Puck Princess (Houston Scythes Hockey #2)

30. Owen

30

OWEN

The number that pops up on my phone is vaguely familiar. I’ve called it before. Once and only once to find out where Summer was. Why I thought Summer’s useless father would know a thing about what was going on in her life, I have no idea. He was useless then, and now, he has my number.

For a second, I consider dismissing the call and blocking him. But enough skeletons have worked their way free of the closet recently that I should probably take it.

“Yeah?” I answer with little to no expression in my voice. I’m headed home for the day. The plan, as of ten seconds ago, was to get in my car and head straight to Callie. Now, I have no idea what will come next.

“Owen? I didn’t think you’d answer.” Jack’s voice slurs through the speaker. He sounds even shittier than the last time we spoke. Back then, it took him five minutes to even remember who I was.

My mother sure knew how to pick them.

“That makes two of us. What do you want?”

“Alright, so we’re cutting right to it. Straight shooter. I like that about you, kid. Speaking of straight shooting, you've been killing it on the ice recently.”

Jack is Summer’s father, but he was never anything to me. We don’t talk hockey. We don’t keep in touch. He stuck around longer than most of the men she dated—long enough for her to deliver Summer. But it wasn’t long before he bailed, too.

I say nothing, forcing him to get to the point.

“I’m looking for Summer.”

There it is.

“Why?” The word shoots from my mouth like a bullet.

“Because she’s my daughter.”

“She’s been your daughter her whole life and that never mattered before. I don’t see what would be different now.”

“I want to meet my grandson.”

I go quiet again just to make him squirm.

“I just want to know if she’s okay,” he adds. “It’s been a long time.”

That’s the truth, but nowhere close to the whole truth.

Jack was a wheeler and dealer even back when he maintained the facade of having his shit together. He was a car salesman. His paychecks, his nice house, and his trophy wife were the reason the court slid in his direction when he wanted full custody of Summer. My mom, single and broke with one small mouth to feed already, didn’t have a chance.

Once that fight was over, he got into wheeling and dealing of other, less legal, sorts.

“What do you want, Jack?” I ask flatly. “Be straight with me.”

“Meet up with me, kid. Let’s talk. Man to man. Summer is my daughter. And I’ve always seen you as a son.”

It’s absolute bullshit. He sees me as a dollar sign. If I had to guess, that’s the real motivation behind all of this. Which is why there is no fucking way he’s getting anywhere close to Summer or Nicky. Not after all she’s been through. Not after how far she’s come.

“Fine. Meet me at Pour Boys.”

“A sports bar? I like it.”

Of course he does. The man is, at his very best, a raging alcoholic.

“I’ll be there in half an hour.” I hang up, not giving him a chance to argue.

I get there before him and say hi to a couple people as I walk in. I order a beer, something I need just to deal with what’s to come.

It’s the late afternoon lull, so once I’ve shaken hands with a few fans, I ask the bartender if I can sit in the private room around back, and I’m led through immediately. I don’t have a plan for how things with Jack are going to go, but privacy is never a bad thing.

I’m alone for only a few minutes before the door opens and Jack shuffles in.

My stomach sinks at the sight of him.

He seemed so tall when I was a kid. The way he towered over my mother and, on occasion, me made him seem like a giant. He’s not. He’s almost a full head shorter than me now. And the brawny jaw and pearly-white smile that sold all those cars are both gone. He’s practically rotting away.

“Owen! You look good, kid.” He eyes the room nervously, as fidgety as a ferret. “We could have met in the main bar but this is nice too. Not every day you get the special treatment.”

The sentence isn’t even out of his mouth before I close the space between us. I grab him by the collar of his stained t-shirt and pound him against the wall, knocking the wind out of him.

“What are you really doing here?” I ask through my teeth. I know the answer, but I want him to say it.

“I want to see Summer,” he chokes out.

“Not gonna happen.” I tighten my grip on him. “Admit it. You don’t care about her or her son. You care about money. Well, guess what? There’s nothing for you here. Nicky’s father is going to be behind bars soon for being a piece of shit like you. I take care of her now, and I’m not going to let anything happen to her. I never want to see you, hear from you, or even be reminded of you again.”

I pull back so he can take an undeserved breath.

He gasps and sputters for a second before looking up at me. “You got lucky, kid.”

“Lucky?” I spit out.

“You’re good at something. You’re talented, and they pay you well for it. You can peacock around all you want. You’ve got your mother’s pretty hair and her fiery eyes to boot, but without your job, you’re just a bastard kid and a bruise on your mother’s face. You got luck?—”

I finish his sentence with my fist in his mouth. Any teeth he had left are gone now, and I don’t care.

I want to hit him again. And again. And again.

I do until Johnny comes up behind me, stopping my fist in the air. He pushes me to the side and grabs Jack, who is still trying to get his bearings. Then he carries Jack effortlessly to the back door and tosses him into the alley.

For a minute, all I can do is stand there, breathing heavily. Seething. I knew this was how this was going to go. There was no world where I was going to reconnect Jack with Summer. No world where this meeting didn’t end in me kicking his ass to the curb.

But I didn’t think he was going to get this far under my skin.

The demons I muzzled and shoved to the back of my brain when Callie and I were in bed together last night are back with a vengeance, swarming my head. Screaming. Mocking.

Johnny goes to the bar and grabs a towel. He wets it down, packs it with ice, and then hands it to me. “Keep this on your hand, Owen. And go home.”

I spent years wishing I could stand up for my mother. I counted down the days until I’d be big enough, strong enough to take on the men who hurt her. I thought, once it finally happened, I’d feel better.

When I walk through the door, I don’t see Callie. I hope she isn’t home.

I walk straight to the bathroom and turn on the shower. The water is going to burn like hell on my already fucked-up fist, but I don’t care.

I strip down to my underwear before looking in the already steaming mirror. Jack looked so much different than he did when I was a kid, and he isn’t the only one. I’m not the same scrawny kid I was back then. I’m different. I’ve changed, too.

But the face looking back at me is painfully familiar. No matter how many years pass, I can’t quite shake that scared little kid who wanted to prove he was tough enough.

Suddenly, Callie appears behind me.

“Hey. I thought I heard you come home. How was your— Oh my God. Owen, what happened?”

She grabs my shoulder, and I let her turn me around so she can cradle my swollen, bloody hand. “Who did you?—”

“It doesn’t matter,” I bark out.

She flinches back, her eyes brimming with fear.

She’s afraid of me.

I’m no different than Jack or any of the other dozen men who filtered in and out of my house growing up. I get pissed and get in fights and yell at the people I’m supposed to protect.

Callie interrupts the thought by moving closer, holding out a hand. “Owen, tell me what’s wrong.”

“Everything!” I nearly scream. “Look at me! I am him!”

“Who?” she asks, her voice shaky.

“My fa—” I can’t even say it. Because he wasn’t one. Then I realize, I’m not just talking about him.

The tremble in her voice sends me sliding down to the floor, my back against the cabinets and my knees close to my chest. I brace my head in my hands, even the fucked-up one, and stare hard at the floor in front of me. I can’t lose control with her. I won’t.

“Every man she let in our home.” My words are as hard as the tile I’m fixated on. “Every man she let touch her. Every man she let get ahold of me. I am never going to escape them, Callie. No matter how far I run. No matter how many people I help. I am never going to get away from them.”

Callie joins me on the floor. Carefully, she places her hands on my knees. I wince at the contact and her attempt to comfort me. I am armored in anger and even her softness isn’t getting underneath.

“That isn’t true, Owen. You aren’t like any of them.”

“But look at me.” I hold up my bloodied fist. “These bruises are because I couldn’t hold my temper. Something you and the coach tell me all the time. And these cuts? This blood? It’s from Jack’s teeth. The three he had left in his decaying skull.”

“Who’s Jack?”

“Summer’s dad. He said he wanted to see Summer, but he doesn’t give a fuck about Summer or Nicky. He cares about money. I agreed to meet him just to put him in his place.”

“And it looks like you did.” She gently touches my fist.

How she can be so soft in a world that is so hard makes me truly believe she is an angel. But it also makes me feel worse.

“I can’t do this, Callie.”

“Do what?”

“Be a dad. I’m going to be just like them.” I shake my head, eyes on the floor. “I can’t do it.”

“Listen to me.” Her softness shifts to something stern as she reaches for my chin, forcing me to look at her. “You are not them. Do you hear me? These are not the cuts and bruises of an abuser. You are a fighter and you fight for people you love. You are a protector and you protect for love. You are all of the things that a dad and a husband and a brother and a friend are supposed to be. So all those people and all those voices in your head—they’re screaming because they’re losing. Let them go.”

I shake my head, my words coming out like spikes. “It’s not that easy.”

Callie forces herself between my knees so she can sit right against me. “I know it’s not easy. Getting away from the people that abuse and control us is hard . But you’ve always been stronger than them.”

She looks at me, waiting for the words to sink in. Then she cups my face in her hands.

“You are better than they are. You always have been.”

Again, I don’t know if I believe it. But right now, looking at her and the swell in her belly that is our child, I need to believe in something. I need something to hang onto.

I grab her hand in mine, pinning it against my chest. She shifts in closer, no longer afraid.

At her touch, all the pain and anger and adrenaline drain from me. “I’ve used the anger I carry towards them to drive me. If I let that go, what is my weapon?”

Callie squeezes me. “I guess you’ll have to figure that out.”