Page 69 of Tempting the Goalie
“You always said they were dead.”
“They were dead to me. Dad died when I was young, and Mom had a bunch of shitty boyfriends who thought I was their punching bag.”
I can’t help but feel for him, even after all his bad behavior. “Is she still alive?”
“Maybe.” He shrugs. “I escaped that life. You’d know nothing of it.”
“I grew up with a drunk for a dad. You may not have been violent, but you never did anything to help us either,” I say to him.
“Better than what I had,” he sneers, and takes another gulp of beer.
“Why did you marry Mom? Did you love her?” I ask.
He pauses and watches me, his gray eyes, so much like mine, look vacant and bloodshot. “Your mom was too good for me. I knew it and she knew it. She thought she could make me into a better man, but I’ve always fought my demons. I let them win,” he says and downs more beer.
“Then why lose your shit when you find out she’s having an affair?” I ask. It’s ballsy of me but I am trying to understand him. The more he speaks I understand that he was abused. That he was weak. That he probably wasn’t taught how to deal with his emotions. Every lesson he’s learned was the hard way. Lucky for me I had a good mom, the best. She loved with all her heart and poured that love into Elyna and me.
“I don’t like knowing I was betrayed, boy,” he snaps. “Your mom was a stupid whore. I should’ve never married her.”
His words feel like a sword to the chest. If it were someone else speaking that way about my mother, I would’ve punched them out. But he’s a worthless piece of shit. I don’t even need to ask him why he doesn’t care about Braden because I see the hate in his eyes when he looks at me, his own son. What I think it boils down to is that he hates himself.
“Have you ever thought of getting help for your drinking?” I ask.
He’s staring straight at the TV screen above the bar. He turns his head and looks at me. “Oh, you’re still here?”
Okay, I don’t know why I needed to confront him, but I do feel a sense of closure. This man may have made me, but I could never behave the way he does. My instinct is to protect those I love, not bring them down.
I leave a ten on the bar for Kammy. She sees it and walks over to me.
“Nice seeing you, Luc. Take care of yourself.” She smiles, and she eyes Papa like the no-good asshole he is.
“Thanks, Kammy, you too.”
“There’s nothing for you to come back here for. I’m donating the land in my will and the house is worth shit anyway,” he declares.
“You know what, old man? I always tried to see the good in you. I always made up excuses in my head because you behaved the way you did. I was worried that some part of you was in me, but now I see that isn’t the case.”
He smiles at me and then asks Kammy for another beer. She shrugs her shoulders and serves him. I guess he’s a paying customer.
“That injury you had in the army. Was it real?” I ask. “I don’t remember you having a back problem.” He’s got a lot of booze in him but he’s also still coherent.
His smile is a razor’s edge: sharp, cold, and filled with quiet cruelty. “Boy, you need to learn how to get by in life. I met someone who gave me the idea of joining the army so I wouldn’t be on the street, but there was no way I was deploying. Fighting wasn’t my thing. And, hell, disabilities get paid well.”
That’s what I thought. I don’t have any more words for him. My insides have soured from the sight of him. Kammy heardevery word and looks at me with sympathy I don’t like. I shrug at her and turn to leave the bar. Luckily the table of my so-called old friends left because I’m not in the mood to be social. I head out to the truck with the Maple Valley logo and remember there are good people in this world. People who care and do good by others. There’s no reason for me to carry around the load this piece of shit has made me feel most of my life. We may share genetics, but that’s where it ends. I have to stop basing decisions in my life because I’m scared of turning into him. Ironically, I’ve done everything the opposite of him. Fear of turning into him made me work hard in hockey. I knew I wouldn’t be able to afford a college education. Hockey was my key to all good things, and I worked my ass off to get this far. I wasn’t like the man at the bar. He was a selfish bastard with a sad past. He made his life choices, and I was going to make mine. I turn on the radio and open the windows. “Born To Run” by Bruce Springsteen blasts on the speakers. It isn’t a song I know well since it isn’t from my time. Mr. Thorne must like this oldies channel. I take in the words, and they feel like a call to break free from the shadows of my past. Every lyric feels like a challenge to the life I’d been handed, a promise that I could outrun the weight of my father’s failures.
I slam the volume higher, letting the anthem wash over me like a storm, wild and unstoppable. The open road stretches out before me and for the first time, I don’t feel trapped or defined by where I came from. I feel alive, electric, and ready to race toward a new future I choose for myself. I am heading for Isabelle Thorne.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Isabelle
I’ve been on edge all morning. Eric had me working in the bakery on our property. In the summer months this place was bustling every day with people from the city looking for a way to entertain their kids, or couples looking for a nice escape and a good meal at the microbrewery. When I stopped by the orchard this morning Luc mentioned going to face his dad after his shift. I knew he must be with him now, and I worried how the interaction was going.
“I’ll have six butter tarts,” a woman asks from the other side of the counter. “They’re my husband’s favorite.”
“It’s a family secret recipe,” I smile.
I pack up six butter tarts and pass her the cute little box Eric had designed for the bakery in the shape of a hot-pink gift box.
