Page 13 of Game Misconduct
And he looked like he wanted to burn.
I drop back onto the couch, stare blindly at the screen, and try to drown in the nonsense playing out in some island paradise.
But my pulse still races, my skin still tight.
Clenching my thighs together, I try to shove aside what this really is: me, not getting laid in far too long.
No one’s ever looked at me the way Maddox looked at me. Not with so much intensity that made me want to have angry sex against the door of his condo.
I rub my temples, pushing aside all thoughts of fucking one of my players.
Lord, my father is rolling in his grave right now if he knew where my thoughts were.
Well, that’s one way to cool down. Just think about dear old Dad and all the ways I can disappoint him.
“No, no, no. Not tonight, Satan.”
But as usual, Satan has other plans, and the memory of the first time I truly felt my father’s disappointment slithers through the cracks.
I’d made it to Nationals when I was sixteen in the senior division, which should’ve been a celebrated accomplishment.
My father didn’t sit with the other parents. Oh no, Victor Carrington made sure to stand behind the glass, arms crossed tight, wearing his expressionless owner’s face.
There was no clapping, no shouting, no telling me I had it in the bag.
Just those eyes that looked like mine, watchful.
Waiting.
I’d skated clean—technical, controlled, nearly flawless—and when I landed the final jump, I knew I’d scored high.
I gave the applauding crowd my best camera ready smile, but inside dread snaked its way into my chest.
Even though I’d skated better than my competitors, I knew it wouldn’t be enough for him.
When I skated over to where my coach stood, telling me what a great job I did, I looked around for my father, but he was already gone.
By the time I got back to the locker room, he’d texted one line:
You should’ve gone for the quad.
No good job. No pride for his daughter who was the youngest in her division at the time and well on her way to the Olympics.
Just a reminder that clean and perfect wasn’t enough unless it broke boundaries too.
That moment never left me.
I never made it to the Olympics because I’d stopped skating competitively the next year.
Instead, I thought if I learned his business, I’d earn his approval.
I chased that validation until the day he died.
With all of this ridiculous waiting around for Maddox to get his head out of his ass, I can practically feel my father’s disappointment from the grave.
The weight of all the uncertainty settles in my chest again, sharp and familiar. I sit with it.
Let it fester. Let it fuel me.
