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“I’ll lick the fucking glass just to piss him off.”
Tweetie blows out a breath. “One of you has to be the adult here.”
We both get off the ice, letting another line come on. At least Conor is on the ice the entire game tonight, so I don’t have to speak to him on the bench.
We end up winning two to zero.
Conor leaves immediately after showering, and by the time I get outside the locker room, Kyleigh is standing by herself.
“Dad went with Conor, but he said to tell you congratulations, he loved seeing you play.”
I wish I could have met Mr. Nilsen as Kyleigh’s boyfriend, but I guess next time. Right now, I just want to get us home. “You gonna come home with me?”
“Is that even a question?” She walks in front of me, and I admire her ass in her tight jeans. “Technically, I owe you one, right?” She lifts her hand with her pointer finger extending in the air.
I walk up to her side and smack her ass, grabbing it right after. “That’s right, and I can’t wait to collect.”
“Fuck, I like this sex after the adrenaline of a game.” Her back falls to the mattress and she blows out a huge breath.
The pink blush coats her soft skin, and it makes me want to take her again.
I go to the bathroom to dispose of the condom, and she gets off the bed. When I return, she’s got one of my T-shirts on and the pizza sits in the middle of my bed.
“I hope you’re not like one of those guys who doesn’t eat in bed because if you are, I might have second thoughts about us.” She takes a big bite of the pizza in her hand.
I grab some shorts and go into the kitchen before returning with two waters. “You can do whatever you want in my bed.” I sit on the edge and take a piece of pizza myself.
“Oh, I feel so special.”
“You are.” I lean forward and wait for her to kiss me.
We eat our pizza and drink our water, filling it with talks about my one goal. Henry got the other one.
“I have a question, and if I’m overstepping, please tell me.” She stares at her pizza instead of me.
Shit, this is serious. “What?”
“You never mention your mom…”
Like my father, my mother isn’t something I bring up a lot because of the pain it causes me.
“She died right after I graduated from college. About a month after.”
“Oh, Rowan, I’m so sorry.”
I drop the piece of pizza I’m eating in the box. “You deserve to know about my childhood.” I broach the subject I usually avoid.
“Not if you don’t want me to.”
“I want you to know. It’s just that I’ve never really talked to anyone about it. Probably should’ve gone to therapy at some point in my life.” I take a sip of my water. “Like I said, my dad was an alcoholic and an abuser. He would hit my mom, intimidate her, verbally abuse her. Verbally abuse me too. He got sick when I was in the sixth grade but continued to drink. Eventually, his organs gave out, and he died in a hospital with my mom still by his side.”
She slides closer, putting her arm around me and her head on my shoulder.
“I was happy he was dead. It meant he couldn’t hurt her anymore. Because she never would’ve left him. He made us lose our house. The sheriff showed up one day to evict us because he’d been out of work for a year and was lying to my mom about paying the mortgage. He beat her so bad one night in a drunken rage that her friend had to take her to the hospital. She lied and said she tripped over one of my toys, but I’m sure they knew. Her other bruises that were half healed revealed her lie for her.”
She grips me tighter. I hate telling her all this shit. I know she grew up in a household where she felt safe, and I don’t relish exposing her to anything different. When she went to sleep at night, she wasn’t worried about being woken by the sounds of glass breaking, shouting, and sobbing.
“My dad is the one who wanted me to play hockey. He got me into it. Came to games drunk and screamed at the refs, coaches, me. If I didn’t perform up to his caliber, I heard it the entire way home while he banged his fist on the steering wheel.”
