“Sounds like you’re settling back into the rhythm,” Cassie says, voice warm.
Instantly, the warmth in my chest I was just feeling is replaced by irritation at the woman standing less than two feet away from Rhodes. Would it kill her to back up, just a little?
Rhodes flashes another easy grin at the camera and waves. “I hope so. Good talking to you, Cass.”
Cass.
I stab the power button on the remote, cutting the interview off mid-sentence. The silence of my apartment rings louder than the broadcast.
I sit in the quiet, scowling in the dark room, then I pick up my phone and open Rhodes’ text messages again. Before I can stop myself, I’m typing out a text and hitting send.
Me (10:01pm):Not bad, McKnight.
I wait impatiently for the three little dots to appear at the bottom of the screen.
Rhodes (10:10pm):You watch my game, Abrams?
Me (10:16pm):Gotta support Dad!
Rhodes (10:17pm):Uh-huh. That the only reason?
Me (10:18pm):Obviously.
Rhodes (10:20pm):Whatever helps you sleep at night.
Me (10:21pm):You reached too hard for that puck in the third.
Rhodes (10:25pm):I did not!
Me (10:26pm):[replay video attached]
Rhodes (10:28pm):Whatever, Abrams. I scored twice.
Me (10:29pm):Despite your shortcomings, the team prevails. Congrats on the win, Rhodes.
Rhodes (10:35pm):Thanks, Monroe.
I don’t bother responding.
I type out a quick congratulations to my dad before a yawn sneaks up on me and I decide it’s probably time to go to bed.
Chapter Twelve
Rhodes
I hit ignore on another call from my dad.
He wants more money—because he always does when he’s on a bender. He doesn’t care about me when he is sober, but as soon as he needs more drugs, more alcohol, the calls don’t stop. I used to just give him the money when he called, but it was never enough, and the verbal abuse continued just like it has my entire fucking life.
I realize I should just block the number, but if he can’t get ahold of me, he might go to my mom, and if I can do one thing for her, it’s make sure she never has to deal with his ass ever again. I need to be able to handle it myself, because if I don’t? It would mean all the nasty things my father has said about me my entire life are true. That I can’t handle myself, that I don’t know how to man up and deal with shit when it gets tough.
Beck’s been texting me over the last few days. I have been laying low since we got home from Tennessee. I’ve been low for a while in my personal life. I know he cares. All the guys do. But who wants to be the guy who brings the entire vibe of a hang-out down?
And while I’m not doing the best personally, the team has really turned a corner. We’re working better as a team, and Jax has calmed down. He’s passing the puck, which has made a hell of a difference in our offense. He’s stopped stirring shit up in the locker room. I don’t know exactly what Coach said to him after he ran his mouth about Monroe, but whatever it was seemed to do the trick.
And we’re not out of the playoffs. If you’d have asked me two months ago if I thought we’d even make it this far, that answer would have been a hard no.
Butdamn, the game against the Predators was exactly what we needed. I didn’t even punch anyone in the face. Kelsey had gotten so excited about the game that she immediately got me booked for more interviews, more press. All the stuff I hate but that is, unfortunately, a necessary evil for my profession. ‘A true comeback king,’ Kelsey said.