The Mistake (Off-Campus #2)(83)

“So why did he start drinking again?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think he even knows. It’s the kind of thing where…like if you were stressed out, you might have a glass of wine, right? Or a beer, a whiskey, something to calm you down. But he can’t have just one. He has two, or three, or ten, and he just can’t stop. It’s an addiction.”

I bite my lip. “I know that. But how long does he get to keep using that addiction as an excuse for his actions? I think there comes a point where you have to stop enabling him.”

“We’ve dragged him to rehab before, Grace. It doesn’t stick unless he chooses to do it himself.”

“Then maybe you need to cut him off. Let him hit rock bottom so he’ll choose to get better.”

“And, what, make him homeless?” Logan says softly. “Have bill collectors pounding on his door and repo men showing up at the house? Let his business crash and burn? I know you don’t understand it, but we can’t write him off. Maybe if he beat the shit out of us or treated us like pieces of garbage, then it might be easier to do that, but he’s not abusive, he’s self-destructive. We can encourage him to get sober, we can help him keep things afloat, but we won’t desert him.”

“You’re right. I don’t understand,” I admit. “I don’t get where this unfailing loyalty is coming from. Especially when you consider the example he set for you—where’s his loyalty? Where’s his selflessness?”

Logan flips his palm over and laces his fingers through mine. “That’s the other reason I’m doing this. Because of the example he set. If I abandon him, then I’m no better than he is. Then I’m selfish, and that’s something I never want to be. Sometimes I hate him so much I want to kick his teeth in, sometimes I even find myself wishing he’d die, but no matter how frustrating it gets, he’s still my father, and I love him.” His voice cracks. “I treat him the way I’d want to be treated if I was ever in his position. With patience and support, even when he doesn’t deserve it.”

Logan falls silent, and my heart constricts, then swells, overflowing with emotion. This guy continues to surprise me. To awe me. He’s a better person than I am, better than he gives himself credit for, and if I wasn’t sure about it before, then I’m damn well sure of it now.

I love him.





31




Logan


“Beers at Malone’s?” Dean asks as we leave the arena after what might possibly be the worst game of my entire hockey career.

I grit my teeth. “I have plans with Grace. And even if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be celebrating at the goddamn bar tonight, man.”

He runs a hand through his shower-damp blond hair. “Yeah, it was rough out there. But it’s done. Game over. No point in dwelling on it.”

Times like these, I wonder why he even plays hockey. For the *, maybe? Because from the day he joined the team, Dean has shown a lack of intensity about our sport, which is a damn shame because he happens to be an amazing player. But he has no interest in playing hockey after college, at least not professionally.

“Seriously, dude, quit scowling,” Dean orders. “Come to the bar with us. I set the freshman up with a fake ID, so I’m showing him some moves tonight. I could use my wingman.”

The “freshman”, of course, is Hunter, who Dean has taken under his wing and is well on his way to corrupting.

“Naah, I’ll pass. Grace and I are having a movie night.”

“Boring. Unless it’s naked movie night. Then I approve.”

I’m kinda hoping it is naked movie night. I desperately need to release all the pent-up tension that’s been plaguing me since we lumbered into the locker room after that final buzzer, leaving the sour stench of a 0-5 score in our wake.

Granted, it’s just a pre-season game, doesn’t count toward our standings, but if we’re to take anything from tonight’s loss, it’s this: we’re nowhere near ready—and our first game is next f*cking week. Plus, we got shut out by St. Anthony’s, which only pisses me off more, because St. A’s team has a roster of dickheads and douchebags.

I’m still stewing about the game when I walk through Grace’s door a short while later, and she clucks in sympathy when she sees my face.

“Didn’t go well, huh?” She comes up and wraps her arms around me, her soft lips brushing a soothing kiss at the base of my throat.

“The team’s still not gelling,” I answer, aggravated. “Coach keeps rearranging the lines, trying to find a good fit, but he might as well be jamming random puzzle pieces together.”

It’s frustrating, especially since Dean and I are a well-oiled machine when we play on the same line. But we’re also the best D-men on the roster, so Coach split us up in the hopes that we’d help the other lines not suck so hard. I’m paired up with Brodowski now, who needs so much work I’m pretty much manning our defensive zone alone.

“I’m sure it’ll get better,” she assures me. “And I promise, I’ll be cheering for you in the stands next week.”

I grin. “Thanks. I know what a big sacrifice it is for you.”

Grace sighs. “The biggest.” She swipes a T-shirt off the floor and tosses it in the laundry basket. “I just want to finish tidying up, and then we can put on the movie. Is that okay?”