16. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

Dean ‘Lewi' Lewis

Ten minutes earlier...

S he looks like she's having a blast up there with Vicy and Taz. Not gonna lie, I'm a bit envious of how easy it has been for them to bond with her. They don't seem to care what she thinks of them as long as she's having fun and laughing.

They tell her it's her turn to sing now, and I see hesitation cross her face, but she eventually gives in. They have a way of breaking someone down until the person does as they ask. They are stubborn and determined. The song she chooses isn't one I would expect from her. I could see her picking a happy and upbeat pop song. But instead, she picks a country revenge song which makes me smirk.

I think she takes us all by surprise the moment she starts to sing. Holy shit. My jaw drops. The woman couldn't be any more perfect. She had me sold on her personality alone. Any man who tells you personality doesn't matter is a fucking liar. Her looks are a bonus, plus she skates. That's too many checkmarks for just one woman.

I can tell the moment she gets into the song because she sings from her heart. She's no longer worried about the audience. Instead, she puts everything into belting out the lyrics.

Mac bumps my shoulder. "Damn, she can sing."

All I can do is reply with a mumbled, "Yeah."

The moment the song ends, Taz and Vicy beg her to sing another one and end up picking one out for her. Her eyes widen, and I can tell she doesn't want to sing whatever it is they chose. But they don't give her a chance to argue before it begins.

The moment the lyrics of Dirty Thoughts by Chloe Adams slip through her lips, I'm a goner. I don't think it's normal to fall for someone this fast. My heart beats faster as dark thoughts of my past slither through my mind.

Memories of my father and mother start to overwhelm me. My chest tightens, and their toxic words ring through my head, slowly suffocating me. It's as if the words themselves are a noose around my neck, tightening their hold to prove each word true.

I jump when I feel someone nudge my knee.

The past begins to blur with the present, and whispered words slip past my lips. My throat tightens through the suffocating feeling as I speak to a ghost that still haunts me every day. "No…no…"

"Dean?" Mac's concerned voice briefly breaks through my panic and pulls me to the surface.

"Let me finish… Let me finish. I've got to prove it. I've got to prove myself." My whispered words don't reach anyone's ears except Mac's.

Leaning closer, Mac asks, "Prove what, brother?"

I turn so his dark eyes meet mine as I answer, "I'm not a mistake."

His eyes widen before he gives me a sad smile. "You're not a mistake. You have nothing to prove."

Before I can answer, Liz heads our direction and takes a seat one chair away. Oli squeezes my knee and leans over to whisper something to Liz. Taz clears his throat, and my eyes shift to his. I groan when I see the mischievous gleam in them, knowing he's going to ask me to sing.

Whoops and hollers erupt around us, and Liz turns to look at me. Well, what better way to show her how broken I am then by singing. I don't want to sing, but Taz won't let it go if I don't.

I huff a sigh and stand from my chair. Fuck me. "One song," I say as Vicy hands me the mic.

He nods. "Promise. One song."

I huff another sigh as they jump off the stage. I flip through the list of songs and find one that speaks to me. I'm sure it will show her the type of man I've become. Ghosts by Nathan Wagner begins to play, and my eyes meet hers as I sing. I feel a sliver of satisfaction when her eyes widen and her jaw drops.

Not many people know I can sing, and they often don't expect my voice to change the moment I do. I can't look away from her as I sing each line from the depths of my heart. Giving her a glimpse of my soul. Something I've never allowed anyone to see.

Her eyes never leave mine, and I can see them sparkle in the lights. Can she see how broken I am? How I've slowly killed myself, and there isn't anything left for her to like, let alone love. Why the fuck do I even want her to love me anyways?

The song ends, and I quickly drop the mic. I can't stand looking in her eyes anymore. I feel exposed. My eyes shift to Mac, and he gives me a sad nod. He knows what I need to get my mind right again. Without stopping to say goodbye, I head to the parking lot. The cool air hits me, and the past overwhelms me. I can't hold it back any longer. I race to the car and drive to the only place I've ever felt safe. The ice rink. Memories of my past swallow me whole.

10 years ago…

By now, you'd think I'd be used to the hours of lecturing I get from my parents after each game. It doesn't matter that I've been playing hockey since I could walk. The irony is a room filled with trophies, medals, and certificates proving I'm the top player on any team, don't matter.

We just won the final game of the season and claimed the top spot in the league. I even won MVP. But all my parents care about is that I could have done better. What more could I have possibly have done to prove that I'm the best. I don't have a single friend to call my own because everyone hates me.

They call me a kiss ass or goody-two-shoes. I hate it. I hate this house, this family, and worst of all, I hate myself.

I'm jerked from my reverie when my father yells, "Have you heard a single word we've said, Dean?"

I nod even though I blocked them out for the last thirty minutes. "I'll do better next time."

He glares at me before nodding. "Good. We can't have you tarnishing the Lewis name." He huffs before adding under his breath, "Your sister certainly wasn't this much work."

I flinch. No matter how many times he says that it finds a way to slice me each time. "May I leave now?" I ask quietly.

"Where are you going?" My mother asks in a huff.

I want out of this hellish house and to be left alone. I want to lick my wounds without them hovering over me like a starving pack of wolves. "The park across the street to think. The fresh air will help."

My father had already walked away having said what he wanted to get his point across. "Let him go. He deserves a reward for winning the game tonight at least."

I have to hold back an eye roll at that. Because allowing your son to go outside is considered an adequate reward for winning a hockey game and being named MVP. As if there would be no other reason to allow me out of this prison of a home.

My mother waves me off, and I don't need to be told twice, so I race toward the door. As soon as I'm outside, I take off running, not stopping until I reach the park swings across the street.

I sit on one of the swings and begin to slowly move. My fingers tighten around the chains as I stare down at my feet. There's a burn behind my eyes, and I bite my lip to keep the tears at bay. Crying won't fix anything. It's never fixed anything. The one time I cried in front of my parents, they sneered at me and demanded I stop acting like a child.

When the swing beside me squeaks, I'm jerked out of the memories. A gentle voice asks, "You okay?"

I quickly look up to see who it is before dropping my eyes again. It's the goalie on our team; I think his name is Mac. I grunt as I reply, "Fine. Fuck off."

"Well, that's not very nice." He chuckles from the swing beside me.

I envy him. He doesn't seem to have a problem talking to anyone. There are always people surrounding him. Friends everywhere he looks. "Haven't you heard, I'm the asshole on the team. I'm not nice."

He hums before bumping his shoulder into mine. "I don't think you're an asshole." We are quiet for a moment before he asks, "Shouldn't you be at home celebrating? We won, and you were named MVP! That's pretty awesome."

I snort. "My parents are more worried about how I could have done better than praising my accomplishment."

His feet hit the ground with a thump, and I look up when his feet stop in front of me. With a wide grin, he holds out a hand. "Well, my mom made cake. You should come to my house."

I look at his hand before looking up at him with a glare. "Are you trying to punk me or something? Do you have brain damage?"

His head tilts as he asks, "Punk? What's that mean? And no, I do not have brain damage as far as I know."

That's when I notice his accent. It's the first time I've actually listened to him speak. He's not from around here. "Where did you move from?"

"Canada. My mom wanted me to join a team here."

"Punk means that you're fucking with me. You're trying to play a trick on me," I explain.

His eyes widen as he says, "My mom would have my butt if I was mean to anyone, let alone one of my friends."

"One of your friends?"

He rubs the back of his neck, but he's still holding out his hand to me. "I mean. I think we are friends. Are we not friends?"

I can't help but laugh; he looks concerned that we wouldn't be considered friends. Looking at his hand one last time, I put mine in his. "Yeah… yeah, we're friends."

He gives my hand a squeeze and drags me to his house. "Good. I was a little worried there for a moment that you hated me."

Emotion clogs my throat as I manage to say, "Not a chance." How could I hate a guy who's this genuine. To be honest, I don't really hate people, I'm just envious of them. I've always wanted to be part of a group. To have a friend who won't leave me behind. But they always do. Everyone leaves eventually.

He smirks at me over his shoulder. "Congratulations on getting named MVP. I'm proud of you. You worked really hard for that."

He either ignores the tears sliding down my face or doesn't notice them. "Thank you." My chest aches, but it feels good. I never realized how much I wanted someone, anyone, to say that they were proud of me. Proud of what I've accomplished and worked so hard for. That I was more than just a waste of space or a pawn for my parents to use.

He gives my hand a squeeze as he leads me to his house. "Don't worry. My mom will gush all over you too."

I'd never met a woman quite like Nora Oliver. After that day, she became my adopted mother, and I never felt a lack of love when I was around her. She'd truly become my mother. Mère was a godsend for the years I had her. She was the one person other than Mac who I could rely on. They were my family.

She died while Oli and I were in college. I'd never cried as hard as I did at her funeral, and I didn't care who saw. My chest ached for weeks after, and I hid in our dorm room, bawling. I wanted my mother back. Oli wasn't the only one who lost a mom that day. I did, too, and he didn't fault me for it.

We clawed and fought our way into the NHL for her. Her one wish for us was that we played together in the NHL. And we did it. We did it for her. But, at some point in life, you have to do something for yourself. The only problem was… I didn't ever want to feel the pain of losing someone else I loved.