Chapter 20

CHAPTER TWENTY

RYAN

“Damn it. Come on,” I grumble as I fumble the keys. The lock to Dad’s backdoor has always been tricky, but it doesn’t help when I can’t get it together long enough to keep my hands from shaking.

Isn’t this my goddamn luck? The one time I didn’t answer Dad’s call would be when he actually needed me. And the kick to the groin? I always pick up. Not once have I let his call go to voicemail.

The lock finally gives, and I burst through the door.

“Dad?” My voice cracks, betraying the worry I’ve been trying to keep in check since receiving that cryptic phone call from Mrs. Hernandez.

“We’re in the living room.” The worry in Mariana’s voice has me picking up my speed.

That’s when I spotted her. Our silver-haired neighbor sits cross-legged on the floor next to…

My breath catches in my throat when I see Dad’s body slumped on the floor about ten feet away from his recliner.

Mrs. Hernandez looks up. Her kind eyes crinkle as she offers me a small smile. It’s meant to be reassuring but only amplifies the gravity of whatever’s happening here.

I take a tentative step forward. “Mrs. H, what happened? Is he?—”

She holds up a hand, her voice soft. “He’s alright, Ryan. Just having a rough day.”

A rough day. As I approach, the phrase echoes in my head, my gaze locked on Dad’s still form. I’ve seen him have “rough days” before, but this … this feels different. Heavier.

My fists clench at my sides. I should’ve been here. I shouldn’t have let the high from the win and the want to hang with my friends interfere with my duties. What kind of son am I?

“Don’t you dare blame yourself, mijo.” Mrs. Hernandez’s stern tone cuts through my spiraling thoughts. “You’re doing the best you can.”

I force a weak smile. How’d she know where my thoughts were headed? I swear the woman is a witch. Or maybe a saint. It’s hard to tell. Whatever she is, I’m grateful for her presence even as guilt gnaws at me.

“Thanks for being here, Mrs. H. I’ve got it from here.”

She nods and rises slowly with a soft groan. “I know you have a lot on your plate, but he needs someone to check in daily.”

I let out a slow breath. “I know. It’s just…” Obtaining the funds. Finding someone we can trust who’s willing. None of this is easy when piles of medical debt are left to pay.

The settlement can’t come soon enough.

She pats my shoulder as if understanding my unspoken thoughts. “You call me if you need anything, you hear? Anytime.”

“Appreciate it, Mrs. H.”

As she shuffles towards the door, I kneel beside Dad and gently touch his arm. “Hey, old man. You with me?”

His eyes flutter open, unfocused and glassy. The unmistakable reek of booze hits me, sinking my heart.

Shit. He’s relapsed.

Again.

Things got dark after the accident. We weren’t sure if he’d be able to walk again, and he demanded alcohol. The simple solution was not to give him any, but he got so nasty that Mom caved. When it became apparent he wouldn’t make a full recovery, she split, leaving me to handle his rehabilitation.

I was in high school. Too young to deal with a busted-up dad, but I did the best I could. What am I doing now?

Dad mumbles something incoherent.

A pang of helplessness hits me square in the chest. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. I’m supposed to be the one who fixes things. The one who makes everything better. But right now, I feel entirely out of my depth.

I clench my jaw, fighting back the frustration threatening to bubble over. No. I can handle this. I have to. “It’s okay, Dad. Let’s get you to bed.”

His eyes flutter open, unfocused and glassy. For a second, I see a flicker of … something. But it’s gone before I can catch it, replaced by that vacant stare that twists my gut.

“C’mon, Dad. Let’s go.” I slip an arm around his waist and brace myself to take his weight.

As I help him up, a crumpled piece of paper catches my eye. It’s half-hidden beneath where he was sitting. Curiosity nags at me, but I push it aside. Dad first.

“One step at a time,” I murmur, guiding him towards his bedroom. My mind drifts to tomorrow’s practice, to the mountain of coursework waiting for me. I shove those thoughts away. It’ll be there when I get back to campus.

Dad stumbles, nearly taking us both down. I tighten my grip and steady us. “I gotcha. We’re almost there.”

Once we reach his room, I ease him onto the bed. He mumbles another incoherent sentence as I pull off his shoes, but my mind reverts to the crumbled paper. Was that the catalyst for his behavior? The reason he reached for the bottle of booze?

“Get some rest, Dad,” I say softly, pulling the covers over him. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

I retreat to the living room and swipe the paper off the floor. What the hell could it be?

Dropping onto the couch, I smooth the paper against the coffee table. My eyes scan the words as the air whooshes from my lungs more and more with each line.

“No fucking way,” I mutter, rereading it. And again.

The letterhead screams at me: “Grimes Estate Settlement.” Maddy’s family name hits me like a slap to the face. I hadn’t seen her since the class when I passed the test. She hadn’t seemed off that day. Yet, she did refuse to go celebrate with me. Had she known this was coming? Is this why she didn’t come to the game?

I force myself to focus on the numbers. Fifty grand. That’s it. My fist clenches, wrinkling the paper again.

A million … that’s what we asked for. The lawyer thought their offer would be at least six figures.

My mind races, calculating furiously. Tuition, Dad’s medical bills, the mortgage… Fifty grand won’t even make a dent.

I lean back, staring at the ceiling, trying to steady my breathing. “What am I gonna do?”

The house creaks as if answering my question. But there’s no easy answer here. Just the crushing weight of responsibility and the sinking feeling that my dreams are slipping further away with each passing second.

I run a hand through my hair, tugging at the roots. The pain grounds me, but barely.

Hockey scholarship or not, how the hell am I supposed to attend physical therapy school with this hanging over us?

I collapse back onto the couch, my head in my hands. I’ve been living in a dream world. The pro scouts at tonight’s game made it easy to believe in hope. But now?

“Fuck!” I slam my fist into the couch cushion. There isn’t any way I can sign with any team, let alone a team clear across the country. That was a pipe dream.

I close my eyes, trying to steady my breathing. I can’t let this break me. I’ve come too far and fought too hard. There’s gotta be a way to make this work. A way to balance everything—hockey, school, Dad, maybe even…

No. I shake my head. Can’t think about Maddy now. Focus on what matters to Dad. One step at a time, Sorenson. That’s how you win the game.

I take a deep breath, my chest expanding as I fill my lungs with the cool air of our dimly lit living room. The scent of Dad’s whiskey still lingers. It’s a harsh reminder of the reality I’m facing. My fingers clench around the crumpled letter, the paper crinkling softly in my grip.

“Get it together, Sorenson.”

I smooth out the letter on the coffee table and scan over the insulting settlement offer once again. Fifty grand. It’s like a slapshot to the gut.

My mind races with trying to find a play that’ll work. I may have to look for a job. One that would be sympathetic toward my hockey schedule. I run a hand through my hair. No business is going to cater to me. This may have to be my last year to play. Though, my attendance depends on the hockey scholarship. I’m so fucked.

The sound of Dad’s muffled snoring drifts from his bedroom. My jaw clenches. I can’t let him down. Not now, not ever.

I lean back, rubbing my hand over my neatly trimmed beard. Coach’s saying comes to mind. “When the game gets tough, that’s when you dig deep and find that extra gear.”

My eyes drift to the framed photo on the mantel—me and Dad at my first college game. His proud smile, despite the pain I know he was in that day. I can’t help but grin, remembering how he cheered louder than anyone else in the rink.

“I won’t give up on you, Dad,” I whisper, my voice barely audible. “We’re a team, you and me. Always have been.”

I glance at the letter lying on the coffee table. The familiar and heavy weight of responsibility settles on my shoulders. But I’ve carried it this far. I’m not about to drop the gloves now.