ahead.
“Why did you study to become a physiotherapist?”
Sinnett’s question catches me slightly off guard, my mind lost in the waves. I shift my body to face his, only to find he’s already watching me. His arm rests on the steering wheel, and slender fingers covered in silver rings tap in time to the beat of the song. The warmth in his eyes smooths over me, wrapping around my body. Genuine curiosity gleams in his eyes, and I can’t help but smile.
“I want to be able to help people,” I answer simply. “I’m not cut out to be a nurse. The thought of seeing the inside of a person freaks me out to the point I’d probably pass out. So physiotherapy was my next best option.” I shrug. “Besides, I get to work with all kinds of people in various stages of recovery. There’s never a dull moment.”
Sinnett hums, nodding slowly. “Is there a specific reason why you want to help people?”
My lips roll as I consider his question. Pulse thumping at the base of my throat, I exhale a sharp breath and turn my eyes to the rolling waves. “My mum, she… I didn’t want to feel helpless, you know? Being in a situation where you feel as though you could do everything in your power and it still wouldn’t be enough to fix the problem is a feeling I can’t stand.” Gaze flicking back to Sinnett, I murmur, “By being in a position where I can help someone, whether it be with mobility, rehab or helping to ease muscle tension, I would no longer feel helpless.”
Tears sting my ears, remembering back to the week after graduation when Mum was delivered her diagnosis. Seeing the colour drain from her face, all the while keeping a kind smile in place, was gut-wrenching. I hated that there was nothing I could do to help her. All I could do was sit back and wait for the cancer to take her, no matter how many days, weeks or years that took.And every second of it was the most painful thing I’ve lived through.
I never want to feel that helpless again.
Sinnett reaches across the console, scooping my hand in his. The gentle squeeze has me blinking back the tears forming in the corner of my eyes. I don’t think it’ll ever get easy talking about Mum.
