Page 13 of My One & Goalie
“And because I feel like telling you, that man is Jett’s hockey coach, Coach Kovac.”
“What’s he doing in your apartment late at night?” Charles fires back, his chin jutting at me.
“My car broke down and he gave us a ride home. We stopped and got pizza on the way home. And by the way, you’re not my freaking father, so I don’t appreciate the interrogation. What are you doing here, anyway?”
“When you didn’t answer your text, I got worried about Jett. I wanted to make sure he was okay.”
“Hmm, funny. You weren’t too worried when you were on ‘business trips’ all the time.” I air-quote business trips to drive my point home. “You were more interested in getting into your co-worker’s panties than what was happening at home with your wife and son.”
“Stop. Enough, Rachel.” His tone is flat, his jaw ticking. I hit a nerve.
“Fun fact—you don’t get to dictate what is and isn’t enough anymore, Charles.”
In two quick steps, Charles is in front of me, my biceps in his tight grip. Pupils dark and wide, the pungent scent of whiskey rolls off him.
Shit.I may have poked the bear a little too hard.
“I said that’s enough,” he growls. “I can get the judge on the phone right now and we can go back to court. Rework custody, since you’re clearly not thinking straight. May even be an unfit mother.”
Cold dread slithers down my spine as I stare at his stony expression. The man’s not bluffing and I know it.
As pissed off as I am right now, the last thing I want—or need—is another long court battle over Jett. I decide to back down and play nice, appease the monster one more time.
“No need, Charles. Let me go before Jett sees.” My arms ache under the vise-like pressure from his fingers.
With one last threatening squeeze, Charles shoves me away. I stumble, catching my hip on the corner of the couch.
“Ouch,” I mutter quietly, rubbing the sore spot and staring down at the carpet. White-hot rage burns in my chest and hot, angry tears prick at the corners of my eyes.
I will not let him see my cry.
“Go home, Charles.” I tip my chin up and level my gaze on him, crossing my sore arms over my chest. “Sleep it off.”
“You’re a bitch, you know that? I’m glad I only have to deal with you for another decade and change.”
He spins on his heel and stomps out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him. He doesn’t even bother saying good night to his son.
What a guy.
Only then do the tears spill over, streaking down my cheeks. I swipe them away with shaky hands, struggling to take a deep breath.
“Mommy?” Jett’s tiny voice fills the quiet apartment.
I wipe my palms down the thighs of my jeans and plaster a smile on my face before spinning to face him.
“Yeah, bud? What’s up?”
“Why was Daddy yelling? Is he mad at me?”
My chest aches for my precious boy. I hurry to him and wrap my arms around his tiny body, holding him close.
“No, bud. He was aggravated I missed a text, that’s all. No big deal. Let’s take a bath and get ready for bed.”
“Okay.” Jett pats my back reassuringly and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming.
How dare Charles barge in here and make Jett upset?
“I like Coach, Mommy. He’s nice.”