Chapter 16

Chapter

Sixteen

GRACE

My father sits across from me, his expression set in stone. Clearly, he is taking this much worse than I imagined he would. I didn't think he would give a shit who I dated. And maybe he doesn't. Maybe it's more he's upset that it's me dating his player and not the other way around.

I decide that I can't just let us continue this lunch in silence. I have to know what he's thinking.

"Are you making that face because you're upset that Otto is seeing me or because I'm seeing him?"

My father's eyes widen, and then his brows snap together. "I don't even know what the fuck you're saying to me."

Arching a brow, I watch him, waiting for him to continue speaking. But he doesn't. He looks down at his food, moving it around the plate with his fork. A long silence passes between us.

"You know what I'm saying. So, what is it?" I ask. "You don't want me to date him, or do you not want him to date me?"

He shakes his head a couple of times, then lifts his gaze to meet mine. "I didn't realize when you moved down here that you would be trying to land a husband. These are not the men you date. They have huge futures ahead of them."

The words he's just said to me cut like a knife, but he doesn't stop there. He continues to slice me open and cut me down with every single word. "Maybe you're money and power hungry, just like your mother."

"Fuck you," I hiss. "You don't even know me, and if you did, you wouldn't say that to me."

Gathering my purse from the chair next to me, I stand. I haven't even eaten half my food, and I'm not hungry either. Instead, I am ready to get the hell out of here. Fuck him and whatever bullshit he rode in on.

"It shouldn't surprise me that you're just like her. She raised you, after all."

I could stand in the middle of this restaurant and tell everyone around me exactly what kind of man is sitting across from me, making disgusting accusations. But I decide not to. Instead, I shake my head once, then clear my throat and lean forward.

"She raised me because you abandoned me. And I'm not even sure if you would call what she did raising ."

Straightening my back, I turn from him and walk out of the restaurant. He doesn't come after me. He doesn't call out to me. He doesn't say or do shit because that's my father. He pays my bills to shut me up and keep me away from him. I may have ruined all of that, though, by not only dating but falling in love with one of his men.

If my father stops paying my bills, that's going to suck, but I'll figure it out—I always do. With or without his help. With or without my mother. They're both selfish in their own ways, and neither of them sees that. I am done with them both right now.

Maybe later, things will change, but for now, I am too exhausted from his cruel words to care.

I walk back to the salon and try to slip inside in the hopes that I won't be seen, but this place is gossip central, and I am noticed before I even open the door. Brooklynn's breath hitches as soon as I'm inside, and then she hurries toward me.

I don't see her. Clearly, my eyes are blurry from unshed tears, and I'm angry because I'm crying over that asshole I call my father. Brooklynn wraps her arm around my shoulder and guides me to the back room, where the washing machines and hair color are stored.

"What's happened?" she demands.

Blinking back the tears, I suck in a trembling breath. I honestly don't know if I'm angry, upset, or a mixture of both. I think it's both because the emotions that are running through me are beyond over the top right now.

"It's my father," I whisper.

Brooklynn's eyes widen.

"Oh my," she breathes.

She knows who my father is and why I could be upset, but she doesn't know my father. And when she finds out, she won't be able to see him any other way than a complete fucking asshole, which is exactly what he is.

Instead of trying to paint him in a different light than what he is, I tell her exactly how the lunch went, and by the time I'm finished, both of us are in tears. Hers are out of compassion. Mine are a new mixture, this time embarrassment and anger.

OTTO

"Larsson," Coach roars.

My spine straightens, and I turn my head to the side just as a puck comes flying and lands against my cheek. Before I realize what's happening, my knees buckle, and I'm surrounded by my teammates.

"Call an ambulance," Reid calls out.

Tugging my glove off, I start to lift my hand to my face. But Thomas reaches out and catches my wrist quickly, then shakes his head. "Don't touch it," he murmurs.

It must be bad. Like split open bad . And the pain. It rolls throughout my entire body, and I gnash my teeth together, trying to keep from crying out. I'm not sure it works. Because the pain consumes every ounce of my entire being.

Then everything begins to go wonky— blurry . Right before Coach Burns appears in front of me. He looks ready to tear my fucking throat out. I assume he knows the truth by now, but I don't think I give a shit.

He doesn't say anything, or if he does, I pass out, and I don't hear it.

When I wake up, I hear the beeping of machines, and the scent of ammonia fills my nose. Then I feel soft, cool, and small hands wrapped around one of mine. Turning my head slightly, I look down at those hands, then follow the arms they're attached to.

That's when I see her.

Grace is sitting beside me, her head resting on the hospital bed at my thigh. Her eyes closed as she rests. I reach my free hand out, wrapping my fingers around hers, and her body jerks as she sits straight up. Her eyes swing to meet mine and her brows snap together.

"Otto," she exhales.

Lifting my hand, I cup her cheek, sliding my thumb across her bottom lip. "Hey, honey," I rasp.

Her lips curve up, then she lets out a sigh. "I was so worried about you," she says. "June called me right away."

"June?" I ask.

My tongue feels thick. I don't know if I'm actually saying the words I think I am. "June," she says, nodding once.

"Coach?" I ask.

She snorts. "Probably wouldn't tell me you were on fire if it were going to affect me in any way. He's pissed off that I am tainting you."

"Tainting?"

She shakes her head. "It doesn't matter," she whispers. "All that matters is that you're okay."

"Am I?"

She smiles and turns her head, then touches her lips to the center of my palm. "Some metal, some pins, and you're good as new," she murmurs against my palm, then she looks back at me with unshed tears in her eyes. "And some stitches."

"Bionic Cheek Man," I say with a grunt.

"Exactly that, and the scar is ugly now, but it's going to look so sexy," she says.

I snort. I don't believe her, but I'm glad she says it. I don't think I want to see my face now. The thought of being scarred in the face bothers me. I know it shouldn't, but it does.

Never considered myself vain until this moment, but I am just that. The idea of messing up my perfect face is bothersome.

"Your perfect face?" Grace asks.

I said that out loud.

"You did, and you keep saying things out loud," she says with a laugh. "Just rest, Otto. You need it."

My eyelids grow heavy, and they close against my will. I'm exhausted. I don't know why. I haven't done a damn thing. But I can't seem to stay awake. I fall asleep and wonder offhand if my mother knows what's happened. She'd be pissed if she didn't know.