“Ralph wants me to go to Wisconsin,” he says. I drop my phone into the basket as he does the same. Ralph is our agent and a longtime family friend.
“What do you want to do?”
“I guess go to Bellevue. I don’t want to leave yet, but I want to be noticed.”
I nod. “I get that, but remember I have four teams looking at me, and I go to Bellevue. We’re gonna kick ass this year.”
“Hell, yeah, we are,” Jayden adds as he carries Angie on his shoulders toward the living room.
“You gotta do what you feel is right, Jace,” I say, cupping his shoulder before turning just in time to see my dad standing up from his chair. He’s around my height, but he’s thick like Jayden. His dark black hair is cut short, his green eyes hard as emeralds. His mouth is in a straight line, and he doesn’t look too pleased to see me, really. It’s crazy because when I was outside, I was relaxed and free, but under my dad’s gaze, I feel panicky, like I need to run back out. This is how it’s always been. My whole life.
“He should go straight into the draft. No need to wait,” he says, passing by me with no greeting at all. “You all should. You obviously haven’t been working hard enough.”
; “Like he would know,” Jayden says under his breath behind me. I want to laugh but I know better. My dad has never put his hands on us, probably because he isn’t around, but when he is, it’s easy to say that not all abuse is physical. I used to sit back and take it, but lately, I really don’t give a fuck. I don’t live here. I don’t need him. Haven’t needed him, so I’m usually the first one not to whisper under my breath. I let him know exactly what I’m thinking at all times.
“You’re completely right, Dad,” I say, and my mom sends me a look as Lucy shakes her head. “I obviously don’t have a full ride to college or am the captain of a team when I’m only a sophomore or have the respect of my whole team. And Jayden must not push himself to the point of exhaustion every day and must not play rather than study, but he does both. Poor Jace obviously isn’t the leading scorer in the high school league for the whole damn United States. Nope, that’s not us. Must be some other Sinclair kids.”
Dad glares back at me and places his hands on his hips. “Must be.”
“Fucking jerk,” Jace whispers and I nod in agreement.
“Did you come all this way to ruin the dinner your mother cooked?” he asks me and I shake my head.
“No, I came here to spend time with my family, but of course, you’re here and have to make everything tense and forced.”
“I can leave if you’d like, you know. We all have to make Jude happy.”
“Dad, Jude, please,” Lucy says, cuddling Angie in her arms. “Don’t fight.”
I set my father with a look as he slowly nods. “No fighting, sweetie. He knows he hasn’t worked hard. That’s why he’s so defensive.”
Before I can say anything else, Jace cups my shoulder, shaking his head as my mom says, “Okay, let’s eat! I know y’all gotta head back early for classes.”
I want to say more, but with one look in my mom’s eyes, I know this isn’t the time. I should have ignored his words, but like always, I let him get to me. I really don’t understand it. Why do I care? He doesn’t give two shits about me. I could be in the NHL, the leading scorer, and he will find something to bitch about. He will find something that I’m doing wrong, or that he thinks I’m doing wrong, and ride my ass about it. I know my mom loves me and is proud of me, along with my siblings, so really, I don’t need anything else. Or at least, I try to say I don’t. The truth is that I crave his attention, his love, and most of all, I want him to be proud of me. Crazy, I know. No one should have to fight for the love of their father, but, unfortunately, it happens every day.
Especially in the Sinclair residence.
Chapter 7
Claire
I hate Mondays. They are dumb, in my opinion. I mean, why is there a day that is bound to be horrible? Every Monday is like this for me. For some reason, I can never remember to set my alarm before I pass out on Sunday, and so I wake up with only time to brush my teeth before running full speed out of my dorm toward my English class. It’s sad and ridiculous, and as I look down at myself, I can’t even muster up enough energy to be embarrassed that I’m wearing Pink! sleeping shorts and a large, purple Nashville Assassins hockey team shirt. Or that my hair is so large that it could give a southern belle from the eighties a run for her money.
I look busted, and usually I wouldn’t care, but when I come out of my English class to find Jude Sinclair leaning against the wall, I curse the heavens. I try to walk by him, hoping he doesn’t see me. But of course, no such luck.
“Lookie here, Claire Anderson, we meet again.”
I hide my smile as I say, “Do I know you?”
He laughs as he falls into step with me. “Of course you do. Remember I’m the hottest guy on campus, the same guy you want to meet for dinner tonight.”
I scoff as I pause to look at him. Of course, he looks devilishly gorgeous in a black tank and red athletic shorts. His arms are covered in tattoos, and I want to get closer to dissect each one, but since I’m playing that I don’t know him, that wouldn’t be a good idea.
“Sorry, I don’t date.”
His grin doesn’t falter. “Why is that?”